The Great Influenza, Polio, Covid, and me

 

Living History During a Time of Pandemic

By Jason S. Lantzer, Ph.D.

 

In the initial days of the Covid-19 pandemic, like most people I was left scrambling. Sure, there was the distraction of Tiger King, and while I wasn’t thrilled with the notion of being on lockdown, driving all over to find toilet paper, or missing out on seeing my students, some professional plans, nor trying to balance working from home while also making sure my children took to e-learning, it wasn’t all bad. Life slowed down, we had more family time, and despite the stress and fear, we were managing to get by.

As March gave way to April, I watched as some people turned to religious leaders, others to scientists and medical professionals, and still others to politicians—all seeking guidance about the “why” of the pandemic and the “what” they should do next. I listened and watched more than one press conference by school boards and politicians (at the local, state, and national level)—parroted by news media—that what we were facing was “unprecedented” and that we were in uncharted waters.”

Those words and phrases grated on my historian’s ears.  We had survived pandemics before—and not just in the distant pass. I had barely started my teaching career when we were faced with H1N1 (the swine flu), which had led to a race to get a vaccine---literally, I drove my then toddlers to a CVS that had some children’s doses and even quarantines of those who (like one of my students) contracted it.  And I knew, from some of my own work that we’d faced something similar nearly a century ago: The Great Influenza.

If we were searching for context, I reasoned, how we had dealt with the influenza outbreak that ravaged the globe from about 1917-1921, gave it to us. Here was a pandemic that seemingly appeared out of nowhere (spurred on by soldiers going to training camps and then being shipped off to fight the Great War—all while living in close quarters), had caused mask wearing (and opposition to doing so), lockdowns and closures (including of churches and schools), and had strained public health resources. My favorite historical fact was that in my home state of Indiana, confectionary shops were considered essential businesses during the pandemic—recognizing not only the American sweet tooth and importance of small businesses, but also that comfort food was seen as essential! 

For a time, the Great Influenza example was my historical frame of reference. True, it wasn’t a perfect fit to our times, but it was similar enough to disprove the “unprecedented” talk that I continued to hear on the news. It also gave me an outlet to do some research and revisit some of my earlier work. Just a few months before the pandemic hit, I had completed a manuscript dealt with the Great War.  As such, I reread John Barry’s The Great Influenza. I had first read Barry earlier in my career, while working on a project that dealt with the eugenics movement—in large part because, as a colleague pointed out, he does a great job describing the then new public health  establishment, many of whose members were also advocates of eugenics. The Great Influenza became my “go to” recommendation for grappling with Covid-19.

However, there was an element missing from thinking about the 1918 flu and our current situation. The public health aspects were similar enough, but as the Covid-19 pandemic marched into the summer I realized there was something missing.  The flu came in waves. Covid seemed to never leave us. Influenza, even in 1918, was common (and common place—throughout the twentieth century, about every decade after would see an influenza pandemic hit the United States, often with death tolls above 100,000 people). Covid was (as its full name implied) “novel”—it was new and seemed to strike people without warning, with widely different outcomes.  It was that fear that anxiety, that was missing in what I was reading about the Great Influenza, when comparing it to our own time.

A colleague suggested that I read David Oshinsky’s Polio: An American Story. I knew of the book but had never picked up a copy. But I also knew something about polio, because my grandfather had survived it.

About three years before this picture was taken, my grandfather, Paul Rose, was stricken with polio. Prior to the late 1940s, polio had been considered a childhood disease and a debilitating one at that, for not only did it have the potential to kill children, but even survivors were often left physically wrecked, sometimes even paralyzed. But the disease, which struck fear into communities and parents alike, also appeared to be random. Medical professionals were not entirely sure how it spread or why outbreaks happened when or where they did.  Most effort was put into rehabilitation and mitigation. Americans knew the disease not just personally, but also because President Franklin Roosevelt had suffered from it (hiding the extent of his paralysis) and had openly supported research efforts. It was not until after World War II that the great vaccine race took place. And by then, it did so with a sense of urgency.  Polio cases were growing, and the reach of the disease was expanding. Increasingly healthy teenagers and twenty-year-olds were also contracting it.

Such was the case for my grandfather. He was a barely in his teens, a farm boy from rural Estill County, Kentucky when he contracted it. He was physically fit and known for his ability to tame horses. He was the one of four living children to Fred and Myrtle Rose. And now he was paralyzed, and bedridden. He was seen by a doctor, but for how long (or even if) he was hospitalized or if he had to spend time in an iron lung remains unclear. What matters though is the conversation my great grandfather had with him at some point after the diagnosis.

The Rose farmhouse was two stories, the four children (two boys and two girls) shared the two bedrooms upstairs. I imagine my great grandfather carrying my grandfather up the staircase.  My great grandparents had lost a child to illness (my mother was eventually named for her), and the man I one day knew as Papa Fred was determined not to lose another. He sat on the edge of my grandfather’s bed, after days spent working on the farm, and massaged my grandfather’s legs. As he did so, he looked directly into my grandfather’s eyes and repeated, “my boy will walk again.”  Whether it was prayer, plea, or a demand, it became a mantra and went on for days and then weeks. He rigged up an apparatus of wood and rope, that helped my grandfather build up strength and steady himself to stand. And slowly but surely, the strength in his legs returned.

My grandfather survived polio. He went on to live a good life, marrying, moving to Indiana, working in a factory (where he stood and walked all day—five or six days a week), raised a family, farmed, and eventually moved back to the family farm in Kentucky where he and my grandmother still live today. But his story made real to me what Oshinksy wrote about. It was a fact I had known, but not the details. I was lucky enough to know my great grandparents. I know that my Granny Myrtle likely prayed for, worried over, and cooked whatever my grandfather wanted. And in my mind, I can hear the mantra of my Papa Fred “my boy will walk again.”  A statement of hope mixed with fear. 

And it was that sense of fear, of anxiety, that had been missing in my own analysis of Covid-19. The pandemic isn’t just clinical and surely shouldn’t be political. It is a reminder that we cannot control everything, indeed that our mortality is real, and is fragile, that life and the way we live in the United States is a privileged one (even if it is far from perfect)—and that it can be taken away seemingly at random. But framing our current times with the stories of the Great Influenza and polio should also remind us that there is hope for a better tomorrow. Or, to paraphrase my great grandfather, that we will walk again.

First Rebel Bulldog Amazon Review!

Today I found that Rebel Bulldog has received its first Amazon Review! My thanks to "Beth" for buying the book for her dad, and then posting the following:

"Bought it for my dad and he loved it!"

 Apparently so, as she (or he) gave it five stars!


As an author, all of the above is gratifying of course, and in the Age of Amazon, it doesn't get much better than 5 stars.  So, thank you Beth, I'm glad your dad liked the book, and hope others do as well.

Disney, Dali, and the Nazis

The spring semester is always a busy time in my office. This year, it is even more so, as I am working on a variety of projects in addition to the normal ebbs and flows of teaching and helping to administer our honors program -- not to mention all the activities going on at home! And yet, on this grey February day, I'm compelled to write an impromptu book review of a book I bought on a whim!

The book is W. Scott Poole's Wasteland: The Great War and the Origins of Modern Horror (2018). I became familiar with Dr. Poole from his work on the Civil War, some of which I read while working on Rebel Bulldog.  Like many academics, myself very much included!), Dr. Poole has more than one interest.  In his case, it is horror as a genre in popular culture.  While this isn't one of my interests, as I'm currently working on a book about the Great War, the book peaked my interest -- in part because last year I team taught a course on "Germans in America and Americans in Germany" with a colleague who has written on the topic of horror and who did a wonderful lecture about the impact World War I had on literature, art, and film. So, when I saw a social media post about the book, I ordered it, to see what it might bring to my own scholarship as well as to share with my colleague.

For all but two paragraphs, I was not disappointed. Poole's writing style is engaging, his narrative coherent and wide-ranging, and I walked away from the book feeling educated. Even at points where I didn't agree with his analysis, I understood and appreciated where he was coming from, and more often than not, I felt better about my own interpretation because I'd been forced to really think about it.  But the two paragraphs in question were about Disney, and they almost caused me to close the book before I was finished in despair.

The paragraphs come out of a discussion about Salvador Dali. I'll not rehash Poole's thesis about Dali (which largely jived with what I knew and was informative about things I didn't know), which is longer than the two specific Disney related paragraphs, and perhaps that's what bothered me first and foremost.  Walt Disney is tacked onto a section about Dali, because the  two worked together on the long gestating "Destino". Why became my first question: The Dali section of the book would have been fine without it.  Disney, on the surface, seems to be a difficult fit in a book about horror to begin with.  Perhaps Poole just wanted to "name drop" and add another line to his index.

Unfortunately, that is not the case. The two paragraphs do talk about "Distino" but then Poole opts to talk about Walt as a confirmed anti-Semite with a "sympathy for fascism" (194).  Indeed, that Walt was a secret Nazi, a fifth columnist of the most dangerous type, is confirmed by the fact that he ran a company that fought unionization, spoke out against communism, and likely (Poole is careful here to say that it is assumed but uncorroborated) attended meetings of the American Nazi Bund movement. In the end, the two paragraphs give us little information about Dali (in whose section they appear) and rehash old charges against Walt in what amounts to a deliberate smear.

Of course, I am a Disney historian, so such charges are nothing new. Indeed, I talk the charges of anti-Semitism against Walt, as well as the strike, his anti-communism (and lots of other things beside) in Dis-History.  And no, as I told a colleague, I do not agree with Poole's assessment. Neither, I think would most Disney historians, and it isn't because we are all in league with the family or the company. It is because the truth does not jive with the facts that we know, nor the evidence (including testimonials from Jewish employees).  None of that takes away from the fact that Walt (a real person) said things about particular people who were Jews that have the tinge of anti-Semitism about them, things perhaps we (and maybe even he) wish he hadn't said.  But such utterances do not make him a Nazi (anymore than similar kinds of statements make Franklin Roosevelt one).

And I'm not writing to defend those statements, even when put into the context of the time they were said, they were hurtful, and within the context of our time, a time that comes after the Holocaust, to seem even more so. Poole's source for some of the two paragraphs is Niel Gablor's work on Disney, and if that were his only source, it would be enough to say that perhaps Poole wanted to include a bit more on Disney, grabbed the nearest book, saw what he wanted to see, and used it for a note -- after all, we are only talking about two paragraphs--and in a section that isn't even about Disney, in a book that really has nothing to do with Walt. Except, those aren't the only two sources.  Poole cites two website/blogs sources, which at best can be considered outside the mainstream (and quite possibly, on the fringe.  If you are interested, dear readers, take a look at Paste or Dazed, the two websites in question).  It is actually these sources, not Gabler, where most of the salacious "details" Poole opts to include, seem to come from.  And unlike Gabler, these articles are light on sources and clearly have an agenda (one might disagree, and many have--including me, with Gabler's interpretation of facts, but his is still a largely scholarly biography of Walt). It is almost as if Gabler wasn't the first source at all, but rather the more reputable one that was included with these two articles to provide a bit of "cover."

That is disappointing, because it need not have been that way. Poole might have opted to mention Disney in connection to Dali.  Or not at all. Or he could have gone deeper.  He could have talked about Walt's service in World War I (which, after all, is the topic of his book) as part of the Red Cross ambulance corps in 1919.  He might have even gone into how Walt was different than some of the other people he chronicled -- Disney did not go down the horror route, instead seeking other artistic routes.  He could have mentioned the things he mentions, and provided context.  And he might have found it difficult to sustain the charges of "Walt as a Nazi", had he bothered to talk about Disney's work on behalf of the United States government during the war.  Of course, doing those things might have lead to different conclusions -- and a different book.  And of course, that's the easiest thing in the world for a reviewer to do:  Demand that the author have written something else.  In the end, Poole, wrote what he wrote.

As I've styled this post in the vein of a book review, I'll now end it as I do my more formal reviews, with a recommendation. If you are interested in how World War I helped create the genre we know as horror, Poole's book is an excellent place to begin.  It will introduce you to a who's who of people and works, from many different countries.  But don't take it as the gospel truth (to borrow a line from "Hercules") when it comes to Disney. There are other, better sources, than the ones Poole opted to use when it comes to such things.

The Public Historian Review of Dis-History

It was a very nice surprise this afternoon to find notification that Dis-History has been reviewed by The Public Historian. For those of you not familiar with The Public Historian, it is the premier academic journal for public history practitioners. One of the key arguments I advanced in Dis-History was that Walt Disney was a public historian (of a kind) and utilized the past in helping form and advance a version of American culture. As such, it was a real honor for me to have Dis-History reviewed in the journal that is such a part of the public historian's craft.

The review concludes with the following line:
"All in all, this book should appeal to Disney scholars, public historians, and anyone who is interested in the significance of theme parks."

The review can be found in the November 2018 issue of The Public Historian.  My thanks to the journal and to the reviewer!

Indiana Holiday Authors Fair

A week ago for the second year in a row, I had the good fortune to take part in the Indiana Historical Society's annual authors fair. All Saturday afternoon, I got to meet with the book buying public, talk about Rebel Bulldog, and even sell some books!  One result was being asked to give a talk about the Davidson family in their neighborhood at some point in 2019.  Another was being included in the Indianapolis Star's list of books the public should consider buying!  You can see the complete list here.

This year has been an exciting one, and I'm very much look forward to where next year will take me.

The Age of Jackson and Rebel Bulldog

I have a deep love of history, both personally and professionally.  When I was in graduate school, while my cohort was encouraged to find a topic and area to specialize in, I was told by more than one professor that while that was necessary, we needed to be trained and cross trained in different areas of history. As such, though I was trained to be an American Historian, specializing in 20th century US History -- I was also cross trained in 19th century US, Indiana, Global/Transnational, and Religious History as well. That training has served me well, allowing me to teach a wide variety of classes and to indulge that love of history by reading and thinking broadly about the past.

Earlier this semester, I started listening to the Age of Jackson podcast, done by Daniel Gullota. It is a wonderful podcast, bringing historians together to talk about their books or important books about the Jacksonian period in American History (roughly the 1810s-1840s). One day this Fall, I happened to see a Twitter post from the podcast asking for book recommendations for future episodes. I contacted Daniel about the possibility of including Rebel Bulldog on the podcast. We chatted about how a book about the Civil War could fit into the Age of Jackson. While I made a good argument, I think what ultimately helped to win him over was Governor Noah Noble and the Beechers!  :) 

A few weeks ago, Daniel and I talked for over an hour on the phone. The interview was lots of fun to do and was wide ranging -- talking not just about the themes of the book, but also the process of researching and writing history. It was a great deal of fun. And so, I am very proud to have Episode 52 of the Age of Jackson podcast be on Rebel Bulldog.  My thanks to Daniel and I hope you enjoy listening to us discuss Rebel Bulldog!

Disney Walk In

We are currently in the midst of registration for next semester, a semester that will see me offer the Disney class for the third time. I'm of course pleased that students want to take the class -- it's filled again and has a wait list already, and we still have several days left for registration.

And that is, of course gratifying.  But even more so was something that happened today at the office.  The father of one of a Butler student came in to see me unannounced. His purpose was to get my book on Disney autographed. His family, like ours has a "Disney Problem," his daughter happened to see my book in the campus bookstore, and sent him a picture.  As he was visiting on campus today, he bought a copy and came by to see me.  We had a pleasant chat and he walked out with a signed edition of Dis-History!