Foreward by Anne Sanders

There are many fitting descriptions one could give to Gerrit “Heinie” Snider. Along with being my great-great grandfather, he was an immigrant from Holland, a gold miner, an Alaska territorial legislator, a mink farmer, father to the first woman mayor of Wasilla, and an all around Alaskan Pioneer. But among his numerous achievements he was also a storyteller. With multiple books Heinie told hundreds of colorful stories that give his readers a creative picture of Alaska’s history, and what it was like to live during the pioneer days, the colony days, the statehood days, and all the other days of Alaska’s vibrant history.

Heinie Snider was born in Holland, April 13, 1886. He first came to Alaska in his early twenties, then returned to Holland for a brief time because he could not forget a special young lady he had left behind. After marrying his wife, Alice, he returned to Alaska where he spent the rest of his days raising a family, homesteading in the Matanuska Valley, filling numerous occupations, and making a home in the last frontier. Heinie Snider passed away February 20, 1972, but his memory lives on in the hearts of his family, his dedication to the state he loved, and through the imaginative stories that sprang from his pen. 

Quote from Ernest Gruening, U.S.S. - “Gerrit Snider, of Wasilla, known as “Heinie”, is an Alaskan born in the Netherlands, who, like many sturdy sons of the Old World, responded to the call of greater freedom and greater opportunity in the New. So, he settled in Alaska and became variously a miner, a trapper, a fisherman, and, even more significant, a legislator. Elected to the Legislature during the Territorial days, he proved to be a man of rugged independence, integrity and courage...”

The following story, “Pioneering,” is from Heinie Snider’s book, Centennial - 100 Stories of Alaska, published in 1966 in honor of the 100th anniversary of the United State’s purchase of Alaska from Russia in 1867.

“Pioneering”

In Japan, when a baby is born, he or she is one year old. The Dutch use the smaller number first when speaking of age--for instance, while the American says, “He is 21 years old today,” the Dutch say, “He is one and twenty.”

This reversal of words at times brings laughter. When I ask the Frau, “Where were you?” she answers, “Oh, I went the stairs down.”

This amateur writer follows no regulations on how to write a successful story. At 80 years of age, when memory begins to fade, it is hard to remember what happened years ago. While I am blessed with a good memory, much of what I write is based on imagination, and may not be correct word for word.

I once read a story about young George Washington, who, because he could not tell a lie, told his dad that he had cut the cherry tree down with his little hatchet. Before we had coal, oil or gas to warm our homes or tents and do the cooking, it is safe to say that I cut 20 cords or more a year, using a large double-bitted axe. I couldn’t help thinking that little George was not only the Father of Our Country, but also the best lumberjack ever to invade the woods, if he could cut a tree down with a hatchet.

With the coming of Alaska’s Centennial, Alaskans should know their own state. We know that it was a cheap buy, less than half a cent an acre; who sold it to us; and how long it lay dormant before real interest was shown in Seward’s icebox.

The finding of gold in the Klondike started the great stampede, which was not Alaskan, to the Yukon Territory, a British possession. Then came Alaska’s mineral discoveries, and the ice box was discovered to be the home of the largest carnivore, the Kodiak bear. People learned that this country was no ice box after all, but a strange land where the sun does not set in June; where you can raise, in a subarctic climate, 55-pound cabbages, seven-pound cauliflower, and yes, even outdoor tomatoes.

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Alaska has thousands of miles of forests, paved highways with up-to-date motels, McKinley National Park, the largest hunk of stone and glacier on the North American continent.

When Rampart Dam is built, Alaska will have the cheapest electric power in the United States. Alaska beats Texas for size, and before long the big state to the south will be a poor second to Alaska as a gas and oil producer.

Next year will be a banner year for tourism. The Alaska Railroad train, “The Old Sourdough,” will have a deluxe observation car. Buses, ships, planes and autos will bring people from all over the world who have read about Alaska, seen it on TV, heard about it over the radio, or have been told about it by other visitors to this great storehouse of wealth.

This writer remembers when we did not lock our cabins, there was no use for keys, and the only requirement for use of your home by the wayfarer was to leave kindling and matches in front of the Yukon stove.

With the influx of a larger population, this custom is gone forever, but the original hospitality still exists, and strangers are invited into the Alaskan home.

A journalist who writes for 30 newspapers and has traveled all over this mudball said to me, “The Alaskan people are the most hospitable I have ever met.”

Let us be just that to our 1967 visitors! These are the folks who will be our boosters, telling their friends and relatives of the Last Frontier, the Land of the Midnight Sun where the Cheechako is as welcome as a sourdough; where a handshake and a smile are the only pass-words you need.