With COVID 19 now called the worst pandemic in a century, it has joined the ranks of illnesses that have left a profound impact across the state. When viewed from a chronologically wider lens, pandemics in Washington County have brought grim tidings time and time again -- as well as the understanding that even the most painful experiences can yield valuable lessons for society to learn from.

Time of the Great Dying
     The first pandemic in the area took place before recorded history and would have been experienced by the Passamaquoddy people. Based on national studies, anthropologists believe that the most common infectious diseases Native Americans contended with were caused by staphylococcus and streptococcus. Depending on the part of the body infected, these bacteria can cause a host of afflictions, including pneumonia, scarlet fever and sinusitis.
     The Passamaquoddy clearly managed these diseases well enough, with an approximate population of 20,000 people thriving in the area when Europeans arrived in the late 1500s. The primarily coastal tribe was among the first to meet the colonizers, who exposed them to a host of infectious maladies from overseas.
     With no immunity to highly lethal contagious diseases transported by the Europeans -- from the flu to smallpox to measles -- the Passamaquoddy were rapidly devastated. By 1586 the population was reduced to 4,000.
     In Motahkomikuk -- Indian Township -- the Time of the Great Dying, as it became known, was a deeply felt community tragedy. The infected members of the tribe were brought to an isolated island on Big Lake called Muwinuwi Monihk -- Gordon's Island -- to provide a buffer zone from the rest of the tribe. Every day healthy tribe members would canoe out to the island to leave food for ailing loved ones.
     Passamaquoddy Tribal Historian Donald Soctomah speaks of ancestral memories when the moans of the dying could be heard from the shore. "I always think of that when I think about the ancestors and what they went through so that we could stay and we could survive," Soctomah shared during a 2018 ceremony remembering the tragedy.
     As the European born towns stabilized and grew over time, pandemics found new communities to ravage.

Early infectious diseases in county
     Due in part to their favorable coastal location, Eastport and Calais were two of the fastest growing cities in Maine. The trade that fueled this growth contributed, at times, to outbreaks of infectious diseases along the lines of smallpox, cholera, leprosy, yellow fever and tetanus, along with many others.
     To handle these outbreaks, the cities designated specific houses as "pest houses" -- places where infected patients could, ideally, recover and avoid transmitting illness to others.
     Both Eastport and Calais had pest houses, though prior to the 1872 smallpox outbreak in Calais the city's pest house was located directly in a busy neighborhood near the downtown, according to Al Churchill of the St. Croix Historical Society. That year, the arrival of smallpox on a schooner was met with an angry editorial in The Calais Advertiser railing against Calais' lack of safety measures in not quarantining the ship and instead putting the infected sailors "in the midst of a number of families with children." Several citizens successfully petitioned for the construction of a pest house on the city's outskirts, directly adjacent to the poor house by Salmon Falls, a few years later.
     Occasionally, especially when the news of an outbreak in Europe or New Brunswick travelled sufficiently fast, Calais successfully stopped further spread by preventing all ships from coming any farther up the St. Croix River than Devil's Head. During regular trading operations, any incoming vessel suspected of infection was sent to a 40 day quarantine period at the remote community known as the Ledge in St. Stephen.

The 1918 pandemic
     While outbreaks came and went, it was the 1918 pandemic that left the most lasting impression on the 20th century mind -- in part because it wasn't outsiders that brought the pandemic in but the sons and daughters of the community itself.
     In 1918 World War I was in full swing in Europe with troops from all over the world converging, training and living together. A flu of unknown origin was making the rounds in countries all over the world, causing challenging respiratory symptoms and the deaths of hundreds.
     Spain was the first country to report on the flu, due to not being subject to wartime media control as its European neighbors were. The so named Spanish flu made only a mild splash in the public's mind for the first half of the year.
     In August, however, the flu mutated into a more virulent, deadly strain. It violently attacked healthy immune systems, causing young men and women to die more rapidly than elderly patients.
     Simultaneously, young men and women were living together in close quarters in military camps. Just north of Boston, Mass., was Camp Devens, where 45,000 soldiers -- many from Maine -- were stationed at a camp built for 36,000. Among the early casualties at Camp Devens were local soldiers, including Roy Therian of Milltown.
     By September 23, 20% of the soldiers at Camp Devens had been infected or killed by the new strain. On that same day in Maine, the mutated virus claimed its first life: William E. Lawry, 36, at his home in Augusta. It took less than a month for 2,000 more to die across the state.
     Public officials rallied to stop the spread of the flu, closing many public functions. The mills were left running because they were considered "essential for life" in the way they provided livelihood, and initially schools and churches were kept open.
     Guidelines were issued by officials from various fields. The surgeon general of the U.S. Army made appeals similar to those given today for COVID 19 safety: washing hands diligently, avoiding crowds, not sharing utensils and to "smother your cough and sneezes - others do not want the germs which you would throw away."
     Some guidelines are less familiar to those contending with the modern pandemic. At the time, spitting was more socially acceptable, so officials had to beg citizens to stop the habit in public. For the Maine Anti Tuberculosis Association, the messaging was on point: "The measure of our patriotism may be indicated just as truly by where we spit and how we cough or sneeze, as by the number of [War Savings Stamps] we buy or Liberty Bonds we purchase."
     While Bangor and Portland saw surges in cases and deaths, other remote communities suffered even more. On October 24 Swan's Island had 260 cases in a population of 800, and the lone doctor for the community was assigned to government duty elsewhere. As a county, Aroostook had the highest rates of death with 47.55 deaths per 10,000.
     In Washington County, the rate of death was 34.17 per 10,000 in 1918, compared to 12.82 in 1917. The largest spike was in October, when the county had 106 new deaths as a result of the virus.
     Dr. Nat Barker of Calais recorded his memories of the pandemic in a letter. He worked for a full month, day and night, to tend to the sickly. "One day and night," he writes, "I made 64 house calls plus one difficult confinement." He kept this pace up until he became infected himself and had to be hospitalized while "very ill."
     By the time the 1918 flu had subsided, 5,000 Maine residents had died, half of them between 20 and 40 years old. By comparison, just over 1,000 Maine soldiers died in World War I -- and half of them died from the flu.
     Maine was lauded for its response to the 1918 flu, as it was among the first states to organize a statewide task force and give local authority to close public activities, actions that are believed to have greatly decreased its infection rate. As a result of the 1918 flu, Maine began routine disease reporting practices and developed a network of hospital communications.
     On the national stage, President Woodrow Wilson never mentioned the flu in an effort to prevent public hysteria. His refusal to discuss it persisted through his own nearly fatal bought with it in April 1919 during the Paris peace negotiations -- an illness reported to the press as a stroke. Many other notable figures contracted the illness but survived, including Secretary of the Navy Franklin D. Roosevelt, who was 36 at the time.
     Around the world, as many as 100 million people died from the 1918 flu, claiming up to 10% of the young adults alive at the time.

Lessons from past pandemics
     While COVID 19 is far from over and its effects remain yet to be fully seen, it is clear that past pandemics have informed the approach to handling modern public health crises. The community is critical to caring for the individuals within it, as can be learned from the experience of the Passamaquoddy. Sometimes extended quarantine is the best option -- if not an outright ban on travel -- as Calais practiced on incoming vessels. When threatened with a new infectious disease, rapidly organizing a statewide response is key.
     In addition, there are numerous benefits that stem from overcoming widespread hardship, including the merits of recognizing the strength of the community. One example comes from the tandem threat of the 1918 flu and World War I, which called so many women into heroic action that they won the right to vote in 1919.
     Pandemics are undoubtedly bound to the human story, through one mutation or another. Mankind's ability to successfully manage them is bound in part to the ability to apply the knowledge gained from the past to the unfolding present.