Connections & Canals – Hansens & the Hennepin

What did you do on Thanksgiving? Attend family feasts? Watch football? Nap? Well, in 1894 on Thanksgiving Day, about 50 business men involved with the Davenport Business Man’s Association boarded a special passenger train at the C.R.I. & P. depot at 7:40 am. sharp, made a transfer connection in Rock Island where twenty-five Moline and Rock Island business men joined them and arrived in Milan, Illinois at 8:05 am. From there, the Tri-cities group walked two miles to a guard lock to see the first five-mile section of the Hennepin Canal fill with water. Newspaper reports stated “The water came through with a roar almost drowning the cheers of the excited crowd, and H. L. Froening of Milan celebrated the occasion by seeing that everyone present was provided with Havanas.” The newspaper also helpfully pointed out that folks would have the opportunity to see the canal’s opening and still make it home around 11:15 – in plenty of time for their Thanksgiving dinner!

Why such anticipation? It was hoped that the canal, an inland waterway system built to connect the Illinois and Mississippi Rivers, would mark the beginning of increased trade in the area as it reduced the water distance from Rock Island to Chicago by 419 miles. For a variety of reasons (well worthy of another blog entry) that didn’t happen.

The Hennepin, also known as the Illinois-Mississippi Canal, saw limited commercial use between November 1907 when the steamboat S.S. Marion successfully travelled the entire seventy-five miles of the completed canal and when the Corps of Engineers closed it in 1951. Today the canal is listed on the National Historic Register and is called the Hennepin Canal Parkway State Park, affording today‘s visitor scenic vistas and wide recreational opportunities.

1894 – The year the canal starts to become reality and the year my maternal great-grandfather, Carl C. Hansen, may have smoked a Havanna of his own when my grandmother was born.
1907 – The year the steamboat S.S. Marion passed mile 26 under Bridge 16 of the Hennepin Canal for the first time in November and created “a general jollification” causing the aforementioned grandmother to mark the occasion with a photograph. You see, she lived on the canal now – as the daughter of the overseer at Bridge 16, Carl C. Hansen.

“]S.S. Marion at Bridge 16 on the Hennepin Canal [1907]

S.S. Marion at Bridge 16 on the Hennepin Canal 1907

– When history begins to fall into place and I finally realize where my mother, Marion, may have gotten her name…But that’s another blog.

(Submitted by Karen)

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A Grand Opening

A noon day parade. Flowers sent from the garden of movie star Ginger Rogers. Big executives in town. Search lights across the sky . An American Legion band furnishing a musical background.

What was happening??

Why, everyone was getting ready for the grand opening of the new RKO Orpheum Theater in the Mississippi Hotel Building on East Third Street!

The theater was officially opened at 6:30 on Nov.25, 1931 to a packed house of 2,750 people. The very first person in line was Irene Tonn of Pershing St. She arrived at 5:10 at the ticket window.

Those who flocked to the new theater were not disappointed. The architecture was modern, the lobby grand, and the colors just right to give a warm feeling. It was said that the harmony in the design of the building was brought about because one person, Henry Dreyfuss, held the design key from start to finish.

The theater boasted of having all the latest amenities. There were flawless acoustics.
Modern climate control made sure the temperature was comfortable for the audience. Even the lounge area was as grand as the rest of the theater. The backstage and projector rooms were as well equipped as the Palace Theater in Chicago; an electrical expert was even sent to Chicago to pick up a small chip that helped take the harsh sound out of the talking picture reproductions.

Show time! There were a few speeches and then on to the entertainment. There were two shows that night. The first part of the entertainment was five live vaudeville acts and then the first movie to be shown in the new theater: Suicide Fleet, a comedy starring Ginger Rogers, William Boyd, and Robert Armstrong.

The Orpheum was very popular from the beginning. The theater even struck a bargain with the Yellow Cab Co. for the first week: showgoers who took a cab to the new theater were entitled to a free return trip. All they had to do was save their cab receipt and ticket stub.

One other great thing about the new theater was it only cost fifty cents to get in! We can only dream.
Considered the area’s finest theater in its heyday, the Orpheum entertained its audiences for decades, until competition and high overhead led the once grand theater into decline. On September 11, 1973, the Orpheum showed its final movie, Cleopatra Jones. Used rarely for concerts or stage productions, the theater was neglected and ignored.

Davenport Chamber of Commerce purchased the theater in 1981 and presented it to the River Center For The Performing Arts, Inc. for renovation. The newly renamed Adler Theater opened on April 16, 1986, with a concert by Burt Bacharach and the Quad City Symphony Orchestra.

(Posted by Pat)
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“Executives of RKO in city for opening.” Davenport Democrat, November 25, 1931.

“Fragile micro cell brought to aid talkie.” Davenport Democrat, November 25, 1931.

“Open New RKO Orpheum: Davenport Interest Centers on Premiere of Splendid Playhouse at 6:30 p.m.” Davenport Democrat, November 25, 1931

“Yellow Cab in novel Bargain opening week” , November 25, 1931

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Turkey Notes

Ladies and Gentlemen, it’s Turkey Note time!

What on earth, you may ask, are Turkey Notes?

Turkey Notes are a Davenport Thanksgiving tradition full of mystery and glamour and fairly bad poetry. They are said to have been around for over a hundred years (though this cannot be confirmed), and are considered to be strictly a local custom.

No one knows for certain why or how or when this tradition started, though the general consensus has the first ones appearing around 1890.

Some say an unnamed local family wrote them once for a large Thanksgiving dinner, and the guests and/or the adult children took the idea home to use the following years, thus spreading the tradition.

Others claim that German immigrants brought the tradition to Davenport and used it to celebrate their first truly American holiday.

A third hypothesis suggests that a savvy teacher invented the Notes in order to keep her holiday-minded students under control.

All of these theories are plausible, interesting and, so far, unable to be confirmed.

So what is a Turkey Note?

Simply put, a Turkey Note is a short, three- or four-line poem, using “Turkey” as the first word of the first two lines. Purists use colors for the second word of these first lines, but this is not strictly necessary.

The poem can be a compliment, an insult, or just funny—depending, of course, on your sense of humor:

Turkey Red,                                     Turkey Juicy
Turkey Blue,                                    Turkey Dry
Turkey says,                                    Turkey says,
“I love you!”                                  “Please pass the pie!”

Turkey Samuel                                      Turkey on the farm
Turkey Sam                                           Turkey in the Dell
Turkey cries,                                          Turkey says
“Please choose the ham!”                     He thinks you smell.

The poem, which is usually left unsigned (and no wonder) is rolled into a tube and wrapped in colored paper, which is tied at both ends with string, yarn, or ribbon. These are left by the side of each plate at Thanksgiving dinner or are passed out to friends, like Valentines.

Except, you know, turkier.

And in case anyone scoffs at the enduring influence of Turkey Notes, we would like to share with you an e-mail we received from a gentleman who read the related article on our website. The subject of his message is “Turkey Notes from the Davenport Diaspora”:

Hello,

My Grandpa, Robert Herzberg, was raised in Davenport but moved to Wyoming before World War II where he finally settled. He liked to tell stories of his days in Davenport working at a place called the Sugar Bowl across from one of the schools (which of them I don’t remember)… how he loved the buttery popcorn, and how bananas came in wooden crates from Central America. To me, the stories were interesting because of the time in which they were set, not necessarily the location. But it turns out that our family’s long tradition of writing Turkey Notes for Thanksgiving dinner can be traced back to a single place on the map.

This year, as I was composing some Turkey Notes in advance of the feast, I stumbled upon the Davenport Public Library web page where I discovered the origins of the Turkey Note. I was astounded. An entire city continues the tradition I supposed was unique to my family. We’ve been sharing Turkey Notes for as long as I can remember, but nobody could ever tell me the origins of the tradition.

What I find particularly interesting from the Library’s description of the Turkey Note is its strict format, a mere shell of which reached Wyoming with Grandpa. In our family, Turkey Notes often begin with “Turkey Says” before descending into the poorly structured, partially rhyming, stumbling poems they are. My Grandpa, who did most of the composing, would sometimes weave current family events into his Turkey Notes… something about me getting an A on a recent spelling test, or my cousin winning a ski race. He could tease with his Turkey Notes, poking fun at my father for buying a herd of cattle at the age of 42 (crazy idea!), or razzing me about a girlfriend. They could be serious too; when his wife finally lost her battle with cancer, Grandpa’s Turkey Notes became startlingly emotional and moving. Mostly, though, they were just fun.

I love everything about the Turkey Note. I love the colored tissue paper (ours are fringed on 3 sides and rolled so that the turkey note bristles with color), how the Turkey Notes lie temptingly near the plates until suppertime, and how only the author is able to read them cleanly without making a mess of it. Inevitably, the reader butchers the meter or the rhyme, leading to protests from the author and laughs from the lookers on. It’s a great tradition.

Anyway, I’d like to thank the Davenport Library for helping me solve the Turkey Note mystery.

Thank you,
Hunter Herzberg Nielson

p.s. I attach a photo I took of a Turkey Note my Grandpa had on display near his workbench since I was a boy. Judging by the 1980’s clip art and blocky font (and the typo), I’d guess I composed it when I was in elementary school.

***
So, for those of you who have continued the tradition, we salute you—write on.

For those of you who haven’t, why not try it? Literary talent is not necessary and can even get in the way!

And for those who think the whole thing is too ridiculous for words, we leave you with these words:

Turkey Eggs
Turkey Ovum
Don’t be a Turkey–
It’s just a poem!

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Davenport’s Great White Way – The Lighting of Brady Street

Brady Street circa 1914
Brady Street circa 1914

There has been some press in the last year regarding a need for revitalization of Davenport’s Brady Street. Perhaps a look back in time might encourage those who are attempting to create positive change for the future.

The building of railroads into the city created expansion of Davenport’s business section from original properties along Front Street up to Brady during the 1850’s. By 1909 Brady Street had become the principal thoroughfare of the city.

Ninety-nine years ago on the 17th of November a group of business men, organized as the Brady Street Progressive Association, proudly celebrated the lighting of Davenport’s “Great White Way” when they presented “the best lighted thoroughfare in the city” to its citizens. An artistic black iron support held five white globes of electric light. With sixteen lamp posts in each block the Association boasted a “combined candle power capacity of 10, 560”, furnished by the Peoples Light Company.

The night they turned the lights on “From the Fifth street viaduct to the river, the street was one flood of light, and over this entire stretch was scattered one of the largest and densest crowds ever seen gathered in one spot in Davenport. Thousands were present.” reported The Daily Times newspaper the next day. The festivities included brass bands, a torch parade, “pounds and pounds of confetti” and all kinds of mementoes and souvenirs given out by the businesses including pictures, flour, coffee, canned goods, flowers, postal cards, song books, buzzers and other devices. As the crowd surged from one end of the street to the other the mayor proclaimed Davenport was on the eve of a great awakening and that this occasion marked a new epoch in the history of the city.

Here’s to more great awakenings in Davenport’s future!

                                         

posted by Karen

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A Soldier’s Letter Answered

Approximately 76,237 Iowa men fought in the Union Army during the Civil War. Of these men, 13,589 did not survive the war, and many others were in no condition to support their families. Annie Wittenmyer, Iowa’s first female Sanitation Agent, was well aware of this; the Sanitation Agency had the responsibility making sure their soldiers had proper food, clothing, and medical attention.

Mrs. Wittenmyer had built quite a reputation for fighting on behalf of ‘her’ soldiers, so it was to her that a group of wounded men in a southern Iowa hospital sent a heartfelt plea:

“We are grateful for all the kindness shown us . . . but we prefer you should forget us . . . if you will but look after our wives and children, our mothers and sisters, who are dependant upon us for support . . .Succor them, and hold your charity from us.”

Mrs. Wittenmyer was not known for her procrastination. She read the letter to a convention of soldier’s aid societies and sanitation organizations on September 23, 1863 and five months later, a board had been organized in Des Moines to establish and operate a Home for the orphans of Iowa soldiers. The first Orphan’s home opened in the summer of 1864 in Farmington, Iowa.

The Civil War ended in April of 1865, but its damages were long lasting. In its first year of existence, the Farmington Home had become overcrowded and had an impossibly long waiting list. A second home was already under construction in Cedar Falls, but the Board also decided to look for larger facilities for the Farmington children.

Enter Davenport.

Davenport was close to the Mississippi River and also to the Rock Island Arsenal, making it a natural place to put several training camps for Union soldiers. After the War, many of these camps were shut down. The land and buildings of Camp Kinsman,on present day Eastern Avenue, were donated by the government to the Iowa Solders’ Orphans’ Association.

On November 11, 1865, more than 150 orphaned children traveled on the steamboat Keithsburg to live at the new Iowa Soldiers’ Orphans’ Home. Only one, 15-year-old Lizzie James, died on the way.* The rest reached their new home safely and soon settled in. The rough barracks were taken down and the foundations used for small, home-like cottages, a far cry from the impersonal institutions one usually imagined orphanages to be.

And this particular place was considered to be more home than institution to the hundreds of orphaned, abandoned, impoverished, or neglected children who were cared for and raised to adulthood on its grounds in its one hundred and ten years of service.

In 1949, the Home was renamed the Annie Wittenmyer Home, after the determined and compassionate woman who received and acted upon a letter from brave men who had sacrificed their lives and livelihoods for their country and only asked that their children not suffer for it.

 

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*See The Orphans of Oakdale Cemetery

(Posted by Sarah)

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A Moment to Remember – Armistice Day, 1918

Americans probably couldn’t be blamed if they were lacking in holiday spirit as October faded into November in 1918. Not only was the Spanish Influenza making its way through the Quad Cities*, but the Great War continued to rage in Europe. Local newspapers tried to keep abreast of the latest battles and events, and even more importantly, what was happening to our soldiers on the frontlines.

However, hope was slowly growing that this terrible struggle might actually end. Reports began to surface in the newspapers that the Germans were retreating from the Allied troops. The Supreme War Council in Versailles, France began to focus on armistice conditions in the hope that Germany would soon surrender. The Quad City region, along with the rest of the United States, did not give up the fight just yet. The draft continued, war fund drives were held, and the public was reminded daily why they were being asked to give up food and supplies to help our troops.

By November 4th, according to The Davenport Democrat and Leader, thoughts of armistice were growing by the day and a plan was being developed by the Bureau of Military Affairs of the Council of Defense force for the largest party ever held in Davenport. ** The paper reported the chain of events that would take place:

When the Associated Press released the news the Democrat would notify the police department. The Davenport Police Department would call for the blowing of all whistles in town. At that signal, the public was to gather on the levee to celebrate, with the added incentive that there would be no restrictions on noise (but vandalism was not allowed). Instructions even included which streets to take to arrive at the levee depending on which side of town one lived or worked on. A giant parade would then take place with every person and organization in the city expected to participate. All non-essential businesses were asked to close for the day and everyone was invited to attend a fireworks display in the evening along the levee. Everything was ready to go; all that was needed was the end of the War.

The following days were filled with anticipation as reports came from Europe with retreating enemy forces and revolutions breaking out from within Germany. By November 10th, The Davenport Democrat and Leader was publishing extra additions of the newspaper to keep up with the news. A telegram even arrived for the local Boy Scouts of America from their national headquarters stating that all Davenport scouts were to mobilize as soon as official word was released of an armistice. They were to gather at the armory building, with fife and drum if they had them, to help lead parades through the city. They were also reminded to continue fundraising for the war drive.*** Even while talk of an armistice gained speed, the headlines made it clear that fierce fighting continued to rage on in Europe.

Finally, a Third War Extra was released in the early morning hours of November 11th, 1918. The Democrat officially reported an armistice had been signed in Paris at 5:00 A.M. Paris time. Fighting was set to stop there at 11:00 A.M. The War was over.

Did the citizens of Davenport really hold a wild celebration? According to newspaper accounts the answer is a resounding yes. When news of the armistice broke, just as promised, whistles and bells were set off in the city and patriotic citizens filled the streets – at 2:00 A.M. By 3:00 A.M. the streets were filled with thousands of people. The mayor of Davenport released a proclamation declaring the day a holiday for all non-essential businesses. The celebration lasted into the night with a huge bonfire on the levee and a fireworks display.

On November 10th, 1918 The Democrat listed the names and photos of Scott County, Iowa men killed fighting this war. Forty names and accompanying photos filled the page.+ Sadly, twenty-one more names would later be added, making a total of eighty-one names that today fill a plaque located in the Scott County Courthouse in Davenport.

Armistice Day would continue to be a day for celebration in Davenport through the 1920s. In 1926 the U.S. Congress passed a resolution recognizing November 11th as Armistice Day and asking officials to display the flag on all government buildings and encouraging the public to gather to remember the importance of the day. In 1938 Armistice Day officially became a national holiday. In 1954, President Eisenhower signed a bill changing Armistice Day to Veteran’s Day so all veterans could be remembered.

So this November 11th, take a moment to remember the momentous events of 90 years ago and thank our veterans and active-duty military personnel for all they have given us.

Just in case you are wondering – those Boy Scouts of 90 years ago did leap out of their beds at 2:00 A.M. and lead parades in the city throughout the day and into the night as well!

(posted by Amy D.)
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*Please see A Frightful Anniversary, October 20, 2008.

**The Davenport Democrat and Leader, November 4, 1918, Pg. 13.

*** The Davenport Democrat and Leader, November 10, 1918.

+ The Davenport Democrat and Leader, November 10, 1918, Pg. 9.

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Rumored Davenporter: Bert Leslie

There are several histories of Davenport in our collections, ranging from dry to folksy to not entirely reliable. Of these, Them were the Good old Days, written by William L. Purcell and published in 1922, is probably the most fun to read, though many of the author’s stories can’t be documented, and all the eyewitnesses are gone.

In a chapter titled ‘The Human Fly at the Burtis’, he explains how kids used to sneak in for a free show at the Burtis theater by climbing up the decorative brickwork to the balcony windows. “It got so Charlie Kindt hadta hire Jim Wafer . . . to mope around evenin’s to keep them boys from making the ascension.”

But nothing could keep those kids out, especially one ambitious boy named William Albert Johnston:

“But there was one small chap nobody could understand—little Billy Johnston. When hardly big enough to toddle, he was hobnobbin’ with actors . . . If a circus came to town, young Johnston was the first lad on the lot and the last to leave. He studied every street faker and marched with every band. Any kind of music sounded good to that youngster.

“One evenin’, when Murray and Mack played the Burtis, little Billy said to Charlie Murray, ‘Some day you’ll see my name on Broadway.’ Charlie laughed at the kid, and ast him what he could do to make Broadway. So little Billy did the song-and-dance, ‘Strollin’ Though the Park’—right back there on the old Burtis stage . . . little Billy told Murray again, when he was leavin’. ‘Some day you’ll see my name on Broadway.’”

According to Purcell, Little Billy started work with the Kickapoo medicine company in Tamaroa, Illinois, providing entertainment to get the audience to buy some patented snake oil tonic. He didn’t like the work and left for the theater world of Chicago. He changed his name to Bert Leslie and found fame playing a ‘tramp comedian’. His schtick was making up wise-cracking slang terms.

Is any of this true?

Well, in 1910, the New York Times interviewed a comedian named Bert Leslie, expressing surprise that someone who played the part of a disreputable, slang-slinging Bowry bum was so articulate. He was given credit for over 400 popular expressions like “Roll away and make a noise like a hoop” and “Sand the track, you’re slipping.” Mr. Leslie said that he had been a reporter at the Chicago Daily News, which at least places him in Chicago, although in a different profession that Purcell claimed—still, actors did have to eat.

Bert Leslie’s name was big on Broadway for many years. One of the production he supposedly starred in, ‘Town Topics,’ appears to give some credence to Purcell’s story: “The big scene in that show represented a rehearsal back on the old Burtis stage . . . with song and dance comedians in “Strollin’ Through the Park. It was a scream.” However, American Musical Theatre: A Chronicle (Bordman, 1978) says that Will Rogers provided the comedy for ‘Town Topics,’ which only lasted 9 weeks in 1915. It may be that Will Rogers trumped Bert Leslie for anyone but an old hometown pal.

Bert Leslie’s death was reported in the New York Times on October 16, 1933, but it was in no way a full obituary. His place of birth was not mentioned at all. 

So if anyone can tell us where Bert Leslie, famous comedic wordsmith of the early 20th century, was born—and under which name—please do.

We’d like to prove Mr. Purcell right.

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Silencing the Banshee of Brady Street

Late October.  The air turning brisk, leaves falling to the ground, candy corn, and costumes.  Maybe also a ghost tale or two as you sit around a fire in the gathering dusk. 

 

Davenport has a few ghost stories that have been told over the generations.  As many of these spooky tales are based on some historical facts, we decided to explore the legend of the Banshee of Brady Street to see if we could discover the origin of the story.  Following is a synopsis of the story Jerome Pohlen included in his book Oddball Iowa:

 

Legend tells of a family named the Schachts who purchased a home around the 500 block of Brady Street in Davenport around 1918.  Soon bad luck fell upon the home.  The young son fell out of a window and was impaled on a fencepost.  The daughter drowned in a bathtub soon after.  Mrs. Schachts hung herself in the basement and Mr. Schachts ended his life by hanging himself in the kitchen. 

 

After their deaths, the house remained empty until purchased by a gangster from Chicago who ran a bordello in the home during the 1920’s.  Years later the house was divided into apartments frequently rented to college students.  The students reported hearing strange noises including moaning.  Eventually the house was torn down and a parking lot put in its place.  Legend has that the banshee, as it was called, moved along the houses and buildings on Brady Street screaming and moaning as it moved from place to place.

 

The location of the Banshee legend is only a few blocks from the Davenport Public Library’s Main Street branch.  Would we discover that a Banshee actually was roaming the streets only blocks from the library?

 

Our search started with the Davenport City Directories from 1918 – 1920.  These large volumes not only list residents alphabetically, but also by street and house numbers in the rear of the books.  We did find families with the name of Schacht, not Schachts, but not on or near Brady Street. 

 

We then pulled off a shelf a copy of the Abstracted Names from the Davenport (Iowa) Democrat & Leader.  None of the Schacht(s) families had obituaries from 1910 to 1919. We next looked at the Ambulance Records from January 1, 1917 – January 20, 1920 maintained by the police department.  No Schachts family on Brady Street was found in a search of 1918.  A search of the census records from 1920 showed all Schacht families located in the 1918 city directories were alive in 1920.  In fact, no one by the name of Schacht is listed in the Scott County death records from 1915 to 1919. 

 

So, just in case the last name was wrong, we also compared the list of those who died in 1918 to the list of people living on and around the 500 block of Brady Street in 1918 and 1919.  No matches.

 

Our brief search turned up no historical evidence for the origins of the Brady Street Banshee.  Does this mean the legend has no basis in truth?  Could the cry of the Banshee be nothing but the wind whistling up from the Mississippi River?

 

Well, maybe the family name was wrong.  Or maybe the date was wrong.  Or perhaps the street name was changed for alliterations’ sake—the Banshee of Marquette Street just doesn’t have the same ring to it.  We invite you to come explore this legend, and others, in the Special Collections Department. 

 

Who knows–hidden away in our resources, a connection might be awaiting discovery! 

(Posted by Karen)

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A Frightful Anniversary

Autumn in the Midwest is usually a time of great beauty and activity. In Davenport the trees begin to glow red and yellow, orange pumpkins appear on doorsteps, and crops are brought in from the fields to provide food and energy for another year. Ninety years ago this month the citizens of Davenport worried not about fall decorations, but about the Great War raging in Europe and the arrival of the Spanish Influenza, which had been leaving a deadly trail across the globe.

This dreaded illness had been making its way across the United States since March 1918. As the influenza moved closer, the local chapter of the American Red Cross began on October 5, 1918 to help local governments and war organizations prepare for its inevitable arrival. The newly formed Emergency Relief Committee worked to release information to the general public through different means. Street car posters, pamphlets in stores, movie theater slides, and newspaper articles were all used to notify the public on ways to avoid catching the ‘flu. The main tools for fighting the illness were ventilation in street cars, churches, and schools along with rigorous cleaning of facilities after they closed for the day. A group known as the Four Minute Men gave short speeches before the start of movies or plays on covering your mouth when coughing or sneezing. The United States public health service in Washington and the Iowa State board of health required on October 9th that all cases of Spanish Influenza be reported to the a city’s mayor or board of health. On that day four local cases were reported to the Davenport board of health. The dreaded Influenza had arrived.

By October 10th the Davenport Daily Times began to report on event cancelations as officials began to recommend postponing public events of large numbers. On October 11th Davenport’s Mayor Littleton told the Chief of Police to arrest anyone who spit on the sidewalk. This little known ordinance had never actually been enforced in Davenport before, but it now was a means to control the spread of germs. By October 12th, the Davenport Daily Times reported arrangements had been made to turn the large Davenport Turner Hall into an emergency hospital to handle the overflow from regular hospitals. The thought was 150 patients could be housed in the dance hall and meeting room space. A large kitchen would help ease food preparation worries as well.

As the influenza was settling in, one of the biggest fears of local officials was being realized. Many of the 12,000 employees of the Rock Island Arsenal military instillation were Davenport citizens and even with great precautions, the disease was making its way through the Arsenal. These employees, working long hours in close conditions for the War effort, were bringing the disease into their homes after their shifts ended. Grasping for ideas, the Commissioner of Public Works in Davenport approved the burning of leaves by the public in the thought that it would help kill the germs. The city also began to wash downtown sidewalks every day in the hopes of stopping the spread of the disease.

As a result of the increase in cases, on October 12th the Davenport board of health decided that all schools, churches, theaters, and public gatherings would be closed for the foreseeable future. The mayor of Davenport led the way by closing city meetings to the public. Council would still meet to discuss the epidemic and keep city bills in order. Store keepers and street car crews were threatened with arrest if buildings and cars were not kept ventilated and cleaned. Over one hundred and forty cases of ‘flu had been reported in four days.

Over the next few days the numbers of ill citizens continued to grow. Davenport began to work more closely with the local cities of Moline and Rock Island along with the Arsenal to pass joint measures that everyone was to follow. All stores except food and drug stores, laundries, and barber shops were to close at 5:00 p.m. Regulations were also created on the number of people allowed inside a store at any time depending on how many clerks were available. Usually the number was two customers per one clerk. These measures were not meant to only keep the disease from spreading, but also keep production up at the Rock Island Arsenal. It became everyone’s patriotic duty to control the Influenza so the boys overseas did not suffer from a lack of munitions.

By October 18th, cases were still growing in large numbers. New rules were put into motion. Children were not allowed to play on the streets or gather together. They were also not allowed in stores unless with a parent. No one was allowed to visit from house to house and food stores were to close on Sundays. The next day the Turner Hall was opened to receive patients. The hospitals were overflowing with the sick.

The Influenza raged on into November. As the numbers declined, some of the restrictions began to be lifted and theaters, stores, library, and clubs were allowed to reopen on a limited bases. Those last on the list to reopen were schools and Sunday school classes. Children were even forbidden to go to church or other gatherings for a time as well. On November 14, 1918 the Davenport Daily Times printed one of its last statistics on the epidemic. They reported 1,603 had been infected by the Influenza while 61 people had died. The deaths do not cover those who died from secondary infections such as pneumonia, which would have raised the number considerably.

“The Annual Report of Davenport, Iowa 1918 – 1919” lists the official number of those reported ill as 1,978 for October, 1,126 for November, and 1,414 for December. The number of deaths was not reported. Starting in the spring, the number of infected persons declined rapidly. There would be another round of the Influenza in late 1919, but not at the same strength. For the citizens of Davenport October, 1918 did not contain the usual scary jack o’lanterns and ghosts and goblins running around. Instead, they faced a far scarier reality, one that still scares many of us today.

(posted by Amy D.)

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The Orphans of Oakdale Cemetery

One of the most persistent local legends in Davenport centers on Oakdale Cemetery on Eastern Avenue. In this cemetery is a special section where children from the Iowa Solders’ Orphans’ Home*, standing just across Eastern Avenue, were buried. And it is said that if you go to Oakdale and stand by those small graves on Halloween night, you will hear the screams and cries of the orphans who died in a terrible fire at the Home.

Children, fiery deaths, and a graveyard combine to send satisfying shivers down anyone’s back, but is this legend based in  truth? To find out, we need to take a close look at the history of the Home and the records of the Cemetery.

On November 11, 1865, more than 150 orphaned children traveled on the steamboat Keithsburg from the overcrowded Iowa Soldier’s Orphans’ Home in Farmington, Iowa, to the new Davenport Home set up in Camp Kinsman, a deserted Civil War training camp. The orphans stayed in the barracks until the buildings were replaced with more suitable cottages. These cottages were still separated, as it was cheaper to use the foundations of the barracks than build one huge building to house all of the children.

Over the next fifty years, three fires broke out at the Home. In 1877, the engine room of the laundry building caught fire and both it and the schoolroom were destroyed. In 1880, the dining hall, kitchen and bakery burned to the ground. And on November 9, 1887, at three o’clock in the morning, lightning struck the main building, where thirty staff members and children were sleeping. The building, only three years old, burned to the ground.

According to newspaper accounts in the Davenport Democrat newspaper, no one died in any of these fires. The newspaper went on the praise the cottage system, saying that the separation of the buildings kept the flames from spreading through the entire complex. There was property damage worth thousands, but no loss of life.

Do Oakdale’s records support this? Information supplied by the Oakdale records office tells us that there are 251 graves in the Orphans’ Section. Of these, only a few are older than 18, and none older than 26. The first orphan burial was a 15 year old girl named Lizzie (or Elizabeth) James, who died of consumption on November 14, 1865 while enroute to Davenport. She was buried on November 17, 1865, a day after the orphans arrived at their new home. According to her record, Lizzie’s place of death was listed as Farmington. If a person died while traveling, place of death was commonly listed as the last known residence. The last burial was a five-year old boy named Joseph Pohl who was struck by a hit and run driver while walking home from school on November 2, 1970.

Of the 249 children who died between Lizzie and Joseph, not one died by fire, burns, or through smoke inhalation. Most of the deaths between 1865 and 1950 were caused by pneumonia, diphtheria, influenza, untreated ear infections, and other diseases that thrive in a large group of children without access to modern antibiotics.

So if one were to stand in the Orphans’ Section on Halloween, or any other night, the sounds one hears would have more to do with wind and imagination than dramatic fiery deaths. But instead of going home disappointed, one might use the time to reflect on these young people whose only family in their too-short lives were each other and who deserve better than to be forgotten—or exploited–in death.
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*Now called the Annie Wittenmyer Home

(Posted by Sarah)

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