September 1st, 1933
Amherst Hotel
New York City, New York
The date has arrived when expedition members were expected back in New York to assist in preparations for departure to the ice.
Over the last several months, the Starkweather-Moore Expedition has been in the news. Newspapers and radios have been featuring occasional coverage about Starkweather and his plans. Equipment and supplies have been trickling into the expedition warehouses for weeks. The ship is docked, the last supplies have been purchased and the various members of the expedition party are slowly tricking in to the city, singly or sometimes in groups, to the expedition's ad-hoc headquarters, the Amherst Hotel.
The Amherst Hotel is a mid-sized five-story older building on the corner of 8th Avenue and 44th Street in Manhattan, two blocks from Times Square, in a quiet business district. Two floors, the 4th and 5th, have been hired out for the members of the expedition. Expedition members are expected to stay in the hotel accomodations until departure, regardless of whether they have actual residences in New York City. The hope of Starkweather and Moore is that this will help the members of the expedition get to know one another prior to boarding the ship and also to have everyone in one location to make handing out pre-departure work assignments easier.
The lobby is small and dark, with oiled paneling and a pair of rather pallid potted palms by the door. The desk clerk, a thin sallow fellow with black hair, nods eagerly and chatters away while he gets the room keys.
"Here ya go, pal," says the clerk to the each person that comes up to check-in. "Fourth floor, turn left at the top. You got the Professor right next door, though your boss, he's one floor up, on five. Fire escape's the end of the hall, if it gets too hot for ya. You need anything, just ask for Tim. That's me, Tim. Pleased to meet ya. I'm on desk during the day, eight to six."
"Yessir," he adds, "it sure is good to see you fellas...and ladies...here at last. Makes a guy feel like he's part of the whole thing, y'know? Boy, what I wouldn't give to go off exploring the world. What a life! 'Course the wife would never stand for it, me going off that way and all. No sir, never in a million years. You got kids? Boy, I bet yer kids are as proud as punch..."
"Hey, that reminds me," Tim says, producing a note from a desk drawer. "I got a note for you here. The Professor says to give one uh these to each of ya. Here ya go!"
He hands each person checking in a short note of welcome and rings for a bellhop to carry their bags to their rooms. The notes are all the same, written in a cramped meticulous hand.
Welcome to New York, Please be so good as to join us at the ship as soon as you have freshened up. SS Gabrielle, Pier 74-B, 12th Avenue at 34th, next to the Italian Royal Mail berth. Regards, Moore
Check-in for each person pretty much follows this same pattern throughout the day.
