The Darkest Year

The Darkest Year

At first, it wasn't something you would notice. In the United States, people became sick here and there with something called a "three-day flu." That was the first wave.

Life in 1918 was perilous. A high percentage of women still died in childbirth or from the after-effects of childbirth. Many children died before their fifth birthday of one disease or another--tuberculosis or pneumonia. The average life expectancy in the U.S. was around 50.

If you made it to young adulthood, it was a time to celebrate. Your good years were upon you. You were the backbone of the country and, if you were male, you were expected to defend your country in war--and, in 1918, that war was World War I.

The war was front and center in the minds of the generals in Fort Riley, Kansas. Then, in March 1918, they noticed soldiers becoming ill with a severe flu-like illness. Soon, it was 100 soldiers ill. Within a week, the number of cases quintupled, but most of the soldiers recovered.

From Fort Riley, Dr. Kyle Morrison alerted his superiors. "This illness is spreading so fast. I've never seen anything with this spread."

The generals were mainly concerned about the flu's effect on the war. How can we fight the Germans when so many soldiers are ill?

The flu showed up in France and sickened British, French, and American troops before it infected the civilian population. German troops also became ill in large numbers. The pandemic spread to China and Japan.

Back in the U.S., the flu made its steady progress, but most people still thought of it as a "community" problem. Mask usage was encouraged, but some didn't believe it spread from person to person like a cold. Some even thought it was a weapon of war--placed in aspirin by the German drug company Bayer.

The McLeans were a family of seven—well, eight. In the fall of 1918, Stacy McLean gave birth to a son, Sidney. He was probably her last baby as she was now 42. The family had a small farm outside of Boston. They were a poor family, but they were better off than some. The older sons helped their dad, Joe, on the farm. There was always enough to eat and a warm, cozy parlor to gather in. The three young girls helped out in the small house.

One night at dinner, Joe remarked, “I heard there’s an outbreak of that flu at Fort Devens.”

Stacy didn’t reply but shook her head at Joe. Best not to talk about the the strange flu; she didn’t want to scare the children. They tried to be diligent in wearing masks when in public, although many in the community did not.

The first wave of the flu had passed. What was happening at Fort Devens in Boston was like a different disease altogether. This new strain, brought by foreign sailors to the Boston docks, infected 8 soldiers, then 58 the next day, and 81 the next. After four weeks, Fort Devens was counting 100 deaths a day, with 8,000 infected men in a hospital built for 2,000.

Authorities tried to keep the death toll quiet, but alarming rumors reached the public—those distressing rumors Stacy McLean didn’t want the children to hear.

It was clear that this was no normal flu. Mahogany spots would appear on cheekbones and then spread over the entire face. In some cases, victims would have high fever and their lungs would fill with fluid; death could come in days or even hours. Others came down with what they thought was a regular flu, but after several days, it would turn into pneumonia and possible death. The 1918 flu's victims were adults in the prime of life, not the very young and very old, those normally felled by the flu.

And so it was for the McLeans. "I need to rest," Joe said one day.

Stacy watched as her husband, normally a hard worker full of energy, took to his bed. The children hovered around, trying to be helpful. "No, children, go outside." Stacy sent the older children into the October chill, where germs weren't so plentiful. The baby slept in a crib in the kitchen.

Joe's fever spiked, and he had the telltale mahogany splotches. His breathing became increasingly difficult; Stacy sat him up so he could catch his breath. She tried not to panic as she watched her husband die. They buried him on the farm. His two teenage sons would leave school and work the farm to feed the large family. Neighbors left gifts of food outside; they were afraid to enter a house besieged by this plague.

The flu continued its assault in the final months of World War I. In Philadelphia, a crowd of 200,000 gathered for a Liberty Loan Drive parade. In the coming months, that gathering would lead to 12,000 deaths. In October 1918 alone, an estimated 195,000 Americans died.

When the war ended in November, people celebrated in groups. They were tired of wearing masks. However, the flu was not tired of them. Cities were ravaged. Schools were converted to hospitals. Families were destroyed. 

The McLean children ended up losing both their parents; Stacy died three months after her husband. The children were fortunate; they had relatives. They were separated and sent to live with various aunts and uncles. The teenage boys were suddenly adults and sent off to make their own way.''

It's hard to fathom the impact of the 1918 flu. Whole generations were decimated. Life expectancy for 1918 dropped to 39. While the U.S. deaths have long been estimated at 675,000, poor reporting means that number is likely very low. By comparison, the Civil War killed 750,000.

Worldwide, the 1918 flu killed 50 million. World Wars I and II killed a combined 30 million (military deaths only). it is estimated that 500 million, or one-third of the world's population, became infected with the virus.

But what did the 1918 flu teach us? What did this history do to prepare us for the next devastating pandemic in 2020, a pandemic that still hasn’t loosened its grip on the world?

Did the 1918 flu teach us to stay away from crowds? Did it teach us the benefits of wearing masks? Did it teach us that a half million deaths is a big clue that a virus is real? It seems that some people never learned from history.

The experts knew a pandemic was coming. Dr. Anthony Fauci, now a household name, predicted in January 2017 that a pandemic was coming soon. We already had recent close calls with Ebola, Swine Flu, H1N1, and SARS. 

Just as in 1918, a virus can’t be reasoned with. COVID-19 doesn’t care if people are tired of staying in and wearing masks. It doesn’t care if we want to attend graduation or a political rally. A virus only knows to infect and procreate. It was born, and it’s doing its job—changing the world one death at a time.

—February 2021