“You are confusing me with my older brother Anaukaq!” Kali explained through the translator. “He too was Peeuree’s son. But he is dead now.”
“Now I understand,” said Robert Jr. “Now I understand.”
“And who are all these fine people?” asked Mrs. Peary.
“Well, this is your brother-in-law,” Robert Jr. said to his wife.
“How nice to meet you,” she responded warmly.
Kali introduced his son and grandson, and we introduced ourselves.
“Well, come on inside,” Mrs. Peary said. “I had my son go out to get some cool lemonade for you.”
The house was filled with Peary memorabilia. Bearskins and other Arctic trophies lined the walls of the rustic New England home. Robert Jr. took Kali on a complete tour of the house, explaining each item. Kali too explained some of the items that were indigenous to Greenland, such as old Eskimo implements.
“Do you have the classic Peary gap between your two front teeth?” Robert Jr. asked Kali at one point. “All Peary men must have the trademark of the family,” he chuckled.
“Well,” Kali thought for a moment. “I think I used to have that gap when I had my own teeth. But I can’t rightly say that the ones I have now are mine.”
Everyone burst into laughter.
As we all gathered in the living room to drink our lemonade, the joviality of the atmosphere moved Robert Jr. to play the old upright piano that was taken from Peary’s ship, the Roosevelt—the piano that had been on the ship when Kali was born there.
After playing a delightful song for a few minutes, Robert Jr. cheerfully raised his hands to show Kali and the others that he had not been playing the piano after all. It was a player piano.
Kali and the rest of us laughed uproariously.
At Robert Jr.’s invitation, Kali, Talilanguaq, and Ole sat down at the piano to play as well. Three generations of Pearys, playing the admiral’s piano. Talilanguaq and Ole beamed with pride at the warmth of the reception for their father.
With his hand on Kali’s shoulder, Robert Jr. explained the piano to his half brother. They have finally come together, I thought, and they were enjoying each other like the long-lost brothers they were. I wondered just how much of the resistance to letting Kali meet his American relatives had come from family members who were out of touch with Robert Jr.’s feelings. Like many elderly people, Robert did not seem to care about all the fuss being made over what Kali might do to his father’s image or family name. He seemed only to want to enjoy people and every moment of the rest of his life.
Robert Jr. and his wife were gracious hosts. The visit was brief, but it meant the world to Kali and his children. “For the first time in my life,” Kali said to his brother, “I feel like a Peary.” Robert Jr. stared at him but said nothing.
We gathered on the lawn for photographs before departing for the Peary-MacMillan Arctic Museum in nearby Brunswick.
On Sunday morning, we rose early and dressed for services at Harvard’s Memorial Church. The Amer-Eskimo Hensons and Pearys looked quite spiffy in their new clothes. Anaukaq wore his new trousers, but not the shirt we had bought. He insisted on wearing the traditional white Polar Eskimo anorak he had brought with him from Moriussaq.
Knowing that Anaukaq and Kali had embraced Christianity and from time to time attended the missionary church in Greenland, I had asked my dear friend Peter J. Gomes, minister of Memorial Church, for a special “Service of Welcome” for the Eskimos and their American families. As a member of our committee, Gomes had expressed both concern and compassion for the Amer-Eskimo Hensons and Pearys, and he shared my desire to make their first American reception special.
The church steps were crowded with American Hensons who had come to meet Anaukaq and his family. Several of them ran forward to greet Anaukaq, including his cousin Olive, who warmly embraced him. Emotions poured forth from both sides.
“These are your American family members,” the translator told Anaukaq and his sons.
“My family?” Anaukaq said, now glassy-eyed.
“Yes, they are all Hensons—and this is Olive, your cousin who sent you the blanket.”
“This is Olive?” Anaukaq said. “I am happy to meet you. Thank you for the beautiful blanket.”
“Oh, is this your cousin?” Kali asked Anaukaq. The American Hensons embraced Kali and his sons as if they were part of their own family.
At the sound of the bell, we moved from the enervating outdoor heat into the shady comfort of Memorial Church. Hundreds of students, faculty, and other regular parishioners stood as we took seats in the first pews.
With hands raised above the congregation, Peter Gomes declared a day of celebration and welcome in honor of our guests from Greenland.
“We are particularly honored and happy to welcome as visitors to this congregation this morning, members of the Henson and Peary families, who come to us from very far distant places indeed. We have done our best to provide you with as opposite and different weather as it is your custom to experience—we hope you will forgive us if it is too hot. We trust that should we in turn visit you, you would return the favor. . . .
“Now the books have long celebrated the achievements and discovery of your fathers, Matthew Henson and Robert Peary. They live in the pages of history. . . . And by dint of imagination and great courage landed at the top of the world. And one would like to think that it is their example of colleagueship and indeed fellowship that trickles down from the top of the world and embraces all the rest of us today. But what we celebrate today is not a mere geological survey or Arctic adventure—a simple cover story for National Geographic. Rather, we celebrate the story of an enormous human achievement and adventure, a tale of collaboration between black and white when that was neither fashionable nor familiar. And we celebrate as well the human spirit that knows no boundaries, either of race or place—a spirit that in the faces of these men and women unknown to us and each other for so long says we are all related, we are all your brothers and sisters. The distance between us is bridged by the human fellowship we now share with one another. We are all cousins. Dare we aspire to anything less than this? . . .
“We know the risks and charges of our history. The burden of it is with us every day of our lives. That is why it is so wonderful when we can celebrate a discovery whose human dimension enriches us all and redefines in the most appropriate and useful way, the whole meaning of the human family. That is why your visit to America is not purely a private matter—though that it is. It is a matter of the most immense public interest. For you by your presence help us define anew, and more generously, who we are and who you are. . . .
“And so in the spirit of that reunion, I am delighted that our brothers and sisters from the top of the world have taken the risk of reunion—have taken the risk of the journey, have taken the risk of the heat—to be with us today. And to help us celebrate with you the unity of the human family, under God. You are proof that it works—as are we to you. Why did it take you so long to come home?”
Peter preached eloquently throughout a service mixed with Scripture, poetry, humor, and wit. At one point, he reminded the congregation that “the Eskimos were in some ways like the Indians at Plymouth Rock. They had their own culture and history. And when they first came into contact with outsiders who claimed to have discovered them, they exclaimed, ‘What do you mean “discovered” us? We were never lost in the first place!’ ” It was what we call at Harvard a classic Gomes sermon, at once fitting and deeply moving.
Following the service, the church held a brief outdoor reception attended by family, friends, students, and, of course, the press. Although the fierce midday heat forced us to cut it short, it was here that Kali met some of his other American relatives, albeit distant ones. The couple and their son were descendants of one of Robert Peary’s paternal uncles. This line of Pearys had moved to Pennsylvania along with Robert Peary’s father to set up a wood and barrel business in the mid-1800s, and they had remained the
re when Robert’s mother moved back to Maine after her husband’s death. Upon learning of my meeting with Kali in Greenland and my plans to bring him to the United States, the Pennsylvania descendants had written to ask if they might participate in the reunion activities. The committee, of course, was delighted to oblige. Before Kali’s arrival in the United States, they were the only members of the Peary family who had shown any interest in meeting Kali and his family.
Later that afternoon, we headed to the town of Milton, a suburb of Boston, where the American Hensons had arranged a traditional backyard barbeque for their Eskimo kin. As I drove Anaukaq, Kali, and their families to Milton in a large rented van, they all sang traditional Eskimo songs—songs of joy and happiness.
To locate the family gathering, we had to find our way through the maze of curving streets and rotaries common to the Boston area. But the American Hensons provided very special directions. For the last few miles, all the way to the door of the house, they had tied yellow ribbons around the trees along the road to mark the way. The Eskimo families had never heard of this practice and were profoundly touched when I explained it to them. They delighted in helping me spot the trees with the yellow ribbons, cheering each as it came into view.
When we reached the Henson’s home, there were the usual introductions, along with music, dancing, and, of course, lots of food—“soul food”—on the lawn of the beautifully landscaped backyard. Our hosts served barbequed chicken, cornbread, collard greens, black-eyed peas, yams, ham, corn, rice, okra, cakes, and even homemade ice cream.
“This is the special food of the kulnocktooko people,” Ussarkaq announced to the others. “ ‘Soul’ food—that is what they told me.”
“What are collard greens?” Avataq asked.
“That is a traditional black American vegetable,” I told him.
“Mmmm, it tastes good,” he responded.
“Try a little vinegar on them,” I told him.
“This is some of the best food I have ever tasted,” Avataq offered.
“Eeee,” Anaukaq replied. “This chicken tastes a little like our cheemeahk in Moriussaq—and the ham is a little sweet, like nanook.”
To show their appreciation, the Amer-Eskimos sang several songs, after which Anaukaq and his children held a ceremony to present gifts they had brought from Greenland for their family and friends. They handed out authentic native carvings and other traditional Eskimo handiwork. Anaukaq and Kali surprised me with a gift they knew I really wanted: a beautiful pair of handmade, traditional sealskin hunter’s mittens with polar bear fur tops. Nothing is more suited to the Arctic cold, not even the expensive synthetic gloves they saw me wearing in Greenland. Receiving these from Anaukaq and Kali, two peeneeahktoe wah, was a great tribute indeed.
Olive and the American Hensons presented Anaukaq and Kali each with a combination radio-tape recorder, with shortwave and AM-FM—something I knew they would enjoy back in their homeland. Greenland now has a radio station broadcasting in the Polar Eskimo language. Anaukaq, Kali, and their families were quite fond of listening to such radio programs.
“I am so happy to be here today—to look around me and see so many of Mahri-Pahluk’s family here. I am also happy that my children and their children could come here to meet their relatives. We always thought we had relatives over here—and now we know. We are here now, and we can see you, and we feel good. We thank you for this celebration. I hope you will come to see us in our land. Kooyounah.”
Everyone cheered and applauded.
The celebration continued into the evening, with some family members retiring to the house, where they played the piano and sang.
One of the Hensons had a fancy van with dramatic designs on the exterior and an interior that looked more like an elegant studio than an automobile. The Eskimos were captivated by this unusual pedde, with its carpeted floors, colorful lights, and multistereo sound. And to their utter delight, they all got a ride in it—several times each.
As the reunion party continued into the evening, I overheard Kitdlaq say to his brothers, “This has been a great day for our family—perhaps the greatest ever. And the kulnocktooko people are very special—they have so much feeling.” Talilanguaq, who was among the Amer-Eskimo Hensons, nodded approvingly, “Yes, they are very special.”
The following evening, Harvard University sponsored the North Pole Family Reunion Banquet for Hensons and Pearys from all over the country. Anaukaq and Kali were the guests of honor in a gathering of some two hundred people at Harvard’s historical Memorial Hall. I had initially planned a smaller get-together, but as word of the reception spread, more and more people wanted to come, and we had to increase the size of the function. Among those in attendance were Robert Peary III and Robert Peary IV, who at the last minute accepted our long-standing invitation to join in the festivities. They said Kali’s brother, Robert Peary, Jr., was unable to make the trip from Maine to attend the banquet. Kali was, however, delighted to see his nephew and great nephew there, and so were the members of our organizing committee.
In spite of the heat and the formality of the occasion, the two retired hunters were gregarious and at times looked like royalty, as they were fanned and otherwise attended by family and friends. They sat at the head table with Harvard’s president Derek C. Bok, and they spoke eloquently when introduced to the audience. Bok had earlier expressed a personal interest in the Amer-Eskimo families and was most helpful to the North Pole Family Reunion Committee. At my request, he agreed to act as host of the affair and present awards of recognition to Anaukaq and Kali, to herald their visit to the university and to honor their fathers.
At the podium, Bok addressed the gathering. “It is a great privilege to welcome to Harvard the sons of Robert Peary and Matthew Henson—Anaukaq Henson and Kali Peary—and the members of their families. This trip, as many of you know, represents the realization of a wish to see the land in which their fathers lived and died.” His warm presentation was punctuated with spirited applause.
This was followed by a stirring speech from the keynote speaker of the evening, John H. Johnson, who several times brought the audience to its feet.
“I am delighted to be here tonight,” Johnson began. “I usually have a speechwriter—and I had one this time. And I have a speech, but I’m not going to give it. I feel too much from my heart. This has touched me. I feel as if history has come alive here tonight.”
Johnson was at his best, evoking both laughter and tears as he told us what Matthew Henson meant to his life and to the success of his business. “When they were trying to decide on who was going to go with him [Peary] on the last lap to the North Pole, Peary said ‘I can’t make it without Henson.’ This is a man who had been with him for eighteen years—who had made eight trips with him. Imagine, eight trips. I think I would have dropped out at seven! But he made eight. This is a man who believed in his leader. I also think this says something good about Admiral Peary. It says that he was the kind of man who dared in 1909 to say that the best man for the job was a black man. That was a daring thing to do in 1909! Frankly, it’s daring sometimes now.”
Olive represented the Henson family. “I want to welcome everybody to this beautiful, happy feeling that I have in my heart right now,” Olive said with choked voice and tearful eyes. “And I just wish everybody could feel the way I do. Thank you.”
University marshal Richard Hunt joined Bok in making the presentations to Anaukaq and Kali.
“This award is presented to Mr. Anaukaq Henson to mark his visit to Harvard University and to salute his father’s contributions to the discovery of the North Pole. Given this day, June 1, 1987.”
Anaukaq, his pride not permitting any of us to assist him in walking, stepped up to the podium without his cane to receive his award.
“Also, from Harvard University, to mark his visit to the university and to salute the contributions of his father to the discovery of the North Pole, we present this award to Mr. Kali Peary.”
The two old h
unters were clearly moved. They stood together, erect with poise and dignity after walking up to the podium to receive the large, elegant engravings of the old Harvard Yard, with their names etched in shiny brass. They would gladly have accepted even the smallest token of recognition from any American, regardless of his or her position. They did not understand or even care about American hierarchy. But here they were tonight, being recognized by the president of the oldest and most distinguished university in America, receiving the same plaques customarily presented to royalty and heads of state.
Anaukaq never failed to amaze me. This little big man from the tiny village of Moriussaq addressed the Harvard gathering like a practiced statesman.
“I thank all of you for this reception you have given me and my family and Kali this evening. This is a special night for me,” he said. “I thought that I would never have the opportunity to visit Mahri-Pahluk’s homeland. And I believed that I would never have a chance to see my relatives in America. We are here now, and we are very pleased to be with our relatives.”
The audience applauded. Thinking he had finished, I started to pass the microphone to Kali, only to be stopped by the translator, who reminded me that Anaukaq was “not finished yet.”
“When people up in Greenland used to talk of Peeuree and Mahri-Pahluk, I would think about whether I had relatives over here. I used to tell my children, ‘Maybe we have some relatives over there in Mahri-Pahluk’s homeland. Maybe I have a brother or sister down there,’ I would say. I had no brother or sister in Greenland. I was alone. And now I know that Mahri-Pahluk had no other children, and that I have no sisters or brothers in America. But I have lots of other wonderful relatives down here. I am just as happy to meet Olive and my other American relatives.
“I thank everyone who helped make this trip possible for me, my sons, and some of my grandchildren. I have finally made it to America, and here I am—Matthew Henson’s son, Anaukaq, who has been hiding up in Greenland all these years.” Then with a big laugh, he raised his arms, clenched fists above his head, and waved them defiantly. “I have finally come home in 1987 to proudly show everyone that I am the son of Matthew Henson.”
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