Lessons from 1918 and the Spanish Influenza

I know. I know. The world is a scary enough place without ruining a fun loving "safe space" blog by dragging reality into the mix, right? I get it. Honestly, I do. But, we are also very big history buffs and so much has been forgotten by so many, that sometimes, it is incumbent upon the keepers of the secrets of history to share some tidbits that could make a difference when applied to current situations. So, here we go... 

In the 24 months between January 1918, and December 1920, a flu strain nicknamed "The Spanish Flu" infected an estimated 27-33% of the human population around the globe in at least two seperate waves. Of the 500 million infected, between 10 and 20% died of the affliction, or 50-100 million souls. In the United States alone, an estimated 675,000 people died. That is more than the combined number of US Military fatalities in all combined wars throughout that entire century, including WWI, WWII, Korea, Viet Nam, Iraq, and Afghanistan. 

Of those fatalities in the US, almost 1/3 would occur within one month, in October of 1918, when approximately 195,000 US citizens perished. The numbers are absolutely staggering and it was the second largest killer in human history behind only the original "black plague," when, between 1347 and 1351, the world population was halved when as many as 200 million souls, and entire cities, perished. 

In fact, in 1918, as a result, life expectancy statistics dropped by a full 12 years across the board. This was at a time when the world was estimated to have a population of about 1.9 billion. As of April 2019, we now stand at an estimated 7.7 billion, meaning that a similar virus today following the same path could infect 2 billion people worldwide and result in 200-400 million fatalities. 

All of those numbers are so large as to be almost meaningless. They are overwhelmingly large and incomprehensibly bad. It is not my intention to cause panic or send you running to the hills either. Rather, it is to look at the numbers, imagine how your community would deal with them, and start developing a plan of your own, because if we have learned anything in recent years, it is that NO ONE is coming to save you. 

In the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina in the Gulf, I went down early on as part of the relief efforts. Before that time, most of us in America had a reasonable expectation that in times of natural and overwhelming disasters, that someone would come and save us. After all, in the wealthiest nation in the history of the world, we ought to be able to sit out front of our ravaged home, or climb atop our rooftop during a flood and wait for the cavalry to come. 

For too many souls along the Gulf, however, no one ever came. Then, in the aftermath of Hurricane Maria in Puerto Rico, for all too many people, no help ever came. More recently, in the aftermath of the earthquakes, the government did not come riding in on white horses to save anyone. And these were all during times when there were one or two areas affected by disasters. Imagine if the entire nation (and the world) was gripped simultaneously in a state of disaster. NO ONE is going to be coming to help you. As the people of Puerto Rico have learned the hard way, you are essentially on your own, and you need to prepare for it on your own as well. 

Preparedness means breaking down the numbers and planning for your communities and neighborhoods and towns and counties, and understanding the sort of planning that may be required. 

For instance, here where we live in Rincon, Puerto Rico right now, there are about 15,000 residents. If the 1918 averages were applied, that would mean, we could reasonably expect to have 4,000 people sick and requiring care in a short time period, resulting in between 400 and 800 casualties. If the October of 1918 numbers held, there could be between 130 and 260 casualties in one month. Even if the second generation strain of Spanish Flu numbers did not follow, and we encountered the thus far established death toll of 2% of infected individuals, that would mean a community of 15,000, with an infection rate of 4,000 sick, could expect 80 deaths. 

The questions ought to be, how would we handle 500-1,000 sick people at once? The aftermath of Hurricane Maria backlogged overworked officials with bodies. What happens when we have several thousand? How would your community deal with several hundred bodies? Or even twenty? Doesn't sound like much until you tax a system that routinely manages one or two bodies per week with ten times the amount. Start experiencing those kind of losses several days in a row, and it becomes a crisis in and of itself.

What about fear and travel? From 1918, there are reports of communities creating road blockades with armed men, restricting travel in or out of towns and counties. It naturally didn't work to stop the virus from spreading, but if we live in a world of distrust of foreigners and anti-immigrant sentiments already, what would be the result of a pandemic? Currently, travel restrictions are alreayd being imposed to and from numerous parts of the world.

What about shortages, riots, and control? Will your community spiral into chaos when the food and gas trucks stop flowing in regularly? There is already talk of impending shortages of certain supplies based on manufacturing shutdowns in parts of China. If this thing spreads, how could it ultimately affect security in your community when necessities get scarce? How will your community retain order? How will an island, like Puerto Rico, where the vast majority of food and supplies are imported daily, cope with supply chains being severed for weeks or months?

A big reason the absolute numbers from 1918 are so up in the air with estimates have everything to do with disinformation. The world, after all, was in the grip of World War I, and none of the involved nations wanted information spreading that they were being hindered by such numbers of sick and dying citizens. 

In the United States newspapers and reporters even lived under the threat of being charged with violating the Sedition Act, and imprisoned, for giving citizens actual information about the virus, the spread, and the horrible numbers communities might expect when it reached them. As a result, the virus that would go on to kill three times as many citizens as the war itself would claim in US military losses, was vastly under-reported, and suppressed to the point of drifting into near obscurity within our collective memory. 

The virus itself, believed by many to have first risen within the US Military ranks from Kansas, was ultimately named "The Spanish Flu" because Spain was the only advanced nation freely reporting about the illness to their citizens and the rest of the world. Americans would read newspaper account about fantastic numbers of sick and dying patients in Spain over their evening meals, and have no idea the same story was being played out in the next town over, or believe it was actually happening in their own.

I was reminded of this as I listened to our own US President recently white-washing and downplaying Coronavirus threats. I am not saying that we should panic, or that this is the threat to end all threats, or that this virus is "the big one." Rather, that politics be damned, and that no politician can be entirely trusted to give us the whole truth about something so serious as a threat to national security, or the beloved stock markets. If it comes down to choosing between losing tens of thousands of citizens, or the economic health of a nation, history has shown time and time again which side they will ultimately come out on.

FDR once said "there is nothing to fear, but fear itself." He wasn't talking about disasters or pandemics, but it fits there too. While there are no numbers reportable, during the 1918 Spanish Flu, there are stories about entire families who were stricken ill. Some of these ultimately died of starvation in their sickbeds because fear stricken neighbors would not go near to lend aid or assistance, and no government or community planning had taken place to properly deal with the problem. 

That is preciesly the kind of fears that need to be planned for. In a worst case scenario, there will be communities torn apart, pandemonium and lawlessness in the streets, shortages resulting in food rioting and gas lines, and people starving to death in their sickbeds. That will be the sad fate of many communities who trust entirely in their governments. Hospitals already struggle to find space enough on any given day. What will your community do with a few hundred extra sick people when the big city hospitals are already full as well?

That is why I am writing this now. Entire sectors of Chinese manufacturing have shutdown, and military exercises and schools are being shuttered in Japan. As I write this on 2/27/2020, the current official virus count is 82,589 cases in 50 countries, with 2,814 fatalities. All that since January 22nd. The current estimated infection rate is that of each new case results in 2-3 new infections. In short, the horse is already out of the barn on this one. 

In Northern Italy, in Lombardy and Venetto, numerous communities are under government restrictions right now, and a US Airforce base there is being quarantined. New cases are being reported throughout Europe, the Middle East, and Asia. Meanwhile, the Dow Jones has had the worst week on record since the 2008 housing bubble burst.  

Time to panic? No. It is time to plan. Again, as governments have begun to restrict travel, close schools and cancel communal events, if the virus continues upon its deadly trend setting path, it is only a matter of time before it hits YOUR community. When it does, you can expect little in the way of outside help or resources because everything we have in the way of existing health and emergency services cannot appropriately handle single event large scale disasters with relatively small geographic distribution, let alone one that could simultaneouly cripple entire regions of the world and nation. 

I am not talking about the need to plan for you and your family and grabbing your bugout bags and heading into the hills. I am talking about the people with experience in disasters and community involvement and LOCAL government leaders, to begin talking immediately about what they can do to prepare for these kinds of scenarios in their communities and developing answers to problems before they arise. 

Like in 1918, the virus is most serious in the elderly and individuals with weakened immune systems, and these are the bulk of fatalities. However, like 1918, the virus likely has the ability to change as it spreads and develop more dangerous strains that can affect the young and healthy. 

If the federal government says it is bad, then things are probably much, much worse. In time, this too shall come to pass. It is mostly a matter of how well your community is prepared to deal with things. Planning or pandemonium? The choice is likely up to the least of us for each neighborhood, town, and county. 

Appearing Live at the Beach House in Rincon... a Beautiful Amazing Artist and a Giant Shrek Looking Guy

I can't even begin to tell you how much fun we have been having selling Lorri's art at The Beach House here in Rincon. Besides all of the beautiful sunsets, every night we get to meet awesome new people, and hang out with many of our favorite locals, not to mention our adopted island family on the staff.

Since not a night goes by that we don't get the same questions about us, I thought it might be a good time to tell a bit more of our story here. Not that we are important, or significant, but everyone has a story, and ours started... well, a long time ago...

The main street of Williamson, Iowa. Home to the Williamson Tavern and the world famous giant Papa Burger... and little else, the town boasts about 100 residents, but was once a coal mining boom town in the 1930s.

When I (Buzz) was a kid, I used to spend a lot of time in the tiny town of Williamson, Iowa. There wasn't much of anything to the place, but my father's best friend lived there, and they spent most weekends together drinking beer or hunting or fishing, or wasting time or cutting wood. They had grown up next door to each other in the 1940's and 50's in Chariton a few miles away and were basically inseparable. So when the friend married into a family in the town of Williamson, we all sort of became like family over time, and practically everyone in the little town was related somehow. 

Not a mule, or the actual girl in question, but your get the general idea.

So, I grew up running the streets of Williamson, and as there always is, there was a girl. She was the niece of my dad's best friend and we were born just four months apart. While I ran the town like a wild child with the other boys, she was not allowed to leave the yard. So, in protest, I suppose, she would throw mud pies at me whenever I ran by and yell at me. For my part, I would stick my tongue out and run, but always watching her over my shoulder curiously. She was the prettiest girl I had ever seen. 

She wasn't allowed to leave her yard, as I mentioned...unless she was riding a mule. Her father raised jumping mules for hunting and if she was on a mule, he knew they would take care of her and protect her no matter what. She, for her part, had always wanted a horse with a long and flowing mane. Not an ugly mule, with a coarse mane, and a strong disposition against galloping. 

So it was, that if you ask anyone who knew the town of Williamson back then if they remembered Lorri, they might say they didn't. But if you asked them if they remembered the little barefoot, dirty faced girl riding the mules all the time, they would know immediately who you were talking about. 

Since she so desperately had wanted a horse, she would run the mules up and down the only section of paved road if only to hear their hooves click clacking. She would ride them to the school and the mules would wait for her outside in the school yard. She would even charge a dime for the other kids to ride them sometimes if she was feeling particularly generous. But all that road riding would wear their hooves down to nothing and the mules, and the girl would end up grounded to the yard while the hooves grew back in time for hunting season. 

The WIlliamson School House where mules waited patiently for Lorri to get out class.

So, anyhow, I grew up going to her family events, and hanging out in this tiny town, and always, always having my eye on the little girl who rode the mules around town. Her parents signed my baby book. My parents signed hers. You could say that we had met. But like so many young people, I lived in a state of overwhelming self-consciousness and fear and despite dating once or twice, could just never bring myself to tell that girl how I felt about her. Foolishly, I let her slip through my fingers because I lacked the courage to reveal my feelings.

As they do, months turned to years, and we married and had children. She was as beautiful as ever, and was a successful professional. She was one of those people who seemingly had everything and had it all together. If she was seemingly out of my league and unobtainable in my youth, then she was even more so in adulthood. 

Lorri, the badass volunteer firefighter. One of the first female firefighters in Southern Iowa. 

Since our families remained close, and we lived in the same county all those years, we would see each other from time to time at weddings, or special events or ballgames. As my own life seemed less fulfilling and joyful each day, I felt less fear of telling her how I felt about her, as if I had nothing left to lose, and had already lost so much time. If only I had just thirty seconds alone I would tell her, but I only ever seemingly got less than ten. 

Thirty seconds. And then one day, at long last, there was a break in the crowd, and we were alone, for thirty seconds. Losing her, I told her, had haunted me every day of my life, and I just needed her to know that she was my person. The one I could never let go of. The one whose smile filled my dreams, both sleeping and awake, and whose laughter filled my heart. 

Traditional Southern Iowa hillbilly wedding, complete with brother-in-law turned pastor, and cornhole game in the background.

Beautiful princess and giant headed Shrek-like guy. Still don't know how that happened, but I am not questioning it.

As it turned out, we were neither one happy in our lives. So we set about in a different sort of direction, not in pursuit of happiness, per say, but deliberately and forcefully cutting the things from our lives that made us unhappy. 

We managed through the challenges of joining children and ex-spouses together into a cohesive, functioning unit, and the result is we have five wonderful adult children now, two beautiful daughter-in-laws, four grandchildren, and ex-spouses, who we probably get along with much better now than we ever used to. 

Move over Stone Henge. Meet Nebraska's Car Henge. Scientists still puzzle at how it was created.

For the last ten years of our life, we have travelled and seen some amazing, and slightly less than amazing things together. 

Oktoberfest in Lacrosse, Wisconsin. POLKA! POLKA! POLKA!

We grew in our professional careers. Finished raising our family. And even raised a few goats together (another story).

The Grand Canyon.

Then, a little over a year ago, Lorri had back surgery. As it turned out, she also had a rare condition that caused blood clots in her legs from her knee to her hip that was revealed post-surgery. Were it not for my diligent daily visual inspection of her legs (you're welcome!) she probably would have died. 

Truthfully, I almost lost her anyhow. And that was enough. It was enough to remind us that there was no amount of money worth me spending 200 days on the road away from her as a union representative. Enough to remind us that most folks we know plan and dream and save for days that never come, or lose their good health the day after they retire. Or watch as 401k's are wiped out, or pensions dissolved. There simply are NO guarantees in life.

As we dropped our youngest off at college last fall, we determined that, come hell or high water, we were making some changes. We weren't putting things off. We weren't waiting for perfect timing. We just did it. 

Six years ago, we started coming to Puerto Rico instead of the Florida Keys when we discovered cheap flights and cheaper Airbnbs. Two years ago, we almost accidentally "discovered" the west side. The rest is history. We were immediately hooked. The beaches. The vibe. The people. Forget about it. There is nowhere else. Not for us. 

So, we dropped our daughter off at college, sold or donated or tossed everything. Left high paying professional careers, and moved to Rincon for the winter to "figure out what we want to be when we grow up the second time around." Like the happiness thing... we only knew what we didn't want to do. 

Lorri had grown up around a grandfather who was a woodworker. She was enamored with the smell of sawdust. But she had never touched a saw before. And she can't draw to save her life. But when we moved to Rincon, she immediately set out to be an artist working with wood instead of a training and quality medical professional at a non-profit blood center. 

We rented a house, filled the garage with a bunch of saws, and I went inside to write, waiting for the inevitable pinterest fails and trips to the emergency for stitches. It would take, I figured, about a year for her to turn out something art-worthy. 

Lorri's first scroll saw trees ever.

She was out there for about four hours when she came in and showed me her palm trees. Cut by hand on a scroll saw by a girl who can't draw and had never made a cut before. Now, I can draw a tree, but I can't cut shit with a scroll saw. It is a skill... or an artform, that I do not, nor will I ever, possess. It is as if she, however, was born using the thing though. She draws the rough shape, and then cuts all the details to match the vision in her head. She never ceases to amaze and inspire me.

The Beach House in Rincon

Lorri under the red tent at The Beach House in Rincon, Puerto Rico

Which brings us to The Beach House. How? Why? The answer is simple really... we were already there! 

To say we were Beach House regulars is a bit of an understatement. We would go and watch the sunset and stay late drinking and meeting people. Then, many mornings, we would wake up, talk about what we wanted for breakfast, and end up right back at The Beach House for mimosas with Steak and Eggs or Eggs Benedict. Mmmmm. 

We loved the food, the atmosphere, the staff, the owners, and all of the people we met there. You almost never meet anyone at The Beach House in Rincon who is in a bad mood, or having a bad day. Rather, it is a meeting place for people who are celebrating life, and sunsets, and morning whale spotting. 

So, when Lorri was ready to debut her art, Kevin, the owner, said why go anywhere else? Basically, he gave us permission to set up a tent and tables around the spot in the smoking section where we were already spending most of our time anyhow. It was more or less as if we were already there, and the art show just sort of grew up around us. 

As a result, our first winter here in Rincon has been nothing short of awesome. We plan to be set up every night from now until Easter at The Beach House between the hours of 4pm and 9pm, give or take an hour or two, IF we can keep enough art on hand to justify setting up a table. Our goal of basically paying for our nightly beer and food tab has been blown out of the water as tourists and locals come to visit and take home a piece of Lorri's work. 

She now spends most days in her workshop from sunrise until setup time, filling special orders and working on commissioned pieces, while my life has been reduced to that of a roadie for an artist, setting up tables and tents, and burning up the road buying wood and blades and paint brushes and espressos and everything an artist needs to keep creating. 

Through it all, we are having the time of our lives. We meet amazing new people every night and have developed friendships that we will take with us wherever we go. And while we aren't quite ready to settle down and never leave a place forever, we can never imagine a winter that doesn't end in coming home again... to the people and beaches of Rincon. 

Summer Adventure 2020 coming soon... 

Her name is LuLu, and she is a toy hauler with room enough in back for an art studio!

Come and see us at The Beach House nightly between 4pm and 9pm! Lorri has several new pieces making their debut tonight.

Oh yeah... having too much fun with us? The Beach House has rooms for rent onsite as well, so no need to drink and drive and breakfast and mimosas start at 7am daily while you watch the whales.

Thanks for reading!

Buzz & Lorri Malone