The Orphan Collector

by Ellen Marie Wiseman

Therefore, it stood to reason that as long as everyone did what the Board of Health advised—kept their feet dry, stayed warm, ate more onions, and kept their bowels and windows open—they’d be fine.

“When obliged to cough or sneeze, always place a handkerchief, paper napkin, or fabric of some kind before the face,” or “Cover your mouth! Influenza Is Spread by Droplets Sprayed from Nose and Mouth!”

Even sauerkraut and hamburgers were renamed “liberty cabbage” and “liberty sandwiches.”

There was a little girl, and she had a little bird, And she called it by the pretty name of Enza; But one day it flew away, but it didn’t go to stay, For when she raised the window, in-flu-enza.

“Obey the laws and wear the gauze, protect your jaws from septic paws.”

Black meant the death of an adult; gray an elderly person; white a child.

“Formaldehyde tablets. Melt under your tongue. Proven to kill germs and prevent infection and contagion. Fifty tablets for fifty cents.”

“The churches and schools are to be closed,” she said. “All places for gathering, even the factories and moving picture houses, will not be open. No funerals are to be allowed either. Many people are getting sick, so everyone is to stay home.”

What are the authorities trying to do? Scare everyone to death? What is to be gained by shutting up well-ventilated churches and theaters and letting people press into trolley cars? What then should a man do to prevent panic and fear? Live a calm life. Do not discuss influenza. Worry is useless. Talk of cheerful things instead of disease.

One of Mutti’s favorite sayings was, “We may not have it all together, but together we have it all.”

Then she remembered what Mutti always said whenever she felt confused or unsure, “Just do the next thing.” Whether it was getting dressed in the morning or doing chores and homework, the best way to move through a complicated situation was to decide what needed to be done next and just do it.