Here Is Where: Discovering America's Great Forgotten History

by Andrew Carroll

Some small towns warned would-be visitors to keep their distance. In Meadow, Utah, the lone public health officer drove out to the borderline and erected a makeshift sign that declared THIS TOWN IS QUARANTINED—DO NOT STOP. But ultimately his efforts were futile; the postman had already been infected and unknowingly spread the virus throughout Meadow. With the threat of death ever present, people went insane with grief. A Chicago man who could no longer bear the sight of his wife and four children suffering from influenza was overheard raving, “I’ll cure them my own way!” before slitting their necks. Throughout it all President Wilson remained silent. On October 12 he personally led a war-bond parade in Manhattan, attracting a cheering throng of twenty-five thousand. Within a week, an additional two thousand New Yorkers were dead. After cresting in October, infections began to dip nationwide in November and then rise again one month later. Another, less punishing wave swept the country in March 1919, and then, as suddenly as the disease had appeared almost a year earlier, it was gone. Determining with absolute certitude where, down to the square foot, influenza attacked its first victim isn’t possible. Nor is it likely that the real patient zero will ever be identified, though in all probability it was a local farmer infected by a sick bird. But what strikes me while standing in the middle of South Inman Street and looking at this small oasis of homes surrounded by corn, mi...