Articles
(Originally published by The Cecil Observer)
Spanish flu epidemic killed more than 150 in Cecil County
By David Healey
Flu fears are beginning to subside in Cecil County and surrounding areas as the so-called H1N1 virus or “swine flu” shows itself to be less deadly than when it surfaced in Mexico.
Yet flu remains something to take seriously, officials warn, especially when the historical record indicates that the world is overdue for a dangerous pandemic. The Spanish flu that struck worldwide in 1918-19 is often cited as the deadliest outbreak of the disease in modern times. An estimated 20 million to 50 million people died of the flu or complications such as pneumonia.
Even rural Cecil County was affected, with Spanish flu hitting hardest in the fall of 1918 into early 1919. All told, the Spanish flu or the pneumonia that was a secondary infection killed 157 Cecil County residents.
According to an article by Greg Birney in the Fall 2003 Cecil Historical Journal, Spanish flu became so rampant that the Cecil County Board of Health ordered all public gatherings suspended. Schools around the county, including West Nottingham Academy, were closed. Nearby Delaware College (now the University of Delaware) was turned into a hospital, according to Birney, with 135 cases of flu among the 425 students. (Interestingly, several cases of the most recent flu were reported at UD.)
The flu struck at the height of World War I, but the draft was canceled in Cecil County rather than send local sons to be among the 24,000 young men who died of Spanish flu in military camps nationwide.
In Philadelphia, the city experienced its deadliest day on record, with 289 people dying of the flu on Oct. 6, 1918.
The death rate from Spanish flu and pneumonia here in Cecil County was smaller, but no less tragic for the community. All through October 1918, the front page of the Cecil Democrat newspaper was filled with the obituaries of local people claimed by the epidemic.
The Cecil County Board of Health reported: “… a number of patients critically ill, with our list of physicians greatly reduced by war service, and several of those left in the county themselves suffering from influenza, the situation is exceedingly grave …”
From the death reports in the Cecil Democrat, it is clear that the disease did not just attack old and frail. Most of the death notices were for Cecil County residents in their teens, 20s and 30s. For example, the Cecil Democrat of Oct 5, 1918 carried an obituary for William P. Rowan, 36, of Elkton, a former farmer and lately employed “at the new Government plant at Perryville.”
Also among the flu victims were Miss Maud S. Winchester, 34, of Frenchtown, and John Dawson of Perryville, 42. Many of the working men who died left behind wives and children, which meant a devastating loss on an emotional and financial level. Without a strong family support system, poverty might loom after the loss of the breadwinner.
News also filtered home of local men who died of flu while serving in the military. The Cecil Democrat reported the fate of one soldier from Elkton, Sgt. Frank C. Groetzinger, age 25, who succumbed at Camp Greenleaf in Georgia.
The epidemic in Cecil County ended by late February 1919, with the Spanish flu virus disappearing as mysteriously as it had arrived.
(Editor’s note: Thanks to the Historical Society of Cecil County for help with researching this article. The Cecil Democrat from 1918 is available there on microfilm.)
REFLECTIONS ON WRITING AND RUNNING
(Originally published in Running Times magazine)
Because I'm a writer and a runner, I've often noticed that setting pen to paper is a lot like setting foot to pavement. Both take will power and the ability to go the distance. Writers and runners enjoy a challenge, something to test their limits, like finding a good metaphor or tackling a five-mile run.
Considering that writers turn to the same inner place as runners, it's surprising that there are no great novels about running. Whole shelves are filled with novels about baseball and fishing and even football. There aren't any writers who are famous for their running. Maybe running isn't glamorous enough. Or maybe it's not possible to fully capture the intangibles of running?
That's too bad, because running can open up the senses as much as the pores, especially during those runs away from the blacktop. In my head, I try to compose descriptions of leaves crackling under my running shoes or the squish-squelch of wet grass. On my laptop computer, however, the words get all tied up in double knots.
For those who have felt it, a good run builds like a good story. Those first strides as I find my rhythm are like the opening lines of a novel: It is a crisp autumn evening when I set out on my run, heading for the trails along the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal. (PROLOGUE.)
Cold wind rubs like sandpaper across my puffing cheeks. (RISING ACTION)
I come to a hill, pumping my arms and leaning into the grade. Halfway up, a cramp gnaws at my side. (CONFLICT)
Then I coast down the hill, the cramp gone, the cool air smelling of leaves and so rich my lungs can't get enough. (THE DENOUEMENT)
Back at the edge of town, the wild land gives way to yards and gardens. I sprint the final few hundred feet to the house, energized by that fall air. The water is blue as a vein and the sky is turning cobalt as I coast to a stop. (EPILOGUE)
That final sprint felt great. After all, most runners, like most writers, enjoy a good ending.
Chesapeake City seeks to sell 1911 firehouse, town hall for $1
By David Healey
FIRE! was once a cry that brought volunteers running to pull open the double doors of the Chesapeake City firehouse and bring out the horse-pulled engine that was state-of-the-art firefighting equipment in 1911.
Today, the old firehouse sits empty on Biddle Street on the north side of town, having survived being floated across the C&D Canal, a stint as a lunch counter for hungry canal workers, and countless meetings of the Chesapeake City town board.
You won't hear shouts of "Fire!" anymore, but you might hear cries of "Save me!"
Chesapeake City officials are looking for someone to buy the building. The town doesn't have the funds to restore the firehouse or any real use for the structure.
At the same time, town officials said they hope that Chesapeake City's original firehouse and all its history can still be saved. And at the asking price of $1 for someone willing to restore the building, you might say it's a real fire sale.
"It has so much history," said town Councilwoman Rebecca Mann as she led a tour of the building Monday. "It was one of the first firehouses in the state. I would be so disappointed to see the building torn down. I would hate to see another one of the oldest buildings on this side of town be destroyed. It just seems like a shame to lose another one."
The building was once located in south Chesapeake City, but was moved in 1925 when the Chesapeake and Delaware Canal was widened.
"Basically, it used to be right about where the middle of the canal is now," said Councilman Lee Collins as he poked around the interior. "It was floated across on a barge to Schaefer's Wharf."
Once at its new home, the building continued to house fire apparatus until a new firehouse was built behind it in the 1940s. For a brief time, the structure was home to a luncheonette frequented by construction workers building the Chesapeake City bridge.
By the 1950s, the firehouse doors were enclosed and the building was converted into the Chesapeake City town hall. It remained in use until the 1980s administration of Mayor Roy Mann - Rebecca's father - when town hall was moved to the former County Bank building on the south side.
The Northside Neighborhood Association assumed ownership for several years and undertook some renovation work, pulling up the damaged wooden floor and stripping the downstairs to the studs. According to group member Flo Craig, an attempt was made to raise funds toward restoring the building, but the fundraising simply fell short. The neighborhood group has since returned ownership to the town.
Town officials explained they have an obligation to see the building either fixed up or removed, just as they would expect any other private building owners to maintain their property.
"If we don't do anything with our own property, we can't expect them to do anything with theirs," Collins said.
The post-and-beam firehouse appears to be structurally sound. There is no functioning wiring, plumbing or heating system, but there is a chimney. The building is on a concrete foundation and slab. The downstairs ceilings are high to allow for those long-ago firetrucks.
The upstairs that once served as the town meeting room is in fairly good shape, with the walls and ceiling covered in original bead board siding. A ladder leads to an attic. The exterior of the building is badly in need of a paint job, but the wood clapboard siding appears to be in relatively good condition.
Town officials said they are willing to consider any possibility that would preserve the historic firehouse. A new owner could move the building, or maybe buy or lease the town property it sits upon. The old firehouse has potential for a private residence or a business.
"Make us an offer we can't refuse," Collins said.
To learn more about the firehouse, call town hall at (410) 885-5298.
Tree-mendous trip to the Adkins Arboretum
By David Healey
Tucked away in a corner of Caroline County is the Adkins Arboretum, a 400-acre parcel of woods and fields, streams and swamps, all crisscrossed by meandering trails.
The purpose of this "living museum" is to preserve plants and wildlife native to the Delmarva Peninsula while educating the public about these native species. Founded in 1980 by the state of Maryland, the arboretum is now operated by a non-profit organization.
I visited there with my family on a Sunday in early March. We still needed our coats but the late winter sunshine was warm on our faces. Perfect day for a hike in the woods, sheltered from the wind. In fact, right now may be the best time for a visit because locals say the black flies get nasty in the summer.
Before setting out down the trail, we stopped in the visitors’ center, reached by crossing a footbridge over a branch of Tuckahoe Creek. The sluggish water moved through a wetlands presided over by a massive sculpture of a Blue Heron. Only a handful of cars sat in the parking lot just beyond. We pretty much had the woods, trails, marsh and fields to ourselves.
Inside, we picked up a trail map, checked out the gift shop and looked over an exhibit of local landscape artists. None of the paintings and photographs compared to the views beyond the windows.
A few minutes later we were hoofing it down a wide gravel trail. We crossed another small bridge and entered the woods - or Riparian forest, as a trailside placard informed us. We passed among 80-year-old upland hardwoods, then through stands of Virginia and loblolly pines. Finally, we hiked through a bottomland forest of black gum, red maple and sweetbay magnolia trees.
Many of the trees in this first section of trail were helpfully identified with small signs. We kept hoping for glimpses of trillium and orchids hinted at by the signs, but it was still too early for these woodland flowers. We stopped at a little camp to take the kids’ pictures inside some teepees, then moved deeper into the woods.
Looking for a bit more adventure, we turned down a narrow trail that followed the creek and swamp. The signs fell away so that we finally felt like we were really in the woods. Not a bit of green showed anywhere, just the grays and browns of the wintry trees and the black, swampy water beside the trail.
Far removed from any highways or housing developments, the woods was quiet except for the creak of trees in the wind, an occasional woodpecker, and a growing chorus of frogs.
We stopped by one pool for several minutes to watch, trying to catch glimpses of these "spring peepers." Mostly what we saw were ripples in the water, but we could hear the frogs just fine. They sounded awfully loud for such little guys. Then again, come to think of it, so do human kids.
The trail took us out to the South Meadow Walk, where turkey vultures circled overhead. Did we look that tired? With a couple of side trips down a thicket trail and to see the arboretum’s nursery and children’s garden area, altogether we hiked about two miles. Just enough exercise on a winter afternoon, knowing there was a big pot of homemade gumbo waiting for dinner back home.
Our last stop was the wooden walkway over the wetlands. It was pretty cool to tramp into the middle of the wetland while staying high and dry. We heard more spring peepers, caught a glimpse of a small fish or two in the clear water and stretched out on a big deck to soak up the sunshine. (Nobody would have believed that winter was about to return with a dose of sleet and cold.)
The Adkins Arboretum was a good place to visit if you enjoy hiking along well-marked trails with an added bonus of learning the names of trees - even the Latin ones such as Quercus alba and Nyssa sylvatica. And if the kids have a little more energy to get out, do what we did - stop at the Tuckahoe State Park on the way home and let them romp on all those big tires at the lakeside playground.
ESSENTIALS
COST: Free, but donations accepted.
HOURS: Open daily 10 a.m. to 4 p.m.
ETC: Leashed dogs allowed and you are welcome to bike on the trails. There are limited amenities, so be sure to bring your own snacks and drinks.
GETTING THERE: The drive takes about an hour from Cecil County. Take Route 301 south to Route 304. Go east toward Ruthsburg and follow the signs for the arboretum. Tip: when you get to Tuckahoe State Park keep going past the lake and make your first right onto Eveland Road.
www.adkinsarboretum.org <http://www.adkinsarboretum.org>
410-634-2847
