Edmunds County Tribune -

PANDEMIC PRAIRIE PEDIGREE

Most likely, like mine, your family has a story to tell of the most recent past pandemic that occurred in 1917 and stretched into 1919. The influenza, or Spanish Flu, as it was mistakenly called, is thought to have originated in the World War I military training camp outside Fort Riley, Kansas known as Camp Funston. Having spent time at Camp Funston during a hot, humid summer training in preparation for an overseas deployment in 2006, I understand the virology of how men from small farms and large cities packed together in close quarters, when horses were still the most common means of transportation, and thrown together on that flat plain along the banks of the Republican River could serve as a breeding ground for disease. These young soldiers destined for the battlefields of France first had to battle an even more sinister enemy, much like we do today, and like them and enemy we cannot lay hands on or physically resist.

Even South Dakota Governor Peter Norbeck became ill with the influenza in 1918. A brief extract from the South Dakota Archives described his symptoms as such, “In late November, Gov. Peter Norbeck was diagnosed with the Spanish flu. He was admitted to St. Joseph’s Hospital in Deadwood, having contracted the flu on a business trip in Lusk, Wyo. The governor had a fever of 103 degrees, though his condition was never deemed critical. He was released after spending a few days in the hospital.”

My own family history contains a similar and sadder story, one of the few memories of my family history shared with me by my Grandmother. She was born in July 1903 and raised on the family farm just west of Hosmer. Her father was a homesteader that prospered and by the time she was born the sod house had been converted to the summer kitchen; warm in winter/cool in summer with walls 3 feet thick. Next door and just to the east was a respectable wood frame house. The barns and the corral were to the south, with a granary and additional buildings immediately to the west. I mention this because I have a picture hanging in my home taken when my Grandmother was about 3 or 4, the family lined up all in a row with the sod and frame house behind them, and a corral full of horses taking up most of the frame. But more interesting is the picture of my Grandmother’s brother Martin standing on the far left of the photo. He was born in April 21,1899, and died on my birthday, November 2, 1918, from the influenza. He was 19 years old. The World War I Armistice began nine days later.

My interest in family history is well-known among my family and friends, as many of you reading this are well aware. I frequently pick your brains asking questions about this relative or that often finding connections by blood or marriage with my own family. But my Grandmother’s tale as a 16-year-old farm girl in the dark days in the winter of 1918, was one of the darker memories of her childhood she shared that was unvarnished in its telling. The influenza had finally found its way into the towns and onto the farms of Edmunds and McPherson counties. Ultimately, 40 were recorded dying from the influenza in Edmunds County, and 53 in McPherson. My Grandmother’s brother Martin among them. As she related the story to me, the entire family was sick in bed with the influenza. No doctor was called as there was nothing to be done but let the sickness pass. Mother and Father, Joseph and Katherina Schoch, and all four boys and four daughters still living at home were sick at the same time. What doctors there were were hard pressed to keep up with the numerous cases of the sickness, so the prescribed medical advice was to stay home, limit contact with the outside world, and when everyone was once again healthy then and only then venture into town or check on relatives and friends. Remember, horses were the primary means of transportation and the influenza outbreak pre-dated the telephone. Listening to Governor Noem discussing with Greta Van Susteren this morning the advice and recommendations she received from medical experts both at the State and Federal level and the prescribed measures that must be implemented are not unique. This caused me to dig deeper into the South Dakota Archives of 1917 to 1919. The paragraph below is also a direct quote from the archives and is eerily familiar to what we are seeing and hearing today.

Throughout the state, churches, theatres, schools, pool halls, parlors and other public gathering places were closed indefinitely. The flu escalated to the point that the superintendent of the South Dakota Board of Health declared that, “In any community where the disease is prevalent, public gatherings of all kinds are forbidden.” Individuals who had any symptoms of the flu were asked to refrain from public gatherings of any kind. Public drinking cups and towels were prohibited. People were forbidden to congregate at train depots, requiring patrons to buy their train tickets one person at a time.

That last sentence was eye-opening. My wife and I had to travel recently to pick up a prescription at Walmart the other day. The line leading into Walmart was short, but nonetheless it was standard procedure to stand 6 feet apart waiting our turn to enter the store, and then only after another customer had departed. For those who say we learn nothing from history, I suggest re-reading the previous paragraph and to repeat after me those prescient words of George Santayana in 1905 when he said, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” We have obviously learned and more importantly retained a few lessons of the past.

Initially, Martin was buried on a small hillock south of the family home. The now collapsed granary just west of town is the landmark I used to find the original gravesite. Not long after, my Great-Grandfather donated two acres of his land for a cemetery. The collapsed granary, small hillock, and the cemetery can no doubt be seen from the windows in Bill and Holly’s home which now occupies most of the original homestead. When Joseph Schoch passed away in 1923, he was buried not far from his son.

And so, life continues, and as this pandemic passes as it surely will take heart in the words of singer-songwriter Chad Sugg, “If you're reading this...Congratulations, you're alive. If that's not something to smile about, then I don't know what is.”