Editor’s Note: This is the second in a two-part series. Read the first part here.

In 1918, around war-ravaged Europe, information about the Spanish Flu pandemic was suppressed to avoid panic, maintain morale and deflect enemies’ strategies.

Some around the United States believed throughout the pandemic that it had been delivered to the U.S. by the German enemy.

Entering World War I, the 1918 Sedition Act of the United States Congress suppressed speech and opinion casting the government or the war effort in a negative light. Advertisements promoted the purchase of War Bonds, and the proceeds of seemingly every gathering, event, and performance went to the War Bond effort. In other states and cities around the country, newspapers opted not to report about the severity of the Spanish influenza.

It is to its immense credit that The Norwich Bulletin continued to report closures of schools and businesses and the struggles of local health care providers.

Norwichians were asked by the Southern New England Telephone Company to limit their calls because their operator corps was decimated. The Bulletin listed names of people not only dead from influenza, but ill from it, giving occasional updates on their progress. On the same page, undertakers advertised. In Norwich, a man went from house to house to take provisions orders, recording them in a book. The book was laid on a bridge, a woman picked it up and brought it to a store for the orders to be filled.

The orders were then taken to the same bridge, dropped and delivered to people’s homes in perhaps a foretelling of Instacart.

Bushnell Chapel at Central Baptist Church was used as a temporary influenza ward, and Annie Fensley died of the virus after tending the sick there. Second Congregational Church’s parsonage was converted to an emergency home for children of those who had died or were too ill to care for them.

H.J. Cody, the U.S. Health Department representative for New London County, declared that the area needed its own Health Department with a staffed office.

Norwich Public Health Officer E.J. Brophy served as the City’s Health Director without municipal support. Calls regarding the pandemic went to his home telephone and it should be no surprise that he was inundated.

Revealing fraying patience, Brophy complained that too many people were still calling to ask questions that were answered daily in the Bulletin.

With the U.S. in the throes of entering the war in 1917, the availability of coal declined sharply with many coal miners sick or drafted into the U.S. Army, or both.

As was the case with virtually every industry, but especially where people worked in close quarters with little fresh air, the epidemic tore through coal mines. By Oct. 25, 1918, 70,000 miners in Pennsylvania had “offered” to work Sundays to make up the coal shortage. A Dec. 24, 1918 article in the Bulletin reported that in 1917, the U.S. had 177,000 coal miners working, but in 1918 only 144,000 remained. The extreme shortage of heating fuel hit just as the heating season began.

With people driven indoors, the flu gained steam. The coal distribution system also broke down, creating even greater shortage.

Norwich residents were urged to give up automobile travel on Sundays to save gasoline and to purchase at least one cord of wood to supplement their heating fuel. The Slater Museum’s soaring spaces made it (and still do today) difficult and expensive to heat. But no mention was made that visitors might spread the virus amongst themselves.

A man resided in the Slater building’s basement to feed and stoke the coal-burning furnace. Despite a relatively warm late fall, the high costs of heating soon propelled the NFA board to close the museum, virtually mothballing it.

Most informative “articles” in the Bulletin about influenza “cures” were actually advertisements for doctors and remedies. Creatively, the Rev. L.W. Frink recommended a poultice of 10 to 12 chopped onions, rye meal and vinegar boiled over a hot fire to form a paste, placed in a bag and then onto the patient’s chest over the lungs, “as hot as he can stand it.”

Numerous “advertorials” in the Bulletin promoted products like Vicks Vaporub, Humphrey’s Seventy Seven, Kondon’s Catarrhal Jelly, quinine and Father John’s Medicine.

Hyomel was promoted as a preventative. The eucalyptus concoction was poured into a device to be carried in the breast pocket, allowing the patient to inhale the fumes occasionally throughout the day.

The New York Health Commissioner cautioned against the use of alcohol. He allowed that as a remedy early on in the progress of the disease, there were benefits, but he was investigating several physicians who were profiteering from their “prescribing” of booze.

Eliza E. Holton, a publicity agent for the Franklin Woman’s Committee of the State Council of Defense, wrote to the Bulletin offering a treatment for those not too sick to need a doctor. She advised to “shake Sulphur powder [also known as brimstone, often used for scabies at that time] into one’s boots and take a pinch onto the tongue; take a teaspoon of nitre [the same used for gunpowder!] in a tumbler of water (add sugar for a child), rub the chest with lard and a teaspoon of kerosene or turpentine (being sure to include the armpits and upper back), then cover with cotton batting.”

And grocers, as in Italy, offered lemons as “nature’s cure for influenza,” which, ironically, may have sped recovery because of the vitamin C content.

On Sept. 13, 1919, the Bulletin cautioned that when cold weather returned, the influenza could return and that many early cases of pneumonia in 1918 were actually caused by the flu, but not recognized. The article warned that people should avoid close contact with others and use “suitably constructed masks,” but also cautioned that the flu was spread by “soiled hands,” common use of drinking cups, improperly cleaned eating utensils in restaurants and “roller towels.”

Presciently, the article raised concern that using masks made some cavalier about other precautions.

In other states, masks were both “urged” and “compulsory.” Because the Bulletin still held the tradition of reporting “personal” news from the tiniest villages including residents’ travels and returns, receiving guests and family members from other localities, one can learn readily that social distancing was not considered a tool to suppress the flu. Daily reports had Norwichians travelling to other cities and states to care for relatives and friends who were sick with influenza, including teachers whose schools were closed.

Conversely, the Bulletin reported that October had seen the lowest number of weddings in Norwich on record. Some college students from Norwich who normally would have visited home were unable to do so to avoid contraction, while others went home to be cared for because they were sick.

Numerous stories were reported in the Bulletin about multiple deaths in a single family, often with the caretaker dying after caring for the rest. But one Norwich area woman described caring for her son, keeping the rest of the family safe. She kept the patient completely isolated and used large, multi-layered cheesecloth masks and aprons while in his room, which she washed and boiled daily. She buried or burned anything she removed from the room.

A column in the Bulletin advised wives to let fresh air into the house at least once a day, claiming that fresh air was easier to heat than stale. In addition, the article suggested sleeping with at least one window open, draping muslin or a flour sack over the opening to prevent the flu from spreading.

Druggists were asked by authorities to stay open late, so working people could get medicines to treat the flu. This may have resulted in the death from the flu of 32-year-old James T. Ring, purportedly one of Norwich’s best known druggists and an NFA alumnus.

Norwich’s Lee & Osgood was a daily advertiser in the Bulletin, issuing the alarm, “Influenza More Deadly than War!” Looking at the numbers, they were right.

Soldiers and sailors, coming home injured from the war, became ill and died here of the flu, but more young men died of flu never having gone to Europe to serve. The Bulletin reported that Captain Emory Rice, “whose ship Magnolia sunk the first German submarine and who also made 41 trips through the Atlantic (for the war effort) died of influenza at the New York Navy Yard Hospital.”

A naval hospital had been set up on Block Island, and it was there that 28-year-old Norwichian Edward J. Moran, a machinist mate and father of three, died. He had served on Harold S. Vanderbilt’s racing yacht.

It would also be reported months later in the Bulletin that soldiers in France tried to hide their flu illness to ensure getting to the front to fight. Many died this way before suffering battle injuries.

When, on Oct. 25, Brophy deemed the epidemic “over,” he allowed dance halls to re-open. But he had difficulty convincing parishioners it was safe to return to services at Central Baptist, where the temporary ward had been.

Urgently, on the same page of the Bulletin, an article appeared wherein Cody declared that the area needed its own Health Department with a staffed office. On Nov. 4, City Council followed Cody’s recommendation with at least a temporary office so that either he or Brophy could be found at all times of day.

By late October, many had returned to work, but non-essential club meetings were still postponed or cancelled. On Election Day, Nov. 5, 1918, Charles A. Gates, running for Windham County sheriff, took out a large ad in the Bulletin asking for votes and forgiveness for not getting out to visit the voters due to the influenza. But on Friday, Nov. 8, 1918, fear had clearly subsided because the entire student body of NFA attended a detailed lecture about the history of Germany, during which the students hissed and cheered.

While Connecticut College convened, the school kept its students and faculty quarantined with early success, though reports of students walking back and forth to “town for forbidden fruit” were rampant. On Nov. 11, 1918, “practically every quarantine rule was broken … and practically every student was a culprit,” during the celebration of the Armistice. Students dressed a sailors were accompanied by their faculty, dressed in their academic robes.

Student “culprits” were then required to confess to the student government chairman. There were so many that she was forced to forgive them all. A concert that evening closed the formal celebrations, with Norwich’s Loretta Higgins playing the fiddle.

The joy inspired by the Armistice also compelled Norwichians of all ages, regardless of the possible flu risk, to take to the streets to view spontaneous decorations and to greet their neighbors.

A young yeowoman of New London, serving at the State Pier, was killed not by influenza or war, but as a result of injuries she sustained when thrown from a tipping Navy truck overcrowded with young revelers.

The Armistice could not stop the flu virus from surging again in Europe, with many of the American delegation confined to their beds. Some scholars today opine that President Woodrow Wilson was so addled by the flu that his judgment regarding the Marshall Plan for reconstruction of Europe was severely impaired. By Dec. 12, the U.S. Surgeon General warned that a second wave had begun. Families got word that although their soldier-boy sons were now unlikely to be killed by war, they were sick at their military camps.

And yet, there was some joy combined with sagacity; late in November, a wedding took place at the bedside of an Army private at Camp Upton in Seekonk on Long Island with the bride and entire party (with the exception of the groom) wearing “sanitary masks and covered head to foot in protecting garments.”

Approaches to “social distancing” varied widely. The annual meeting of commissioners of the “County Home,” a hospice for orphans and children of the destitute, was wisely cancelled. But the Davis Theatre in Norwich re-opened to a resoundingly positive review, with a triple bill of films including Dorothy Gish in “Battling Jane.”

It would not be until the end of November when legitimate theaters were allowed to re-open with live performances on Sunday evenings.

Much discussion among City Council members and theater proprietors surrounded whether Sunday evening performances would interfere with church attendance. Further, the city considered requiring the theater producers to contribute to war relief or other charitable purposes.

By December 1918, schools closed early for the holiday break and Norwich Superintendent of Schools E.J. Graham was so ill and weakened by the disease that he was forced to go to his father’s home in New York to rest and recuperate.

In fact, often schools closed not to stop the spread, but because their teachers were ill. In January 1919, with many new cases and deaths, the schools’ holiday vacations were extended well into the new year.

On Jan. 28, the Bulletin reported that there had been 300,000 cases in Connecticut and 6,000 deaths. Details of the dead were rarely reported unless the person held some position of leadership or where the entire family might be downed by the virus save a lone survivor.

In a rare instance and in the same issue of the Bulletin, Jan. 22, 1919, a Jewish immigrant and NFA alumnus, David Harry Sirkin and William Booker, “colored,” were memorialized. Sirkin, born in Russia, had been attending Columbia when he enlisted and after six months was discharged honorably. About to return to college, he became ill, died and was buried in the Brothers of Joseph Cemetery. Booker, a chauffeur, who was apparently ill only a few days before his death, was born in Virginia and left a wife and child. Sirkin was 20; Booker, 22.

An odd listing in the Bulletin with the dateline “Stamford,” stated “To the local undertakers it seems strange that so few colored people have died from the influenza. Only two colored adults are known to have died from the disease.” Meanwhile, the Norwich Bulletin’s undertaker advertisements grew in size and number during the pandemic and the tiny borough of Stonington saw a 35% increase in its death rate during 1918.

By early December 1918, the Federal Government ordered local and regional Health Districts to canvas, house-to-house, to establish the impact the flu had had. The concern was that it would return the following year with even greater force, but advance preparation could ward off further devastation.

Later in the month, however, the Bulletin lamented that the medical profession was ignorant of what microorganism or virus caused the pestilence, nor could they attribute it to climatic conditions.

Nevertheless, Navy men later would be commended for volunteering to act as guinea pigs at the Naval Hospital in Chelsea, Mass., where the spread, cause and cure of the flu were studied.

Reported early in the Bulletin was doctors’ advice to wear masks. But it would take months for “Manchurian Masks,” first reported Dec. 23, 1918, to take hold. The name derived from China’s experience with the plague of 1911, and here, the Red Cross was charged with making and supplying them, recommending boiling them between wear for five minutes.

Made from surgical bandages with gauze holding them in place around the ears and back of the head, they resembled a large menstrual pad worn on the face in the same manner as we are wearing cloth masks now.

By January, Cody was called to Washington, D.C., to report to the Federal Health Department on the county’s influenza numbers and response. At the same time, the Bulletin reported that the spread of cases in Norwich had essentially been stopped, but the city was “ringed” by other communities where the number was growing. This included New London and Westerly, R.I., where the impact of returning sailors was strongest. Again, city Health Director Brophy repeated his call, urging people to stay home and take precautions. In addition, he called upon the police to enforce the new ordinance against spitting on the sidewalks and streets.

Superior Court Judge William M. Maltbie asked Brophy whether he thought the court should be closed, to which Brophy replied to the negative. However, Brophy told the judge to admonish coughers to cover their mouths or leave the courtroom.

Notorious cases were locked by the judge, who asked that only those directly involved be allowed in the courtroom for much-publicized criminal proceedings. The State Health Department asked janitors to ensure that rooms were adequately ventilated. This, in January, when for a month, the temperature did not rise above freezing during the day.

Revealing a lack of understanding of how the virus spread, in November social gatherings resumed, like the first meeting of the Norwich “B Natural Club.” In addition to a lecture, it included singing.

The 56th Regiment was welcomed home with a dance at the T.A.B. Hall. N.H. Levy, dance instructor, had gone off to New York to learn the newest steps and planned to teach them to anyone wanting lessons in the Norwich Chamber of Commerce Hall. Also with no fear of a resurgent pandemic, in February, the Buckingham Memorial hosted a parade, dinner and dance for returning sailors. The menu included native roast turkey with cranberry sauce, potatoes, turnips Oliver, pickles, celery, hot buttered rolls and apple pie and ice cream.

Married men were encouraged to bring wives and the Davis Theatre offered the returning men to cram together into the theater for a free matinee the following week.

In January, the Auditorium Theatre advertised Bill Hall’s new musical comedy, “Don’t Tell my Wife,” including “chorus … better than ordinary … with pretty wardrobes,” and Mr. Hall himself appearing “in Blackface.” At the same time, Breed’s offered an Alice Brady film, “Death Dance,” and none other than Harry Houdini appeared at the Auditorium.

Vivian F. Zoë is director of the Slater Memorial Museum in Nowich.

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