The lost winter of 1918
On a small farm outside of Bakersfield, a robust woman of 32, the mother of a small child, died quietly in the early hours of Sept. 30, 1918. As tragic as this loss was to the family, and the small community of friends and neighbors, it was only the beginning.
Over the next three months alone, death visited hundreds in one California city after another. During the same time, thousands were dying around the nation, millions around the globe. The Spanish influenza, the most efficient killer ever known to humankind, had descended upon Bakersfield.
By the fall of 1918, the arrival of the influenza had been expected for nearly nine months. Reports of an unusually bad seasonal flu, or la grippe as many referred to it, had been reported in the Eastern United States, but it appeared to have been confined to army bases. Many had concluded that the flu had run its course. In reality, the first wave of what epidemiologists identified 80 years later as the H1N1 virus was merely mutating into a much more virulent killer.
By August the flu was again ravaging the eastern seaboard. Boston, Philadelphia and New York were reporting staggering death rates.
In early October efforts by the media to downplay the epidemic had begun. On Oct. 12, the first "counter report" ran in The Bakersfield Californian. These were reports that may have had little basis in fact, but were sent out of Washington to allay fears. The Californian stated that "The influenza has been stopped in eastern cities." The reality was that thousands were soon to die; in fact, the worst was yet to come for several major eastern cities. On Oct. 14, The Californian made its first reference to the local medical response from doctors. Dr. C. A. Morris was quoted as saying, "Wild rumors of a general epidemic in the county are unfounded." He further stated, "Many cases of flu have been reported in the city and county. Most are probably simple colds. Merely as a precaution, moving picture shows will be closed to children under 17 years old and to those with colds."
Yet, by the second week of October 1918, people had begun to take notice of this new influenza. The Californian listed the number of dead at 78, which, based on death records, was probably half the number of those who actually had died from the flu. Even then the paper stated that most of the victims were from out of the Bakersfield area.
All medical information on the local condition of the influenza came from only two men: Dr. C. A. Morris, the county health officer; and Dr. P. J. Cuneo, the city's health officer. Their messages were always in agreement, and consistent with typical public health administrations around the nation: "Don't get scared. There is no reason to get excited. The emergency is passing. The worst is over. Things are looking brighter today." Oddly, the only practical advice, which was to come by the end of October, was to wear gauze masks, which probably did almost no good.
By Oct. 17, the situation had worsened considerably; every hospital had probably reached saturation. This can be deduced by the fact that temporary hospitals were opened in several large halls in Bakersfield, Taft and Fellows, including a 50-bed influenza ward at the county hospital. The schools were not utilized as hospitals for another week because they were still open, and would remain open until Oct. 24; this was long after the disease had thoroughly exposed every student attending school. Dr. Cuneo defended his decision to keep the schools open for nearly a month after the disease entered the city by saying, "Children are at greater risk roaming the streets than they are at school under the supervision of their teachers."
Finally, on Oct. 25, 1918, Bakersfield city schools were closed. The headline read, "Close City Schools to Stamp Out The Influenza." Cuneo added, "Falling off of attendance, not the epidemic, is the cause of the action." He then added the often-repeated advice, "The best remedy is, 'Don't lose your head and get excited.'" It appears that parents had begun to enforce their own form of quarantine even if the public health department would not.
So how many victims of the influenza were there in Kern County? As recently as May 1, 2009, The Bakersfield Californian published a contributed article that claimed as many as 100 died of the Spanish influenza in Kern County. But underestimating the influenza has not been only a Kern County problem.
What we know is this: Of the three mortuaries in Bakersfield alone, at least 325 of the deceased processed from Oct. 1 to Dec. 31, 1918, had listed as cause of death either flu or pneumonia. The vast majority were in their 20s or 30s. Many more dead, though an unknown number, were cared for by family or by some other means. We must also remember that the disease ran for another six months, until the summer of 1919. Nationally, death rates averaged 1.5 percent to 2 percent. Even with the limited available data we have, and considering they encompass only 90 days of the epidemic, the lower number of 1.5 percent mortality for Kern County is realistic. That would put the county-wide number of dead for the entire term of the influenza well over 700 victims.
If this number is accurate, it would be greater than the number of all the war dead in the history of Kern County, and many times more than all forms of disaster countywide combined. Though few today are aware of the devastation that was wrought in 1918, the pain and loss of our forbearers is incalculable. Ultimately, the citizens of Kern County, like every other community, moved on. There was no other option.
We will never know completely the social and human cost of the Spanish influenza. What giants were lost? Who would have joined society's historic memory and become beacons for following generations? Instead, their names mean little to us today. Ninety years ago the death of Leala Bosserdet came and went with little notice. Few knew what was to come. A wife and mother were lost; grief-stricken parents buried their young daughter. A small family's pain slowly became lost in a global tragedy. Two generations later, far removed from their pain, we cannot help but wonder, how would that family have been different, had nature not chosen to rage in the winter of 1918?
Garth Milam is a battalion chief with the Bakersfield Fire Department and a graduate student in the history program at CSU Bakersfield. This is a condensed version of a longer article.
