Disease has been a constant and unwelcome companion of ours throughout history. Hundreds of millions have died. Sometimes a contagion makes an appearance but somehow is contained-killing relatively few before it slipped away. At other times a disease will emerge and ravage a population, changing the course of history.
The Bible speaks of the plagues that struck Egypt. Greek historian Thucydides wrote about an unidentified plague that decimated Athens leading to its loss to Sparta in the Peloponnesian War. William Shakespeare named the suppurating sores of bubonic plague "God's Tokens". An estimated 100 million of America's indigenous people died of smallpox after European contact.
Nineteenth century Americans called cholera "The Grim Monster" because of its random ferocity. The bacteria swept through America in three deadly waves during the 19th century, the worst being the last one in 1849 - 1850. Originating in India, the water-borne pathogen found a perfect environment in America's crowded, unsanitary cities. The disease was unsparing, taking former President James Polk and Harriet Beecher Stowes' infant child, along with tens of thousands of other Americans.
The Monster came out of nowhere to rampage through the community. The disease did its work quickly. At times, it took just forty-eight hours from infection to death. The patients died horribly from massive and violent expulsion of bodily fluids. The skin turned black. Death followed severe convulsions. Due to rapid dehydration, the bodies were left in grotesquely contorted shapes.
No one knew what caused the disease. Some doctors blamed hot weather and advised people to stay inside during the hottest time of the day. Others pointed to alcoholic beverages. The ultra-religious preached that it was divine retribution for a sinful people, predicting the End of Days.
The "miasma" theory was the most widely accepted explanation. Breathing noxious vapors, it argued, collecting in the city's low areas triggered the infection. Ten thousand well-to-do residents fled Cincinnati's core to the surrounding seven hills.
Large braziers of coal were lit throughout Cincinnati to "cleanse" the air. Fireworks were periodically fired into the sooty air to stimulate the cleansing process. But the Grim Monster raged on.
Doctors were perplexed. They tried all of the standard "cures": opiates, cayenne pepper, peppermint, ipecac, and chlorine gas. But nothing seemed to work. A bottle of Gatorade would have been hailed as a Miracle Cure. Its salts, fluid and electrolytes replace those lost during the attack, restoring the patient to full health.
The 1850 epidemic hit Cincinnati hard. The city lost nearly 6,000 people, or 5% of its population, in 15 weeks, the most of any city in America. The church cemeteries soon ran out of burial space, forcing the authorities to use a new cemetery known as Spring Grove, located outside of the city.
Clermont County was not immune to the scourge. The county newspapers kept a running tally of the death tolls. The July 5th, 1850, edition of the Clermont Courier reported twelve deaths in Batavia, two in Williamsburg, "several" in Felicity, two in Owensville, three or four in Milford. A later edition of the paper reported nearly fifty deaths in New Richmond.
In Milford the outbreak started in the Montauk, Hamilton County area of the village. It was home to Irish laborers who worked for the Little Miami Railroad. Some residents blamed the Irish for the epidemic because they were Roman Catholics.
The disease struck with its characteristic speed and sudden randomness. The doctors' inability to stop the contagion led a young Milford diarist to write that it caused "...the villagers to lose all confidence in the physicians". A hospital was set up in the row houses on Milford's Main Street. The young diarist's father, a doctor, worked twenty-four hour days treating his nineteen patients.
The horror struck very close to the young man. His mother became sick. The boy was distraught. He wrote in his diary, " Oh, God must she die? If so, I will be a miserable being-my path through life will be a dreary one."
He was fortunate. His mother recovered. Forty-eight Milford residents, out of a population of 500, died.
The young man became a doctor.
A Note from the Author:
After the submission of this article, clues as to the identity of the Milford family began to surface. My family historian consultant, Hilda Lindner Knepp, using her genealogical sources confirmed that Dr. Leonard A. Hendricks, his wife Catherine and son Leonard, Jr. was indeed the same family. And then a funny, odd thing happened. The name of my maternal grandfather, Asa E. Paul, popped up on the screen. I am related to the Hendricks. It seems as though our families made a connection in the 16th century. Yet another reminder of how small this world really is.
So, greetings kinfolk.! If any of the descendants of Dr. Hendrick's read this, give me a call. We have a lot of catching up to do.
