1918 pandemic puzzle is missing pieces
http://www.sunherald.com/mld/sunherald/living/15763785.htm
By KAT BERGERON
kbergeron@sunherald.com
Nearly nine decades after the 1918-1919 influenza pandemic swept across the Mississippi Coast - and every country in the world - researchers and health officials continue to study and revise death tolls.
Even less seems to be known about how many caught the flu and survived.
Statewide, the Mississippi Department of Health, Bureau of Vital Records, listed 6,219 deaths from influenza in 1918 and 3,013 in 1919, but researchers question the accuracy of record-keeping of that era, not just in Mississippi but across the country. Millions also likely died of flu complications, such as pneumonia.
"At the time there were no surveillance systems like today that could track the levels of flu around the U.S.," said Christine Pearson, spokesperson for the Center for Disease Control and Prevention in Atlanta. "At that time, they didn't have the great understanding of influenza or pandemic."
The 1918 pandemic puzzle is missing pieces.
Are the memories of men like Tommie Dukes Sr., who has an oral history in Southern Miss archives, correct? As an adult, the National Negro League player born in 1906 and raised in the Kiln and Lumberton recalled the flu pandemic of his youth: "And every day they was hauling caskets from Bay St. Louis to the Kiln. You'd see them trucks coming there with caskets."
The virulent flu sometimes displayed frightening plaguelike symptoms, including swiftness, bleeding and body blueness.
The public was not kept informed of Coast numbers, either the dead or those who survived.
Explained a Nov. 1, 1918, article in The Daily Herald, the region's largest newspaper and forerunner to this one:
"Official information as to the number of cases of influenza occurring in the Mississippi Coastal District has been withheld heretofore because of the fear that a certain portion of the population might be tempted to become careless if on a certain day the number of cases reported by physicians should happen to be low.
"It is now believed, however, by health authorities that the people in general have by this time become sufficiently convinced as to the need of precaution, and that it is therefore safe to give figures."
But the Herald did not publish the totals, not even the day it gave that report. The editors did chart Gulfport's daily count for October. The highest was Oct. 14 with 50 new cases and the lowest was Oct. 21 with eight. This tidbit provides a rare snapshot at other Coast cities.
That month, there apparently were as many as 6,000 new cases a day in Mississippi. The statistic comes from U.S. Deputy Secretary of Health and Human Services Alex Azar, who on a visit to Mississippi this May included a brief overview of the 1918 pandemic.
"It appeared to come in slowly in the last days of September," Azar told those gathered in Jackson for a statewide pandemic planning session. "Initial reports included 'a few cases...from Montgomery and Leake counties and suspected cases from Meridian.'
"The situation quickly worsened. One week after it appeared, Mississippi officials reported to the U.S. Public Health Service that 'epidemics have been reported from a number of places in the state' and 'the epidemic is spreading rapidly.'
Eight decades later, debate and research continue into the origins of the pandemic that began in the spring of 1918. Fast-moving because it was a strain for which people had not developed immunity, this influenza was particularly deadly to the young, ages 20 to 30, although no one, no age was left untouched.
"When a pandemic strikes, it can cause a loss of life, but it also alters society," Azar said.
Those who remained healthy still found their lives and mobility drastically altered. School classes were canceled and offices closed, some stores shuttered, especially on weekends, and church choirs fell silent. Hard-hit were the state colleges where panicked parents were not allowed to pull out students because of quarantines.
Leslie C. Frank, the Coast district's head health officer, issued an order that "all clerks and other persons waiting on or serving the public in mercantile establishments, meat markets, barber shops, fruit stands, conductions on street cars and places where the public served are urgently requested to wear masks.
"The public generally are also requested to wear said masks while in any of the above mentioned places."
The same newspaper announcement said masks were available at "local Red Cross headquarters." Then came this Oct. 19 report: "Little children were at headquarters asking for masks, but were turned away because none had been made for general distribution."
Despite this hitch, the Red Cross was commended daily for its dedication and volunteers.
The offers of help from those who could give it - fraternal lodges, individuals, Catholic nuns - were often lauded in the newspaper, the primary source of any flu news in this era.
As phone and telegraph operators fell to the flu bug, communication was hampered further; public services were curtailed. Most telling were signs posted on houses in the cities that complied with Frank's dictates. The signs read: "Influenza. Visiting forbidden to and from this house. U.S. Public Health Service."
In Mississippi, not all public gatherings were canceled as the surgeon general had dictated. There were fairs, rallies to raise money for U.S. involvement in World War I and a few religious conferences.
Coast communities did what they were asked to do, and Harrison County postponed its fair. Canceled war bond rallies were blamed for organizers not meeting patriotic donation goals, and, not surprisingly, the rallies were one of the first public events brought back.
Schools took longer to reopen, some more than six weeks, and students were only allowed in the classroom with doctor's notes verifying their families were flu-free.
Many 20th century histories claim the pandemic was first in Europe. More recent research raises questions about whether it actually started in the U.S. and arrived in Europe via American soldiers, then came back again to the U.S. with an autumn vengeance.
Historians believe it was misnamed "Spanish Flu" because more news about the disease came out of Spain, which was not involved in the war and did not have all the wartime censorship. Even the king got it.
The one certainty is that World War I soldiers and sailors helped spread it throughout the world. Then, with defeat of the Germans, Americans spontaneously gathered in their towns to celebrate Armistice Day.
Ironically, Nov. 11, 1918, likely exposed more to the influenza. There was, after all, a good reason for edicts of no public gatherings.
By Armistice Day, the three Coast counties were through the worst of their share of the pandemic.
Stone County, which quarantined itself in October to prevent spread into its pineywoods, felt confident enough on Nov. 1 to lift the quarantine.
"Everything is fine in Stone County, then comes the Armistice and everyone is jumping up and down and celebrating and probably spreading germs," said Charles L. Sullivan, historian and professor emeritus at Mississippi Gulf Coast Community College.
Sullivan said the Perkinston campus didn't reopen until Jan. 27, 1919. As happened in much of the country, first came the bigger cities, then the smaller ones, then the rural areas.
The strain sputtered on through 1919, with some reports in 1920, but not with the ferocity of 1918.
A researcher's
perspective
Several years ago, Deanne Stephens Nuwer of the University of Southern Mississippi-Gulf Coast researched the 1918 pandemic to present a paper to the Southern Association of Medicine and Science.
"My impression is that more Mississippians died and there was more of a social impact than has been previously recognized," said Nuwer, who has a doctorate in Southern history.
"Things shut down here during the flu epidemic in 1918. When you have no church services and soldiers being isolated, that disrupts life. Schools and dormitories shut down and parents went in panic mode.
"I can't imagine the fear. Here we are in little South Mississippi and we are dealing with this in a one-on-one -basis but realizing it is a global story. It's probably akin to the AIDS scare in the 1980s when people were afraid to touch anyone.
"The lesson we should have learned from 1918 is that there needs to be a more cooperative effort at health care. Each state and city was onto itself, even on the Coast, and the resources shared and the knowledge shared could have been so much greater."
- KAT BERGERON