The news that a nearby school district closed for two days due to the flu—or “flu-like symptoms as we say in the news biz to avoid practicing diagnostic medicine without a license—was perfect timing.
Exactly 100 years ago, as you can see in the history column at the bottom of this page, the third round of the deadly Spanish Flu pandemic was in full force.
That week a century ago The Reporter noted 14 members of a Forest Grove family had contracted the disease and one had already died.
For more than a year the newspaper had been full of reports of death and illness as the first two waves of the dreaded flu took their toll around the area.
Schools had closed, church services were canceled, the Dixie Theater closed—it later reopened (see below)—because people were leery of mass gatherings.
It appeared there were two kinds of people in Rock-dale, those who had the flu and those who were going to get it.
Reporter Publisher John Esten Cooke came down with the disease but recovered.
Daughter Agnes Cooke soldiered on in his place, hampered because so many employees of the production shop hadn’t yet come back from World War I.
Of course, Rockdale wasn’t alone. Most estimates are that 20 t0 50 million people died worldwide, although some put the figure closer to 100 million.
The pandemic killed far more than did the war, whose final year occurred during the outbreak.
The flu and the war even worked in unison to make things worse.
It’s estimated 40 percent of the U. S. Navy and 36 percent of the Army came down with the disease, or were carriers. Crowded troop ships and trains helped spread the misery.
Then as those soldiers and sailors came home, they inadvertently brought the flu to the U.S.
Some small towns did not have enough healthy people to bury the dead.
Others posted signs at their city limits warning strangers—possibly flu-infected—to stay out.
Boy Scouts in New York City, at the direction of the mayor, handed out cards to anyone they saw spitting on sidewalks, notifying them they were violating city health rules.
Six hundred and seventy-five thousand people died in the U. S. That’s everyone in today’s El Paso.
Ironically, the Spanish Flu had nothing in particular to do with Spain.
One theory is the name stuck because Spain was neutral in the war, was not under news blackouts, as was most of Europe, so news of its flu epidemic was spread worldwide, although that country was hardly unique.
Another theory is that flu become “Spanish” because Alfonso XIII, the king of Spain, came down with it.
For that matter, so did American President Woodrow Wilson.
Next time you complain about medical bills—and don’t we all—think about how far medicine has come since those dark days and give thanks that vaccines and treatments now don’t make flu the death sentence it was to so many 100 years ago this week.
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