My grandfather never talked about the Great War or the influenza pandemic of 1918. It was as though those four years were a forgotten part of his memory, locked away somewhere in the hidden recesses of his brain. He never talked about it, that is, until towards the latter years of his life. Then he talked a lot about the ugliness of the war and the catastrophic pestilence that brought it to an end. He told the stories with such clarity and precision that they could have happened yesterday. It was as if he had stored the memories away with the care that one might store forbidden love letters, meticulously tying them up in a bundle and hiding them away in a shoebox in the attic. Those memories had not been worn over the years with retelling; so precious they were to him that not one detail had been altered or omitted. The story he recounted the most was the one about ‘the bubble’. It took place the day my grandmother died. This is his story.
My grandfather, Dr. Nicholas Wareing, was a bacteriologist, and during the war years he worked in an infectious disease laboratory at the Rockefeller Institute in New York City. His ‘bubble’ story began one Sunday afternoon, late in September of 1918. He and his assistant, Garrison, were alone in their laboratory that day, working feverishly to uncover the cause of the pandemic that gripped the world. The radio in the laboratory blared out the latest news broadcast.
“The pandemic wreaks havoc with the war machine,” the commentator proclaimed. “The Provost Marshall General of the United States Army cancelled a draft call of 142,000 men this morning. The recruits are all sick or quarantined and training has come to a standstill. Influenza also ravages wartime industry. Arsenal factories and ship building yards have ground to a halt.”
The news ended and the evangelist, Billy Sunday, began broadcasting live from his home in Chicago.
“I guess now that all public gatherings are forbidden, the Reverend has to spread his message of salvation over the radio waves,” Nicholas said.
Sunday’s voice boomed over the airways. “Influenza is all a big German plot,” he declared, and Nicholas could just picture him standing in front of the microphone with an open Bible in his outstretched hand. “It started over there in Spain where the Germans scattered all those germs around.” His voice was full of passion, and it intensified as he spoke. “There is nothing short of hell the Prussians won’t stoop to. Damn their hides! This is not an earthly disease we have among us. It is the Devil’s ‘flu, and sin has caused it. Yes, nothing short of sin has brought this evil pestilence down upon us, and nothing short of prayer can cure it. I’m calling on all Americans in this grand land of ours to get down on their knees and pray down this epidemic.”
Garrison reached over Nicholas and switched the radio off in disgust. “Pray down the epidemic! Devil’s flu! I can just picture the Germans scattering germs around like they were seeding a field or something. What utter religious nonsense.” Garrison said.
“Sunday’s not the only one that is spreading that ridiculous conjecture,” Nicholas replied. “Just the other day the New York Post proclaimed that all epidemics were nature’s way of punishing us. The New York Post, grant you! And then, there’s the eminent Lieutenant Colonel Philip Doane, the head of Health and Sanitation for the Army Emergency Fleet Corps. He’s supporting this nonsense. And not just privately. He was quoted on the front page of last Saturday’s Philadelphia Inquirer.”
“I suppose people are so scared they have to make sense of the whole thing anyway they can.”
“God knows the scientific and medical professions can’t come up with a plausible explanation for where it came from so people have to grasp at straws,” Nicholas said. “You know, I was talking to Philip Doane last week and he had me wondering whether it could have been biological warfare.”
“You? I never would have guessed it.”
“There could be some truth to the reports that a camouflaged U-boat crept into Boston Harbor at night and released the germs,” Nicholas said. “The Germans have always excelled in the field of bacteriology.”
“You need some rest Nick. You’ve been here since five this morning. Why don’t you go home? I can finish up here.”
It was only four o’clock but Nicholas decided to take Garrison up on his offer. He was frustrated by the confusing and conflicting lab results they were getting. He had not been able to culture anything that looked like the bacillus that was thought to have caused the pandemic. He would take a break now and continue again tomorrow morning when he was fresh.
“Garrison, I’m going to do just that. I’m going home now.” Nicholas pulled on his jacket. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Nicholas decided to stop in town on the way home. The grocer, old Mr. Harbinger, had promised to put aside some oranges for him, and he needed to stop at the Chemist Shop for some elixir and camphor. So he took the dirt road that headed south from Harris Corner into town. Ambulances and trucks rattled passed him on their way to pick up the sick and the dead.
The streets of the normally bustling town were empty. Most of the businesses were closed. Some had their windows boarded up to prevent looting. As Nicholas entered the deserted main street, an eerie feeling of foreboding came over him. A screen door banged against the wall of a building in the wind. A poster on a telephone pole had partially torn loose and was flapping in the wind. It read:
WEAR A MASK AND SAVE YOUR LIFE
OBEY THE LAWS AND WEAR THE GUAZE
PROTECT YOUR JAWS FROM SEPTIC PAWS
The sign was a reminder that the town had issued an ultimatum that no
one was allowed in a public place without a mask. The sign had been
tacked over a recruitment poster. Uncle Sam looked out over the sign. He
wore his patriotic top hat but his finger that had pointed directly at the
reader and the words ‘I Want YOU for the US Army’ were hidden. The
image said it all. The influenza pandemic had eclipsed the Great War.
Nicholas pulled his mask on as he entered the main street of the town.
To read the rest of the story, log onto www.ruthwelburn.com
