During the last days of August 1918, Navy physician J.J. Keegan,
stationed at the Chelsea Naval Hospital overlooking the waters of Boston Bay,
began to hear rumors of an unusual epidemic taking form just across the bay at
Commonwealth Pier. Keegan had expected a slow August, stationed as he was far
from the European battlefields of the Great War. He had expected to find
himself treating the occasional sunburn or sour stomach as thousands of
inductees--strapping young men in the prime of life--passed through Boston en
route to taking on the Germans across the sea. But as news spread about an
illness sweeping through the large, noisy sailors' barracks known as the
Receiving Ship, Keegan considered how to fight a silent enemy just making its
presence felt on US shores.
Little did Keegan know that the influenza he was seeing was actually making its
second appearance in the US. It had likely originated at Fort Riley, Kansas,
the previous spring and accompanied unknowing troops across the Atlantic. Now,
the sailors filling the wards of Chelsea Naval Hospital quickly overwhelmed the
resources of medical professionals. The men Keegan saw were suffering from no
common flu--a nuisance ailment resulting in sniffles, aches, a low fever, and a
few days of bed rest. Rather, the sailors coming into Keegan's wards, many
displaying a bluish complexion with purple blisters, had been leveled by
hoarse, hacking breathes, barely supplying enough oxygen to keep them alive.
As confounded as doctors were about this ailment, they were certain of one
fact--this was no ordinary flu, and the number of its victims was growing.
Within just two weeks of its first appearance, two thousand officers and men of
the First Naval District had contracted influenza. As bracing as these numbers
were, more shocking to medical professionals was what was found within the
bodies of the dead: lungs soaked with a bloody, foamy fluid that seeped out
from beneath the physician's scalpel. What the fluid contained, what caused it
to drown the lungs, remained a perplexing mystery.
City officials in Boston were caught off guard when three civilians dropped
dead of influenza in early September. The epidemic had now moved beyond the
confines of the military and into the general population. A "Win The War for
Freedom" parade that marched through the streets of Boston featured 4000 men,
including 1000 sailors from Commonwealth Pier and 200 civilian Navy and
shipyard workers. This rousing display of patriotism did little to end the war,
and much to spread the deadly flu. Doctor John Hancock of the Massachusetts
Department of Health, sensing that perhaps the genie was already out of the
bottle, issued a statement warning that "unless precautions are taken the
disease in all probability will spread to the civilian population of the
city."
For young Dr. Keegan, these were deeply troubling days. Not only was he forced
to stand helpless as legions died before his eyes, he had to live with the
knowledge that he was exposing himself to their fate just by remaining within
their airspace. Additionally, Keegan and his colleagues began to question some
of the assumptions they had made about the science of infectious disease.
Theirs was the age of modern medicine; an age when scientists at last had a
grasp of how disease was caused and transmitted, and more importantly, how it
might be prevented and cured. Keegan and his colleagues now found themselves
chagrined, yet exhilarated, by the challenge before them. As they dove into
research and experimentation, the flu continued to cut a deadly
path along the Atlantic seaboard. Reports poured in of cases appearing at naval
bases from Rhode Island to Florida. As September 1918 drew to a close, Boston
had lost more than 1000 citizens to the silent, relentless killer. The deadly
influenza now posed a threat to the entire nation, and the world at large.
During the last days of August 1918, Navy physician J.J. Keegan,
stationed at the Chelsea Naval Hospital overlooking the waters of Boston Bay,
began to hear rumors of an unusual epidemic taking form just across the bay at
Commonwealth Pier. Keegan had expected a slow August, stationed as he was far
from the European battlefields of the Great War. He had expected to find
himself treating the occasional sunburn or sour stomach as thousands of
inductees--strapping young men in the prime of life--passed through Boston en
route to taking on the Germans across the sea. But as news spread about an
illness sweeping through the large, noisy sailors' barracks known as the
Receiving Ship, Keegan considered how to fight a silent enemy just making its
presence felt on US shores.
Little did Keegan know that the influenza he was seeing was actually making its
second appearance in the US. It had likely originated at Fort Riley, Kansas,
the previous spring and accompanied unknowing troops across the Atlantic. Now,
the sailors filling the wards of Chelsea Naval Hospital quickly overwhelmed the
resources of medical professionals. The men Keegan saw were suffering from no
common flu--a nuisance ailment resulting in sniffles, aches, a low fever, and a
few days of bed rest. Rather, the sailors coming into Keegan's wards, many
displaying a bluish complexion with purple blisters, had been leveled by
hoarse, hacking breathes, barely supplying enough oxygen to keep them alive.
As confounded as doctors were about this ailment, they were certain of one
fact--this was no ordinary flu, and the number of its victims was growing.
Within just two weeks of its first appearance, two thousand officers and men of
the First Naval District had contracted influenza. As bracing as these numbers
were, more shocking to medical professionals was what was found within the
bodies of the dead: lungs soaked with a bloody, foamy fluid that seeped out
from beneath the physician's scalpel. What the fluid contained, what caused it
to drown the lungs, remained a perplexing mystery.
For young Dr. Keegan, these were deeply troubling days. Not only was he forced
to stand helpless as legions died before his eyes, he had to live with the
knowledge that he was exposing himself to their fate just by remaining within
their airspace. Additionally, Keegan and his colleagues began to question some
of the assumptions they had made about the science of infectious disease.
Theirs was the age of modern medicine; an age when scientists at last had a
grasp of how disease was caused and transmitted, and more importantly, how it
might be prevented and cured. Keegan and his colleagues now found themselves
chagrined, yet exhilarated, by the challenge before them. As they dove into
research and experimentation, the flu continued to cut a deadly
path along the Atlantic seaboard. Reports poured in of cases appearing at naval
bases from Rhode Island to Florida. As September 1918 drew to a close, Boston
had lost more than 1000 citizens to the silent, relentless killer. The deadly
influenza now posed a threat to the entire nation, and the world at large.