The Great Stay Away: Pandemic in Minnesota: In repeat

By Clare Bender, Anoka County Historical Society, Sep 25, 2020

Minnesota is a state where people love to connect. Whether it’s over mini doughnuts and corn on the cob at “The Great Minnesota Get-Together” or a concert at the Orpheum, Minnesotans love to unite and commiserate over our state’s nasty habit of hurling winter snowstorms at us in April. These days, because of the coronavirus, instead of Minnesotans “getting together,” we are being told to stay away from each other.

A pandemic is not new to Minnesotans. We’ve been here before.

About 100 years ago, streets and businesses looked very similar to today: no pedestrians and closed store signs. In 1918, as World War I was still raging on, another battle started. The influenza outbreak (a.k.a the “Spanish Flu”) spread its rampage.

Mortality was high for those under age 5, between 20 and 40, and those 65 and older. The high mortality rate for those in their 20s to 40s made this pandemic particularly unique.

One of the likely ways the flu arrived in Minnesota was via the men of the Student Army Training Corps (SATC), who would have contracted the virus through their travels. The University of Minnesota’s campus, which had become a military training camp for the SATC, a similar idea to the Reserve Officers’ Training Corps (ROTC), was hit particularly hard with influenza as many reported cases were SATC soldiers and nurses.

Life changed dramatically for Minnesotans. The University of Minnesota’s campus suspended classes until later fall. Local hospitals became overcrowded and supplies dwindled. Churches, theaters, schools, and public places closed their doors in order to help slow the spread of the virus.

According to History.com, “Officials in some communities imposed quarantines, ordered citizens to wear masks and shut down public places, including schools, churches and theaters. People were advised to avoid shaking hands and to stay indoors, libraries put a halt on lending books and regulations were passed banning spitting.”

It’s in times like this that we are encouraged as we see people start to come together to support their communities, neighbors, and hospitals.

Here are a few stories from 1918 of people showing compassion and civic duty in Minnesota.

Public servants stepped up to educate their communities in various ways. According to one public health report, “Postal workers, Boy Scouts, and teachers were enlisted to provide educational materials to the public and to teach health precautions. Mail carriers distributed educational materials on their routes. Boy Scouts distributed posters to stores, offices, and factories in downtown Minneapolis. Minneapolis teachers who were put out of work by the closing of schools were asked to volunteer for a health education campaign. The main goals of the campaign were to get rid of shared drinking cups, which were the precursor of the water fountain, as well as the roller towels, which were used to dry hands after washing. St. Paul teachers were sent ‘to ascertain the plight of families worst affected by the epidemic.’ This was accomplished through a canvas of homes where the teachers learned if anyone was sick, needed to see a physician, or needed food. St. Paul set up a public kitchen, a children’s home, and an emergency hospital for these cases.”

Unfortunately, for small towns, many doctors were on their own. In the southwestern town of Wabasso, Minnesota, Dr. Frank Brey was the community’s only physician. The doctor hired a driver who could drive him to surrounding towns; the doctor would sleep while on the road. “It probably took five years off his life,” a neighbor commented.

With doctors and nurses helping with the war effort and male medical students away at war, female medical students took charge. At the University’s pediatric unit, Pearl McIver, a nursing student, cared for children.

“There were 30 children varying in age from 2 to 10 years,” McIver wrote. “All were desperately sick, many had been picked up by policemen from homes where the parents were found dead or in a dying condition from influenza,” McIver said in her account of her first day.

Even though there were strict contact rules, McIver took off her mask and cap, so that she “look[ed] more like a human being” for the children as she held them.

This isn’t our first pandemic. We’ve been here before, and just like Minnesotans coming together in 1918, we are and will continue to come together with compassion, generous donations of time and talent, and a sense of duty to others until this virus ceases its ruthless spread.

Clare Bender is a volunteer for the Anoka County Historical Society.