Bill Lynch: Sonoma and the pandemic of 1918

In the spring of 1918, long before the advent of radio and television, our fellow Sonomans were already coping with death reports that came to them via the weekly Sonoma Index-Tribune as news of local boys killed in World War I reached home.

Local residents had already endured more than three years of mourning for our lost native sons.

The Index-Tribune was the means by which Sonomans kept up with the daily life and death news of the time. Too often, the I-T’s front page carried a report of a local young man cut down in the prime of his life halfway around the globe.

Having endured all of that sadness, many were optimistic about reports of a possible armistice.

They had no idea of the silent scourge lurking just beyond the horizon that was already killing our soldiers as they trained for war at a small Army camp in Kansas.

The illness was known as the “Spanish Flu,” but it probably did not originate in Spain. Wherever it originated, our country and the rest of the world were not equipped to combat it.

It came in three waves, the first starting in March of 1918. That fall it peaked in a second, and most deadly, wave, followed by a third wave in the winter and spring of 1919.

It was what we know today as an “H1N1 virus.” But then it was little understood. There was no vaccine to prevent it and no antibiotics to treat secondary infections.

When it was done, an estimated 500 million people, one-third of the world’s population, had been infected resulting in 50 million deaths worldwide.

In our little town, the I-T reported on bulletins from the U.S. Public Health Service that sound hauntingly similar to what we’re hearing today about the coronavirus.

It wasn’t until fall of 1918 that the I-T’s front page began to change dramatically and the full, terrifying impact of this early 20th century plague was felt. Family members, friends and neighbors became ill with flu-like symptoms. Some recovered, while others developed pneumonia and died.

Schools, churches and public halls were closed, but it was too late. The germs were already here and spreading, sometimes taking down entire families. It was particularly deadly for Sonoma’s children under the age of 5, as well as with the 20-to-40 generation and those over 65.

Although it must have been painful and terrifying for my grand aunt Celeste Murphy, the editor of the I-T at the time, she gathered the sad news from her fellow Sonomans and dutifully reported it on the pages of her newspaper.

Until our current crisis, I could not imagine how it must have felt to read or write such stories, especially knowing that any day, I, or someone dear to me, could be the next victim. It brings tears to my eyes to read those stories now, 100 years later. Here are just a few excerpts of too many such reports that appeared in the November 2018 issues of my family newspaper, and for many months thereafter:

“Beloved daughter called higher – Miss May Shafner…was called to eternal rest…she passed away after being taken to the hospital with influenza.”

“The trouble which has come to Mr. and Mrs. J.H. Sahfner is doubly sad as their son, Lt. Shafner of the Navy Submarine Service has been very ill in a base hospital…”

“Geo. W. Hooper Jr. dies of influenza, 31, died Monday…”

“The little daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Steinkamp has been ill with pneumonia and not expected to live…”

“Influenza is said to have broken out at the State Home (Sonoma State Hospital.)”

“Called to death… Doris Bluxome, only daughter of former Spreckels Superintendent, a victim of influenza.”

“Cannery Man’s wife dies… Mrs. Peter Quartaroli succumbs to pneumonia and leaves grief stricken family to mourn her…”