As the COVID-19 crisis has unfolded in recent weeks, I have been thinking about my great-uncle. Family legend has it that William Ellsworth Gilmore was the first casualty of World War I from Monroe, Michigan. He enlisted in the U.S. Navy on August 9, 1918. By October 15, he was dead. The Spanish Flu killed him.

That was about as much as I ever knew about William. To give my nervous energy somewhere to go, I decided to unpack the story of William Ellsworth Gilmore and the global pandemic that ended his life. I dove into public records, local histories and the usefully-annotated pages of Wikipedia. Here is what I learned.

Part of the Gilmore family tree

Growing up in Monroe

The Piers

William was born to my great-grandparents James Henry Gilmore and Millie Adelaide Gilmore on January 28, 1898 in Monroe. He was the first of what would grow to be a family of four kids.

Monroe was a small town in William’s youth, but a booming one. It grew from a population of about 5,000 in 1900 to over 11,000 in 1920. Located about 40 miles south of Detroit and just up-stream from where the River Raisin flows into Lake Erie, Monroe was both an industrial hub (paper mills) and a tourist destination. The principle draw for tourists was Monroe’s Lake Erie waterfront. At the turn of the twentieth century, two long piers jutted-out into Lake Erie at Monroe, creating room for ships and boats to dock. A lighthouse guided ships in to safety. Nearby stood a popular swimming beach, picnic grounds, several hotels, a yacht club, a dance hall, and even a roller coaster. Ferries ran regularly between Toledo and Monroe, and excursion boats left from the piers for trips on Lake Erie during the summer months. The Piers were a frequent destination for families from Detroit and Toledo, but also attracted boaters from as far away as Pennsylvania and New York.

A view of the Monroe Piers — Boats decorated for Independence Day, 1907.

The Piers were some distance from downtown Monroe, through undeveloped marshland. No road connected the city with the Piers until, in 1901, the city established an electric street car system that collected riders from Elm Avenue in downtown Monroe and delivered them to the Piers.

Lucky for William, he lived at 860 Elm Avenue. A local historian reports that the streetcar system was commonly used by Monroe’s youth:

The 5 cent fare was collected by the conductor who knew most of the local passengers by name. Mothers were known to give youngsters a couple of nickels for an afternoon’s ride to the Piers…. Probably the most enjoyment was had by the young people who gathered on porches and waited for the trolley. The crowd swung on board, and intent on a day’s fun, their voices soon rose over the clicking of the wheels on the rails. The amusements, swimming, boats and dances were but a nickel and ten minutes away. J.A. Vollrath, Memories of the Monroe Piers, Monroe County Library System, Monroe, MI (1972).

It is easy to imagine William partaking in this fun. The porch of his Elm Avenue house may even have been one of those on which groups of youths gathered, waiting for the trolley. He would have spent much of his youth in and around the water, and perhaps even learned to sail down at the Piers.

The Battle of Lake Erie

When William was 15, Monroe celebrated the centennial of the Battle of Lake Erie — a significant naval conflict in the War of 1812. The battle took place at Put-in-Bay in Lake Erie – just 16 miles from Monroe. Commodore Oliver Hazard Perry led a fleet of nine U.S. Navy ships in a clash against six ships of the British royal navy. Despite having the advantage of numbers, the initial attack went poorly, and Perry’s flagship was eventually disabled, along with many of the American ships. With the Americans on the brink of defeat, Perry transferred to another ship — the Niagara — to resume his command, traveling half a mile by row boat in the midst of enemy cannon fire to do so.

Upon boarding the Niagara, Perry ordered the ship’s cannons to be double-shotted – loading two balls into each cannon at one time. This lowered the effective range of the cannons, but increased the damage they could inflict. Perry then turned the ship directly toward the British fleet. As he sailed through the British line, the crew worked cannons on both sides, raking the British ships with fire from as close as 100 feet away. His attack turned the tide of the battle, and within 15 minutes of taking command of the Niagara, Perry had sailed it to victory.

To commemorate the battle’s centennial, a restored Niagara was taken on a tour of Lake Erie ports, including a stop in Monroe on July 26, 1913. An immense crowd was on hand to take a tour of the ship when it arrived in port. Stores in Monroe even closed for the afternoon, a concession to the futility of trying to attract patrons away from the big event.

A photo of the reconstructed Niagara from its tour of Lake Erie in July, 1913, featuring its many carronades.

Did William hop on a streetcar to the Piers to see the Niagara? Did he hear the inspiring story of Commodore Perry’s naval victory? Did he tour the ship and see the carronades and other relics of the battle up close? I don’t know. If he did, it seems like just the kind of thing that could spark the interest of a 15 year old boy in joining the navy when he got older.

Marriage, Tragedy and Joy

William arguably entered adulthood with his marriage to my great-aunt, Sarah Albright. I can only assume there was some family strife and scandal involved here. They married on September 15, 1915, when William and Sarah were both 17 years old. Sarah would give birth to a baby boy in early January, 1916, making her roughly six months pregnant at the time of their marriage.

The couple crossed the Detroit River to get married in Windsor, Ontario. No family members witnessed their marriage. Their Canadian marriage certificate lists their ages as 19 for William and 18 for Sarah, despite the fact that they were both 17. People as young as 14 could marry in Ontario at the time, but parental approval was required for anyone younger than 18. Presumably, William and/or Sarah’s parents didn’t approve of the marriage. Hence, the trip to Canada and the fib about their ages.

William and Sarah’s Marriage Certificate

Sarah gave birth to Richard Albright Gilmore on January 4, 1916, just a few weeks before William’s 18th birthday. Sadly, Richard did not live long. He died on February 23, 1916, of acute colitis.

Some hard months must have followed, as the young couple both grieved their loss and continued to explore and build their relationship to each other. The relationship endured, and on August 14, 1917, Sarah and William welcomed their second child — a girl. Jeanette Evangeline Gilmore would live to be 65 years old. Sadly, her father would die barely a year after her birth.

Enlisting

William enlisted in the Navy on August 9, 1918. He had a wife and a one-year-old daughter at the time. Why did he do it?

I will never know. I have entertained a few ideas:

Patriotism. World War I had been underway for three years at that point, and Americans had been in the fight for over a year. The tide of war was turning in favor of the Allies, thanks in no small part to the American military. No doubt patriotic fervor was running strong, particularly among young, able-bodied men like my uncle. He may have felt it his duty to join. Moreover, the Ford Motor Company was cranking out “submarine chasers” at its nearby River Rouge Plant, likely stoking local interest in naval service.

World War I had been underway for three years at that point, and Americans had been in the fight for over a year. The tide of war was turning in favor of the Allies, thanks in no small part to the American military. No doubt patriotic fervor was running strong, particularly among young, able-bodied men like my uncle. He may have felt it his duty to join. Moreover, the Ford Motor Company was cranking out “submarine chasers” at its nearby River Rouge Plant, likely stoking local interest in naval service. Preempt the Draft. World War I was the country’s first experience with compulsory military service. Initially, only men aged 21 to 30 were required to register for the draft. In August, 1918, William was just 20 years old, so he was not draft-eligible. However, he would be eligible come January. Moreover, Congress was discussing lowering the registration age to 18, and would do so in September, 1918. It is possible that William sought to enlist in order to have a say over which branch of the military he would join. Those who were drafted were not given that choice.

World War I was the country’s first experience with compulsory military service. Initially, only men aged 21 to 30 were required to register for the draft. In August, 1918, William was just 20 years old, so he was not draft-eligible. However, he would be eligible come January. Moreover, Congress was discussing lowering the registration age to 18, and would do so in September, 1918. It is possible that William sought to enlist in order to have a say over which branch of the military he would join. Those who were drafted were not given that choice. Escape. It is also possible that William used enlistment as a way to escape an unhappy home life. I do not know what William and Sarah’s relationship was like. However, with the financial challenges of living on a beginning laborer’s income (he listed his occupation on his marriage license as “boxmaker”), the emotional stresses of the loss of a child, the physical and emotional challenges of caring for a baby, and the trials of navigating a young relationship amidst all of that stress, it is easy to imagine that their relationship was quite strained. William wouldn’t be the first young man to use patriotism and duty to country as cover to escape an unhappy situation. Military service might even have offered a step-up in pay for his family, making it even easier for him to justify his decision.

Whatever his reason for joining, his choice of the navy guaranteed that he would not go too far from home, at least initially. The navy’s only boot camp for new recruits was (and still is) Naval Station Great Lakes, located less than 40 miles north of Chicago. William would have boarded a train at the Michigan Central Rail Station in Detroit with other local recruits, for the four+ hour trip to Chicago. No doubt Sarah, and perhaps even Jeanette, saw him off. I wonder if his parents and siblings were there as well.

Navy recruits bidding farewell to friends and family before departing Detroit for Naval Station Great Lakes

I wouldn’t be surprised if William felt a little overwhelmed when he arrived at Naval Station Great Lakes. The base housed nearly 50,000 recruits — roughly five times the number of people who lived in his hometown. Comprising 12,000 acres and more than 700 buildings, it was a small city unto itself.

John Phillip Sousa was the Director of Music at Naval Station Great Lakes in 1918. I like to think that he and his Navy Battalion Band greeted arriving enlistees with a few rousing marches. That, at least, would have been a highlight of William’s brief but otherwise miserable time at Naval Station Great Lakes.

William Falls Ill

The Spanish Flu arrived at Naval Station Great Lakes not long after William did. The first case was reported on September 7, 1918. It was likely brought to the base by a group of soldiers who transferred there from Boston. By September 19, the base was on quarantine. By the end of the month, there were 4,500 cases of influenza at the station — roughly ten percent of all of the sailors stationed there. I imagine William was among them.

I wanted to understand what William’s experience would have been like, and found two different kinds of answers to that question. One set of answers goes to the symptoms William would have experienced:

A sailor at the station reported that “It begins with high fever. Most get real weak and collapse.”

A naval historian reported: “Spanish Flu victims suffered massive pneumonia and fatal pulmonary complications: they literally drowned in their own body fluids. Lungs filled with fluid and their skin became markedly discolored from the lack of oxygen. Mysteriously, it killed more young than old. The death rate was greatest among ages 15 to 40.”

A nurse at Naval Station Great Lakes recalled, “They would have terrific nosebleeds with it. Sometimes the blood would just shoot across the room. You had to get out of the way or someone’s nose would bleed all over you.”

A terrible way to die, particularly for William and all of the other sailors who arrived at the base as able-bodied young men.

The other set of answers I found go to how William would have been treated when he became sick. A history of Naval Station Great Lakes described the usual procedure when sailors became ill (with any illness – not just the Spanish Flu):

When a man became indisposed, he appeared at sick call, or his case was reported to the medical officer in charge of the dispensary of the Regimental Unit in which he was quartered. If the indisposition was not serious, or contagious, the patient got no further than the sick bay of his dispensary, but was kept there for treatment. If the nature of the case was suspicious, the patient was immediately placed in one of the sections or cubicles of the isolation building, where he remained until the nature of his indisposition became clear. In either instance, however, the moment the case developed alarming symptoms the patient was placed in an ambulance and hurried to the Hospital Group. Once there, the jurisdiction of the staff of the Medical Department ceased, and the medical staff of the Hospital Group took hold of the case. The next step was to place the patient under the care of a medical officer especially qualified to handle the particular case, and, if the condition of the patient was serious, to assign a special nurse to constant duty at his bedside. Under such conditions — and there was no exception to this rule — the parents or wife of the patient were immediately notified by official telegram, and further telegrams were sent as long as the patient’s condition remained desperate. Close relatives of the patients were allowed every opportunity to be with them in the hospital wards, except in dangerously contagious cases. Francis Buzzell, Great Lakes Naval Training Station: A History. Small, Maynard & Co. Boston (1919), pp. 82-83.

This thoughtful and seemingly orderly system of care gave me comfort, until I learned that the reality during the epidemic was much different. Not everyone who came down with the flu was transferred to the station’s hospital. The mildly ill were treated at the base’s dispensaries, or in sets of barracks that became make-shift dispensaries for milder cases. Nonetheless, between September and November 1918, 2,484 patients were deemed ill enough to be transferred to the station’s hospital. The hospital and its staff simply became overwhelmed.

The morgues were packed almost to the ceiling with bodies stacked one on top of another. The morticians worked day and night. You could never turn around without seeing a big red truck loaded with caskets for the train station so bodies could be sent home. We didn’t have the time to treat them. We didn’t take temperatures; we didn’t even have time to take blood pressure. We would give them a little hot whisky toddy; that’s about all we had time to do. Nurse Josie Brown, Naval Station Great Lakes

Robert St. John, a sailor who became ill but survived the flu epidemic at Naval Station Great Lakes, recalled conditions similarly: ““No one ever took our temperatures and I never even saw a doctor.”

It saddens me to think of my uncle enduring such limited care in the final days and hours of his life.

Hospital beds at Naval Station Great Lakes

The Telegram

As naval historian Francis Buzzell reported, it was the custom at Naval Station Great Lakes to notify the parents or wife of a sailor by telegram when the sailor was deemed seriously ill. The telegram must have arrived late in the week of October 7, 1918. The Monroe Evening News reported on Monday, October 14:

A report was current in the city today that William Gilmore had died at the Great Lakes Training station, but all efforts to verify the rumor were of no avail. Mr. Gilmore has been ill for some time with pneumonia and last week word was received that his condition was worse and upon receipt of the word his parents left for the training camp. They are still there and no word has yet been received from them.

The newspaper does not mention Sarah, William’s wife. With a young child at home, she may have been unable to make the trip.

William’s parents likely would have been met at the train station in Chicago by volunteers with the American Red Cross. The Naval Station and the Red Cross each maintained houses at the station with cots where family members could stay while at the station, and roughly half of the families who came to the base during the height of the epidemic were accommodated there. Perhaps my great-grandparents were among them.

It’s not clear to me that my great-grandparents were able to see William before he died. I read an account of a mother who begged a chaplain to see her dying son. “He arranged for a four-minute pass, a rare exception given only for men close to death.” I can only hope my great-grandparents secured a similar exception. My mother describes my great-grandmother as “dreadfully opinionated,” so I suspect that if there was a way to see William, my great-grandmother found it.

The next information I have of William and my great-grandparents comes from the Monroe Evening News on Tuesday, October 15:

YOUNG GILMORE DIES AT CAMP – After lingering between life and death at the Great Lakes Training station early this morning. While it was rumored Monday that he had died the end did not come until an early hour this morning and the news of his death was learned with much sorrow by a large circle of friends. Young Gilmore who was the son of Mr. and Mrs. James Gilmore of Elm Avenue enlisted in the Marines the fore part of August and several weeks ago he became ill with influenza, which resulted in pneumonia. He was 20 years of age and leaves besides his parents, a wife and a six month old daughter. Before he enlisted, he resided at 601 East Third Street and was employed at the Boehme and Rauch Company. The body of the young Marine is expected to arrive here this evening and the funeral arrangements will be announced later.

William was rated Fireman, Third Class at the time of his death. He was one of 945 sailors who died of the Spanish Flu at Naval Station Great Lakes.

The Aftermath

World War I ended less than a month after William’s death. Germany formally surrendered on November 11, 1918.

Sarah and Jeanette returned to live with Sarah’s parents in Monroe, according to the 1920 census. On June 13, 1920, she married Claude Ernest Shawley, a young man two years her senior who was in the real estate business in Ohio. It does not appear that Sarah and Claude had children together.

Monroe built a memorial in Soldiers and Sailors Park to honor those who died in the war, including my great-uncle. My great-grandmother, Millie Gilmore, was honored as a Gold Star mother, and would ride in the lead convertible in Monroe’s Decoration Day Parade in the years after the war.

I learned a lot diving into this history of my uncle and the Spanish Flu epidemic of 1918. The accounts of life in Monroe in the early 1900s were charming, while the accounts of the epidemic itself were both harrowing and sobering. William Ellsworth Gilmore is less a legend to me now and more of a real person. The heavy tolls of a pandemic are more real, too.

I wish you all health and safety in the midst of our current crisis. Stay well.