“The spot” was the geographic North Pole, the
literal roof of the planet. Achieving that distinction had long been
the Holy Grail for explorers, adventurers and scientists. Henson’s
claim to being the first human to set foot on the Pole on April 6,
1909, has been a sore point with others inclined to believe, as has
been insisted for generations, that superstar Arctic explorer Robert E.
Peary was the first to reach the Pole.
Over the last century, a growing body of credible
evidence has come to the conclusion that 100 years ago today, Henson,
not Peary, reached the Pole first. Still the Peary myth remains. That
lingering distortion of fact is the result of the combination of the
early bloom of our celebrity culture and the persistence of 20th
century racial bias. Peary was a star and Henson was black; those two
factors merged to virtually eclipse Henson’s role in conquering the top
of the world.
Henson’s relatives and others are marking the
occasion of Henson’s and Peary’s not-quite joint achievement.
Centennial observances of just about anything are a lock for media
attention in today’s culture. But honors for Henson, who died in March
1955 at the age of 88, are a tribute to his own longevity and a quiet
celebration of the idea that eventually the truth will take hold.
Henson had an edge over Peary in advancing the
historical narrative. First, there was the natural advantage of
outliving his friend and rival by 35 years (Peary died in 1920 at 63).
But the suppression of the Henson perspective during the early years of
the Peary mythos has given way to a positive fascination with Henson’s
side of the story, a side that has increasingly convinced people that
it is the truth.
By the spring of 1909, Henson and Peary had been
friends for more than 20 years, since they first met on an expedition
to Nicaragua in 1888. An expert navigator who spoke the Inuit language,
Henson joined Peary several times on various Arctic expeditions.
It was on one such assault on the North Pole that
Peary, Henson and another 22 men, 133 dogs and 19 sleds set off from
Ellesmere Island on March 1, 1909.
Henson and Peary had been pursuing the Pole in
separate dog sleds, alternating responsibility for blazing trails
through the Arctic’s arduous weather. On April 6, the expedition —now
streamlined by lighter loads and reduced to Henson in one sled,
followed by Peary and four of the Inuit crew in another — made one last
assault on the Pole.
Anna Brendle of National Geographic wrote in 2003:
“On April 6, 1909, Henson arrived at Camp Jesup, 89°47', 45 minutes
ahead of Peary, concluding by dead reckoning that he had reached the
Pole. Henson greeted Peary, “I think I'm the first man to sit on top of
the world.”
It was probably no idle boast. The acclaimed
science writer John Noble Wilford wrote in the New York Times in August
1988: “A new analysis of the expedition diary and other archives,
focusing on navigational errors, suspect distance records and
inexplicably blank pages in Robert E. Peary's diary, has raised the
strongest doubts yet about the credibility of the explorer's claim that
on April 6, 1909, he became the first person to reach the North Pole.”
Russell W. Gibbons, a contributor to the Arctic Profiles Project of the Arctic Institute of North America, theorized in a June 1987 op-ed
that race may have been the elephant in the room, that Americans were
more socially predisposed to the idea of Henson as Peary’s loyal
Sherpa, his man Friday, the Sancho Panza to his Don Quixote.
“Henson was an American citizen, but no one, Peary
evidently reasoned, correctly, would think of a black man as being
eligible to share polar laurels,” Gibbons noted. “The ‘long and close
friendship’ of Peary and Henson was not apparent after they returned
from their expedition: In the decade before Peary died, he did not see
his fellow explorer once, never invited him to his home and made little
effort to obtain financial help or recognition for him. Henson read of
Peary's death in the newspaper.”
Henson, who worked a number of menial jobs after
the expedition, remains an object of fascination, in no small part
because of the relative eclipse of his accomplishments. Henson’s 1912
autobiographical account, A Negro Explorer at the North Pole, was republished in 1997.
Original copies were once so rare they fetched
between $1,700 and $3,000 each, according to Bradley Robinson, son of
Bradley Robinson Sr., who wrote the Henson biography Dark Companion with the explorer in 1947.
Henson was the beneficiary of honors and accolades
bestowed, as is often the case, after the fact of the honoree himself.
Over the last 20 years, he has been the object of a cascade of
recognition. In 1988, at the urging of a dogged Henson champion,
Harvard professor Allen Counter, President Reagan authorized the move
of Henson's remains to Arlington National Cemetery.
In 1996, the U.S. Navy named the oceanographic
survey ship USNS Henson for him. Kevin Hooks’ film Glory and Honor
(1998) starring Delroy Lindo and Henry Czerny, also celebrates Henson’s
exploits.
In November 2000, Henson became the only person to
be posthumously awarded the National Geographic Society’s Hubbard
Medal, “for distinction in exploration, discovery and research.” He
joined a select group of explorers to have
received this prestigious award; others include
Sir Earnest Shackleton, Charles Lindbergh, John Glenn, Neil Armstrong —
and Robert Peary.
This year, of course, in the centennial, the
accomplishments of Henson and Peary have captured the attention of
explorers, endurance athletes and thrill-seekers re-enacting Henson’s
North Pole expedition on a tour-group basis. One outfit, Polar
Explorers, assembled a three-day expedition intended to arrive at the
Pole today with guests celebrating with champagne and souvenir photos,
after ponying up about $30,000 each for the privilege.
Another centennial expedition is also under way, with three new explorers recreating the 500-mile Henson-Peary route and charting their slow daily progress online.
Aviaq Henson, the explorer’s great-granddaughter, writes on the Matthew Henson Web site
that Greenland’s national postal service, Filatelia, will release a
commemorative Matthew Henson stamp on June 21, the day Greenland
acquires increased self-rule within the Danish Commonwealth. Greenland,
colonized by Denmark since the 1850s, was granted home-rule status in
1979.
“The step will be a big event for our history in Greenland,” she wrote.
She also announced plans to trek to the North Pole
this month with her father, Vittus Henson, and his brothers, Ajako,
Uusaqqak and Qillaq Henson —part of a seriously thriving family tree with sprouts and branches that turn up everywhere.
Even Hollywood. Taraji P. Henson, nominated for a best supporting actress Oscar for her role in The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, revealed in a 2008 interview that the explorer was “my great-great cousin.”
One hundred years on, as the Henson clan
celebrates its patriarch, the accomplishments of Henson and Peary are
increasingly seen through a lens that rescues Henson from disappearing
into the whiteout of wrong but accepted facts. It’s not a revision of
history, but a re-visitation of history, one meant to reconcile the
differences between the magnetic north of written history with the true
north of what apparently actually happened.
Michael E. Ross is a regular contributor to The Root.
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