blog post by Russell A. Johnson, Curator, History of Medicine and the Sciences

A few excerpts from our Collection of personal narratives, manuscripts, and ephemera about the 1918-1919 influenza pandemic (UCLA Library Special Collections: Biomed Manuscript Collection no. 509 or “UCLA Biomed.0509”) reveal the joy, celebration, and uncertainty unleashed by the armistice of 11 November 1918.

The collection has come to the fore recently in comparison to the COVID-19 pandemic, through public lectures and in profiles in media such as Atlas Obscura (https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/letters-and-diaries-1918-flu-pandemic) and UCLA Magazine (https://newsroom.ucla.edu/magazine/1918-influenza-pandemic-ucla-library). The collection is available for research and teaching, as a rich primary resource of the influenza pandemic, news of the war, and life and times of 1918-1919.

Impending Celebration

On 9 November 1918 (UCLA Biomed.0509.312): Jack, an American Expeditionary Forces soldier in Rennes, Frances, writes to Bert and Les, who seem to be relatives at home, perhaps one his sibling. He thanks them for their letter, and is cheered by news of an impending armistice.

“Your very welcome letter of Oct. 13th received morning of the 7th. It arrived with 5 other letters and the news that Germany sent her representatives to conclude an armistice. You can be assured that all this combined made a cheerful day. It was thoughtful of you to cut out the clippings and send them to me. Sorry to hear of Mr. J. Camps death. He always looked so strong and healthy one would hardly think the Grippe would bother him. One of my pals, in the 44th, a chap who is almost as large a man as Mr. Camp was taken to Hospital about a week ago. Ella met him while we were at Camp Merritt. The Old Grippe knocks the healthy ones over pretty easy.”

On December 10, Jack writes to Bert, Les, and Marj. (i.e., Marjorie), who may be their daughter. He thanks them for their letter and clippings and answers several questions, including denying he has picked up a tobacco habit like so many soldiers. His humor in the letters shines through:

“Suppose Ella and you Bert, think you are smart asking me to have some coffee. You are just jelous [sic] because you do not know how to make the kind our cooks make. After drinking this mixture of lye and glycerine which his nibs the cook calls coffee I think I could eat or drink anything. A goat has nothing on us. After I come home anytime you have any spoiled food or unused medicine regardless of the kind, just call said medicine coffee and invite me to a feast.”

Premature Celebration

Arthur M. Chitty in Everett, Washington writes to his son Lyman, a private in Battery D, 63rd Artillery, with the American Expeditionary Forces in France, on 1 December 1918 (UCLA Biomed.0509.290):

“We certainly are anxious to hear about your celebrations over there after the Armatice [sic] was signed. We certainly had a hot time here. About a week before it was signed a fake report came to the States and at 11 a.m. everybody quit work and the stores closed and everyone with an auto started around town with tin cans tied on behind and all the horns and noise making things in the world going and that afternoon came the news that is was fake and the war was still on. But on the 11th at 1.15 in the morning the parade started past our house and all over town and kept up till midnight of the same day. Everything was closed and everyone clean crazy.”

Singing and Speeches on Campus

On 14 November 1918, Amy Hunter, a student at Vassar College in Poughkeepsie, New York writes to her mother, Mrs. Henry L. Hunter in Pleasantville about the campus reaction (UCLA Biomed.0509.003):

“My, but 1914 seems long, long ago and how long it must seem to those who have been in or near the war. Here as every where when the first word of the signing of the armistice was heard last Thursday, every one went wild with joy. They left their classes and marched all around campus singing and cheering, then went up on Sunset Hill and sang & had speeches. … The next morning with news of the false alarm we went back to work again waiting eagerly for the news that the armistice was really signed. Monday a.m. it came at about four o’clock and it did not take many seconds to get us up.”

O, Such a Day

From a collection of thirty-two autograph letters signed from Hildreth Heiney and Mrs. E. W. Hadley of Indianapolis, Indiana, to Sergeant Kleber W. Handley, Company K, 336th Infantry, 84th Division and Liaison Section, American Expeditionary Forces in France, 1918-1919 (UCLA Biomed.0509.160) --

From Kleber’s mother:

"Prais [sic] the Lord! ... At 2:45 this morning whistles began to blow. ... No one in this neighborhood has greater cause for thanksgiving than I.” After recounting the family’s relief and celebration, she closes, “We are all very well none of us have any influenza. We all send very much love -- we all talk very much & often about you.”

The same day, Hildreth’s letter no. “XXV” to her fiancé celebrates:

“Well, it is over -- O, such a day. We have been celebrating from early morning, in fact since three o’clock, and at ten tonight it is just beginning to subside. ... We are wondering now if you will go on with your training in the candidate’s school. We know what a splendid looking soldier you are and we can imagine what a stunning looking ‘Ocifer’ you would make ... If only you could have seen this good old town tonight. I can’t describe it was wonderful. A band stationed on the balcony in front of English’s played, the chimes in Christ Church played, other bands passed in parade and played and the people sang. There was a sea of flags and red fire lighted the whole scene. Moving pictures of the A.E.F. [American Expeditionary Forces] were shown on a screen on the balcony of the Columbia Club, and for the grand finale, the Stars and Stripes were unfurled from the top of the Monument which was aflame with red fire and we all sang the ‘The Star Spangled Banner.’ Thrills -- there were plenty. Then we wandered up and down the streets. The crowd was orderly and good natured but noisy -- nothing to compare with it.”

Busy in Hospital

In his “Over seas” pocket diary (UCLA Biomed.0509.179), Sergeant John A. Scott, Detachment Medical Department, 301st Ammunition Train, 76th Infantry Division, writes in France on November 11:

“Fair. Armistice signed at 11 am. Busy in hospital up all night.”

Just the Facts

Mrs. B.F. Slater, living near Cooperstown, New York records in her daily diary (UCLA Biomed.0509.177):

“Pleasant. Went to Worcester with Glennis. Broke my glasses tonight. Germany surrendered this morning. Great celebration & holiday all over U.S.”

Ominous Foreboding

An earlier letter from Lucile Eagan of New Comerstown, Ohio, to Lt. R.E. Lancaster, Austin, Texas, 1918 October 24 (UCLA Biomed.0509.084) has ominous foreboding. Ms. Eagan writes to her sweetheart; she describes working at the Red Cross making compresses; her mother is “head lady of the department of surgical dressings” and inspects all the work before it leaves for New York.

“I hope it won’t be necessary for them to use any more dressings but I can’t be optimistic enough to believe that the Germans are sincere in wanting peace. I believe we should go on until we have planted the American Flag in Berlin. I am afraid if we don’t finish them now we will have to later on -- in about forty years or less time. I would be glad to have peace and I know it is coming as the Germans are losing ground every day but I don’t want a temporary peace. I may be wrong about this and I hope I am but I don’t think you will be out of a job very soon.”

She changes subjects, asking:

“How is the ‘flu’ down there? We have about 20 new cases here and several cases of diphtheria. Two deaths yesterday from black diphtheria. The schools, churches, confectioneries, pool room, motion picture show and other places of this time have been closed for two weeks. Every precaution is being taken to keep the disease from spreading. We have been using Lysol, a disenfectent [sic] around the house and are gargling our throats two or three times a day.”

France

Private Howard A. Dickey, 47th Artillery, American Expeditionary Forces in Angouleme, France writes to his mother, Mrs. Henry Elliott (Emma A.) Dickey on November 18 with a report of the local reaction to the Armistice a week earlier (UCLA Biomed.0509.059):

“The French people are sure tickled, they nearly went crazy when they got the good news. I am sorry to hear of so much ‘flu’ around there. They had quite a bit of it here before we came but it is all over now I guess, we don’t hear anything about it any more.”

In the Midst of the ‘Flu’

Martin, a soldier at Camp Joseph E. Johnston in Jacksonville, Florida, writes to his friend, “Burn”, in his hometown, on 15 November 1918 (UCLA Biomed.0509.151):

“About time I answered your last letter. ... Since you heard from me last I have been pretty sick - Had the ‘Flu’ & felt mighty bum for 3 weeks, one week of which I spent in the Hospital. We have 68 boys in the 2 bands here & at one time 33 of us were down with ‘flu.’ Over half of the boys in Camp had it during the worse [i.e., worst] of [the] epidemic - all is O.K. again now. I am feeling fine & dandy again & back on the job as well as ever.” He continues, “‘Burn,’ that old ‘Peace’ sure sounded good to us on Monday & we were raising Hell from early morning till late at night. We had all sorts of comic parades & were some happy bunch. That day was the happiest of my army career & I’ll never forget it. We are all waiting for the day now when we will be ‘Homeward Bound’ and that, too, will be one happy day. I know how happy we were here - I wonder how very happy the boys are in the Trenches?”

Great Jollification

A five-year daily-entry diary kept by George A. Rumsey (1848-1929) of Grand Rapids, Michigan, 1917-1921 (UCLA Biomed.0509.043). The author is never named within the diary, but information from his entries was used to determine his identity. The daily entries in Rumsey’s diary always include weather: temperature, wind, humidity, general conditions noted with exact time, up to three times per day.

On 11 November 1918, he reports:

“Armistice Day - 7.00 am 34° cloudy - Peace has come. War at an end. 6.00 pm 42° clear. A fine day - great jollification on a/c end of the war. The Kaiser flees to Holland - 8.30 pm 39°”. On November 12: “The big problems of Reconstruction confronts the Allies.”

The Grand Occasion

Letters from Lieutenant F.A. (Fred) Drown, 10th Trains Headquarters at Camp Funston, Kansas to his girlfriend, Zola Craven in Kellogg, Iowa, 1918 October 3 - November 20 (UCLA Biomed.0509.259)

Letter 9 (20 November 1918): F.A.D. tells Zola that

“As yet we haven’t celebrated the Grand Occasion. To [sic] busy to think about going home. The men want to go bad enough. Thats all they talk about. Everybody has lost their pep. Whats the use. No more War. ... Don’t you want me to stay in the Army? I think it is such a grand place. Not [underlined for emphasis].” He adds, “Am sorry to hear so many are sick. And so many deaths occurred from the Flu. Not much sickness in camp at present time. I do not know how many died here. An awful lot thou [sic].” He asks about her family and people in Kellogg, what she is doing and whether she is finally getting white bread again. He hopes to see her for Christmas.

First Lit Candles Since the War Started

Zola Craven’s father received a letter from her brother, Pvt. David H. Craven, Motor Transport Corps, Repair Unit 308 in Neufchâteau, France dated 30 November 1918 (UCLA Biomed.0509.260). Private Craven reports landing at Brest, France on September 28 and making his way to his current location in October.

News of the armistice “wasn’t as much excitement here as one would have thought we worked all day and went into town at night and saw it all lit up with candles. Looked like a Christmas tree. ... this was the first time the village had been lit since the war started.” He continues, “I guess we were lucky by getting out of the states when we did for that was about the time the fleu [sic] started. Of course they have it here but from the papers it must be worse in the states. We are called the healthiest out fit in France and I guess the meanest that what I have heard they call us the traveling circus. No matter what they call us we are getting along OK.”

Not Going Home for a While

Private W.D. Crone, U.S. Base Hospital No. 8 in France writes to his parents, Mr. and Mrs. H.L. Crone in Wyoming, Illinois on 13 November 1918 (UCLA Biomed.0509.257), beginning:

“Well the war is over and every one is talking about when we will get to go home, and as usual we know no more about what we are going to do than before, but I think we will be some where close to there by three months from now.” He continues: “I suppose they had a lot of excitement there when you heard the news, we got the official word here Monday noon, and as there is about six hours different (sic) between our times of day, I suppose you got the word early in the day. The town was all decorated in French and U.S. flags every body was out and the wine run in torrents, which is the way they celebrated here.”

More Cow Bell

In UCLA Biomed.0509.119, a mother in Long Beach [California?] writes to her son on the day the Armistice was signed, 11 November 1918:

“Bells ringing, whistles blowing, and every body rejoicing, because this terrible war will soon be over.” Her son presumably is a soldier serving in the American Expeditionary Forces overseas, for she concludes a Thanksgiving wish, “But if you are safe and well, and are fortunate enough to get our letters, I will be Thankful.” She continues, “Schools are still closed on account of Spanish Influenza, but we have all escaped so far, & I really think the worst is over. Must go downtown now and helf [sic] out at store, as 91 cases of granite ware came in, & you know what that is to unpack and put away.” She concludes, “Oh the noise I must go and help make more, Helen has gone and take the cow bells with her. With love & rejoicing, Your Mother.”