Smallpox

Advertisement, Middlesex Gazette, 12 March 1791, p. 3

 

 We’ve almost forgotten about it, but for thousands of years, smallpox was a constant threat, a terrifying disease which could cause massive scarring, blindness, and death. It was fatal in about 3 out of every 10 cases. Thanks to an international campaign coordinated by the World Health Organization, smallpox was eradicated in 1979, the first disease ever to be wiped out by human effort.

The simplest description of the disease is as follows. Smallpox was caused by the variola virus, which infects only humans. It was spread primarily by close physical contact (being less than six feet away from the infected person), but it could also be spread through contact with bodily fluids and infected clothing or bedding. Initial symptoms were similar to the flu (fever, muscle pain, fatigue, etc.), which were followed by lesions that formed in the mouth, throat, and skin. In some patients, the entire body could be covered by pus-filled bumps which would eventually dry up and scab over. Smallpox and chickenpox had similarities, although smallpox was much worse. 

Smallpox patient

Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Division

 There is at least one documented instance in which smallpox was used as a biological warfare agent. During the 1760s, the British in western Pennsylvania made a deliberate attempt to infect Native Americans with smallpox by giving them infected blankets (Dr. Marc Barton, "Germ Warfare and the Siege of Fort Pitt," Past Medical History, 13 November 2017).

The earliest form of vaccination for smallpox was inoculation, in which a small amount of the virus is taken from a scab or sore then inhaled by or scratched into the skin of the person being inoculated. The practice dates back centuries. The first recorded smallpox inoculations were done in China more than a thousand years ago. By receiving a small dose of the virus, people were able to develop immunity.

The first known inoculations in what was to become the United States were conducted in Boston in 1721 during a smallpox epidemic. Rev. Cotton Mather learned about smallpox inoculation from Onesimus, a West African man held in slavery by Mather. Inoculation was commonplace in Onesimus’ homeland (his original name and birthplace are unknown), but unheard of in the North American colonies. Mather persuaded physician Zabdiel Boylston to try the method. Inoculation was highly controversial, with many people assuming the patients would end up dying from smallpox. Although it was far from a perfect preventative, inoculation proved to be effective. (Shawn Buhr, “To Inoculate or Not to Inoculate? The Debate and the Smallpox Epidemic of Boston in 1721,” Constructing the Past, Vol. 1, 2000)

The first smallpox vaccine was developed in 1796 by Dr. Edward Jenner in England using a related virus, cowpox. Jenner is credited with the creation of the word “vaccine” which is based on the Latin word for cow, vacca. (“Smallpox and the Story of Vaccination,” Science Museum, London) Other versions of a smallpox vaccine were developed at various times.

 

Inoculations in Waterbury

During the 1700s, smallpox spread quickly when large groups of people traveled between the colonies. Revolutionary War troops passing through Waterbury brought the disease with them. Following outbreaks of smallpox, Waterbury was given permission to inoculate its residents in 1778 and again in 1782. (Bronson, History of Waterbury, p. 357fn)

A Connecticut law regulated smallpox inoculations, requiring that each town hold a meeting to vote on whether or not to allow inoculation in that town, and that two-thirds of the voters must vote yes. (An Act in further Addition to the Law entitled An Act providing in Case of Sickness, The Public Records of the State of Connecticut, Vol. 1, p. 233)

In 1784, Dr. Abel Bronson was given permission to perform inoculations. He ran advertisements in the New Haven and Middlesex County newspapers for several years. Bronson lived in the section of Waterbury that is now Middlebury. His nephew was Silas Bronson, the founder of Waterbury’s public library. (Bronson, History of Waterbury, p. 357fn)

Advertisement, Connecticut Journal, 4 April 1787, p. 4

In 1803, Waterbury doctors Joseph Porter and Edward Field were given permission to inoculate patients against smallpox.

There was also a pest house on North Main Street, between Division and Brewster Streets, before that area was developed. In 1893, children playing on Division Street dug up a human skull. The police then dug up the rest of the body and determined that it was most likely from the smallpox burying ground which supposedly had been used about thirty years earlier for a family of five who died from the disease. (Anderson, Town and City of Waterbury, Vol. II, p. 133fn and Waterbury Evening Democrat, 14 April 1893)

Smallpox outbreaks in the Waterbury region during the early 1800s tended to be small. In 1849, there was a reported outbreak in the Straitsville section of Naugatuck which was quickly isolated. Locals went so far as to barricade the road between Prospect and Straitsville “as a precaution against unnecessary exposure.” (“Small Pox in Naugatuck,” Waterbury American, 26 January 1849, p. 1)


Brookside Home

For much of Waterbury’s early history, poverty was treated as a crime committed by the poor, based on the belief that people chose to be poor. If you were unable to support yourself, you could be sentenced to the town farm or poorhouse. During the 1820s, Waterbury hired Daniel Scott to operate a poorhouse at his farm on Watertown Avenue. The people sent to the poorhouse, which was essentially a prison, included the mentally ill. During the 1830s, various other farms were used in succession as the poorhouse, now called the “workhouse or house of correction.” (Anderson, Town and City of Waterbury, Vol. III, p. 880-882)

In 1839, Waterbury purchased a farm on the east side of Steele’s Brook, overlooking Huntingdon Avenue, where they built a new almshouse. The farm served multiple functions throughout the 1800s: housing the poor, who were required to work on the farm, the mentally ill, and local lawbreakers (minor crimes only, like public drunkenness). (Anderson, Town and City of Waterbury, Vol. III, p. 882-884)

Engraving of the 1839 almshouse from Anderson, The Town and City of Waterbury, Vol. III, p. 882

By the 1870s, the farm included Waterbury’s pest house, a small building for isolating and nursing people who were sick with a contagious disease. (“Small Pox in Waterbury,” Waterbury Daily American, 24 February 1873, p. 7)

A new, brick asylum-style almshouse was built on the town farm in 1893. (Anderson, Town and City of Waterbury, Vol. III, p. 884)

Photo of the 1893 almshouse from Anderson, The Town and City of Waterbury, Vol. III, p. 884

The almshouse was given a new name in 1902, Brookside Home, a reference to its location near Steele’s Brook. (“The ‘Brookside Home’,” Waterbury Democrat, 5 April 1901, p. 5)

Although the almshouse is long gone, the town farm's location is easily found -- Brookside Road, off Huntingdon Avenue, was named for it.

Detail, 1852 map of Waterbury showing the almshouse

1873 Outbreak

Waterbury was relatively free from smallpox through most of the 1800s. As the population grew, however, the risks increased. Between 1860 and 1880, Waterbury’s population doubled, increasing from 10,004 to 20,270.

In February 1873, David Goodwin, a musician from Hartford, came to Waterbury to perform at Dwyer’s Saloon on South Main Street. He stayed at a boarding house on South Main Street for several days before it was known that he had smallpox. Goodwin was relocated to Waterbury’s pest house, where he died a few days later. (“Small Pox in Waterbury,” Waterbury Daily American, 24 February 1873, p. 7 and 27 February 1873, p. 3)

In April, multiple cases of smallpox were reported, including one at the same boarding house where Goodwin had been staying. (“Small Pox on the Increase,” Waterbury Daily American, 19 April 1873, p. 3)

The city’s Board of Health convened several emergency meetings and ordered a strict quarantine: anyone with smallpox and any person caring for them were not allowed to leave their home until receiving written permission from the Board of Health, and no one other than medical personal were permitted to enter their homes. (“The Small-Pox,” Waterbury Daily American, 22 April 1873, p. 3)

Quack medicine ad, Waterbury Daily American, 22 February 1872, p. 3

The Board of Health also ordered posters with the words “Small pox here” to be posted on every building in which someone had the disease. They also recommended that all city residents get vaccinated, if they hadn’t done so already. (“The Small-Pox,” Waterbury Daily American, 21 April 1873, p. 3)

By April 24, there were eight confirmed cases of smallpox in Waterbury; a week later, the total was ten. (“The Small-Pox,” Waterbury Daily American, 24 April 1873, p. 3 and 1 May 1873, p. 3)

Although it may seem like ten confirmed cases wouldn’t be enough to inspire fear, smallpox was a terrifying disease that could spread rapidly. The Waterbury American tried to calm its readers by declaring that “as matters now stand, there is no occasion for regarding small-pox with any more anxiety than we should naturally feel with referent to typhoid or scarlet fever.” (“The City Safe,” Waterbury Daily American, 1 May 1873, p. 2)

Two more cases of smallpox were reported on May 7 and one patient died that night. (“The Small-Pox,” Waterbury Daily American, 7 May 1873 and “Small-Pox News,” Waterbury Daily American, 8 May 1873, p. 3)

By the time the 1873 outbreak was over, five people had died – a significant number when you consider that there were only twenty-five cases reported. (“The Small-Pox Town Meeting,” Waterbury American, 4 April 1882, p. 4)


1880s Outbreaks

Another outbreak began in February 1882. The first cases were in the predominantly Irish neighborhood centered on Dublin Street. (“Two Additional Cases,” Waterbury American, 25 March 1882, p. 4)

The City’s practice was to send smallpox patients to the pest house at the town farm, but not everyone was willing to go. When Michael Dwyer refused to leave his home on Hayden Street, health officials requested assistance from the police, but Chief Laird refused to have his officers come in contact with a smallpox patient, allegedly telling the health officials “to go to hell or be damned.” The health officials eventually hired someone to break down the door to Dwyer’s apartment and force him onto a covered wagon. They took Dwyer to the pest house, but he wasn’t there for long – he broke out overnight and walked home, stopping to visit a doctor along the way. Dwyer later complained that the beds at the pest house weren’t fit to lie on, there was nothing to eat, and no one was there to help him. (“The Small-Pox Situation,” Waterbury American, 27 March 1882, p. 4)

The incident turned into a prolonged scandal. Health commissioner Dr. John J. Neville issued a formal complaint against Chief Laird, accusing him of refusing to comply with a court order and of using “very insulting language” when the two men bumped into each other one morning. Chief Laird denied everything. (Waterbury American, 29 March 1882, p. 4)

The scandal was intensified by the cost of sending Dwyer to the pest house – the City received a bill of $200 from Patrick Lunny, who was hired to force Dwyer to leave his home. (“Concerning Small-Pox,” Waterbury American, 28 March 1882, p. 4)

Waterbury American, 28 March 1882, p. 4

Following a public hearing, the city’s selectmen voted to ensure that all smallpox patients were properly cared for during their confinement. (“The Small-Pox Town Meeting,” Waterbury American, 4 April 1882, p. 4)

One more scandal erupted when the pest house nurse, James Burns, left his patients to go out drinking downtown, causing people to fear that he was spreading the disease on his clothing. After an evening of carousing, which included a tussle with a police officer, Burns was found passed out in a saloon. He was arrested and sentenced to 60 days in jail. (“A Small-pox Nurse at Large,” Waterbury American, 8 April 1882, p. 4)


Smaller Outbreaks

During the 1890s, there were assorted incidents of smallpox in Waterbury. The City’s handling of these cases caused some friction. Patrick Donnelly sued the city for $1,000 after he was forced to quarantine because there was smallpox in his neighborhood. A year later, four families who were forced to quarantine faced additional hardship from the loss of income—if they didn’t work, they didn’t get paid, and the City didn’t compensate them for their loss. (“Sues the City of Waterbury,” The Morning Journal Courier, 11 September 1890, p. 4 and “Small-Pox at Waterbury,” The Meriden Daily Journal, 10 April 1891, p. 1)

In 1893, there was a small outbreak among Waterbury’s French Canadian neighborhood which started with Julian Devaux or Dubuc on Charles Street. The apartment building in which he lived was placed under “an iron clad quarantine” which was enforced by guards at the front and rear of the building. The building apparently remained under quarantine for three months. All 32 residents of the building were vaccinated. (“News of the State,” The Morning Journal Courier, 10 January 1893, p. 4 and “More Smallpox in Waterbury,” The Meriden Daily Journal, 11 March 1893, p. 1)


Anti-Vaccinators

Waterbury was home to an anti-vaccine movement during the late 1800s and into the early 1900s which made two smallpox outbreaks worse than they otherwise would have been. One of the most prominent anti-vaxxers in Waterbury was Stephen Benjamin Munn, M.D., a practitioner of Eclectic Medicine and former Second Advent minister.

Dr. Stephen B. Munn
National Eclectic Medical Association Quarterly, Vol. 5, 1914

 
Munn was president of the Connecticut Anti-Vaccination League, later renamed the Connecticut Anti-Compulsory Vaccination League, during the early 1900s. The league was one of a number of organizations around the country who were opposed to vaccinations.

Munn firmly and mistakenly believed that the smallpox vaccine did not prevent anyone from getting smallpox. He was also prejudiced against immigrants, noting that Waterbury’s smallpox outbreaks “always” started among the Irish and other foreign-born residents and barely affected “Americans.” (Stephen Benjamin Munn, “A Small-Pox Epidemic,” The Medical Tribune, 15 February 1892 p. 75)

Munn formed a close acquaintance with anti-vaccine lecturer Dr. Alexander Wilder and arranged for Wilder to give a lecture “against the crime of Compulsory Vaccination” in Waterbury in March 1902 during a smallpox outbreak in the city. (“Alexander Wilder,” The Metaphysical Magazine, July-December 1908, p. 301)

Note: Vaccination really does prevent smallpox, despite Munn's insistence otherwise.

Advertisement, Waterbury Democrat, 14 March 1902, p. 5

Munn published the Waterbury Anti-Vaccinator newspaper in 1902 with Wilder serving as editor. Munn later wrote that this publication was a huge help “in combatting the Health authorities in their attempt to enforce the rite upon the people of this city.” (“Alexander Wilder,” The Metaphysical Magazine, p. 301)



1902 Outbreak

A smallpox outbreak started on February 25, 1902, when it was reported that a man named Joseph Diamond had been diagnosed with smallpox after spending three days in Waterbury. Diamond had been staying at the police station shelter and the Salvation Army shelter while working odd jobs in Waterbury. Worried that he was coming down with a bad cold, Diamond approached Sgt. Fagan on Bank Street to find out where the town doctor was located. (“Small Pox Here,” Waterbury Democrat, 25 February 1902, p. 1)

Waterbury’s medical examiner, Dr. Thomas Axtelle, happened to arrive as Diamond was speaking to Fagan and diagnosed Diamond on the spot. Diamond was placed on a chair in an alleyway near the Green for about twenty minutes while arrangements were made to transport him to the pest house (now sometimes called the Isolation Hospital). A crowd gathered to stare at him, which led to concerns that the disease might spread among them. (“Small Pox Here,” Waterbury Democrat, 25 February 1902, p. 1)

In keeping with the standard precautions of the period, the police station where Diamond had stayed was fumigated and the Salvation Army shelter was placed under quarantine – everyone who had been staying there was tracked down by the police and forced to return to the shelter. (“Small Pox Here,” Waterbury Democrat, 25 February 1902, p. 1)

Waterbury Democrat, 1 March 1902, p. 1

Dr. Axtelle’s diagnosis was called into question a few days later, but he stood by his judgment, pointing out that he had two years’ experience at Riverside Hospital (a smallpox hospital on Blackwell’s Island in New York) treating smallpox patients. The people stuck in quarantine at the Salvation Army shelter were frustrated, and the cost to the taxpayers for their food and medical care drew criticism in the newspapers. (“Smallpox Talk,” Waterbury Democrat, 1 March 1902, p. 1)

By March 10, there was no longer any doubt that smallpox had arrived in Waterbury. Joseph Diamond had grown very sick, and at least one person known to have had contact with him, John Coffey, was also showing symptoms. A total of fifteen people were patients at Waterbury’s isolation hospital, including Lizzie Garthwaite (Gauthier), only 14 years old, and Henry and Raymond Clark, two young boys who lived near Garthwaite (Gauthier). The Salvation Army shelter continued to quarantine forty-five people, while another sixty-eight people were quarantine in their homes in three different apartment buildings. (“Get Vaccinated,” Waterbury Democrat, 10 March 1902, p. 1)

The Waterbury Democrat began pushing for widespread vaccinations, making sure all of the newspaper’s employees were vaccinated, and advising that people who weren’t afraid of getting smallpox should get vaccinated for the sake of others “and by this means assist in stamping it out.” Father William J. Slocum of the Immaculate Conception Church encouraged his parishioners to get vaccinated and was publicly vaccinated himself. (“Get Vaccinated,” Waterbury Democrat, 10 March 1902, p. 1)

The Silas Bronson Library closed for two months to avoid the spread of smallpox at the library (Thirty-Third Annual Report of the Board of Agents of The Bronson Library Fund, p. 7).

Advertisement suggesting keeping your feet dry to avoid smallpox,
Waterbury Democrat, 13 March, 1902, p. 4

At least two schools were closed, Town Plot School and St. Ann’s parochial school. (“The Excitement is Subsiding,” Waterbury Democrat, 15 March 1902, p. 1 and “Baby Trepannier Buried,” Waterbury Democrat, 12 April 1902, p.1)

Nearly two dozen patients were admitted to the isolation hospital and the City scrambled to have the Tracy Brothers construction company build an addition to accommodate more patients. (“The Foul Disease is Increasing,” Waterbury Democrat, 17 March 1902, p. 1)

Rumors of physicians engaging in price gouging for the vaccine led the Waterbury Democrat to suggest that Waterbury’s Board of Health should assign a physician to provide free vaccinations to families who couldn’t afford even a low-cost vaccine. (“Get Vaccinated,” Waterbury Democrat, 10 March 1902, p. 1)

The first fatality occurred on March 21. John Coffey, who had been with Diamond at the Salvation Army shelter, was buried in a hermetically sealed metal-lined coffin at Calvary Cemetery. (“Two New Smallpox Cases,” Naugatuck Daily News, 22 March 1902, p. 1)

Smallpox continued to spread slowly through Waterbury, striking a few more children and young adults. By March 29, Joseph Diamond was past the worst of the illness, but was required to stay in the hospital until his scabs healed. (“More Smallpox,” Waterbury Democrat, 29 March 1902, p. 1)

Waterbury Democrat, 29 March 1902, p. 1

The second fatality was James Dunham, who died on April 10 only a few days after being admitted to the isolation hospital. Dunham was in Waterbury only briefly, coming here from Fall Village. He was buried in the town cemetery next to Riverside Cemetery. (“Second Death at Pest House,” Waterbury Democrat, 10 April 1902, p. 1)

The third fatality was George Trepannier, only three months old, who died at the isolation hospital on April 11. Like Coffey and Dunham, he was buried in a hermetically sealed coffin in the middle of the night, at Calvary Cemetery. (“Baby Trepannier Buried,” Waterbury Democrat, 12 April 1902, p.1)

By April 16, there were seventy-three reported cases of smallpox, but some of the people in quarantine were refusing to be vaccinated. (“Refuse to be Vaccinated,” Waterbury Democrat, 16 April 1902, p. 1)

By the end of the outbreak, 97 cases were reported. The last patient was discharged from the hospital in August. The total cost to the City was approximately $25,000. (“The Smallpox Scare,” Waterbury Democrat, 22 November 1903)


1912 Cases

Waterbury’s factories took a hard line on contagious diseases, worried that an outbreak among their workers could severely impact production. In 1912, when one Waterbury resident contracted smallpox after visiting a quarantined home in Naugatuck, the Waterbury Clock Company temporarily “dismissed” (i.e., fired) a number of employees who had one family member in Naugatuck suffering from smallpox. (Correspondence, The Metal Industry, May 1912, p. 224)


1916-1917 Outbreak

A new outbreak started in 1916. More than 500 people were infected in Waterbury and 23 other towns between June 1916 and March 1917. The largest numbers of infections occurred in December and January. (John T. Black, M.D., “Smallpox in Connecticut, Health News, April 1917, p. 88)

Waterbury was at high risk for an outbreak, as it was “the Connecticut stronghold of anti-vaccinationists.” Only 45% of Waterbury was vaccinated against smallpox, and the city was overcrowded, due to the massive influx of people who came here to work in the factories during World War I. (Black, Health News, p. 88)

The first reported cases were at an apartment house on Bishop Street, where Stanley Sould’s mother Lydia and baby Elizabeth were both sick. Dr. W. A. Goodrich made a house call to treat the family, then notified Health Officer Kilmartin that he suspected they were suffering from smallpox. The family wasn’t informed of the diagnosis until after Stanley Sould returned home from work – Dr. Kilmartin wanted them all at home when he informed them that Lydia, baby Elizabeth, and Stanley were being sent to the Isolation Hospital at the Brookside Home. The Cobb family, who lived on the first floor of the two-family house, were placed under quarantine at home. (“Family Must Go Into Isolation,” Waterbury American, 29 June 1916, p. 3)

A day later, two more cases were reported. Two young boys, Walter and Donald Garner, were believed to have caught smallpox from their father, who was recovering from it at the time. Both boys were sent to the Isolation Hospital (Donald was only a year old). Also at the hospital were two men who had been staying at the Independent Club at 99 South Main Street. (“Isolation House Almost Full Now,” Waterbury American, 30 June 1916, p. 3)

The Independent Club was a haven for Black people newly arrived in Waterbury: the city’s hotels and most boarding houses rented rooms to white people only. Eighteen men were staying at the club when the smallpox outbreak started. Two men were sent to the Isolation Hospital, while the others were briefly quarantined in the building (with police guarding the doors to prevent anyone from leaving or entering) before being vaccinated. The building was fumigated by the city’s Sanitary Inspector, and the men were then allowed to leave. (“$150 Weekly Voted to Health Officer,” Waterbury American, 1 July 1916, p. 3)

Waterbury was severely segregated at this point in its history—the local newspaper referred to “the colored colonies of the city” when writing about the outbreak (“No New Cases Found,” Waterbury American, 3 July 1916, p. 3). Although the initial cases of smallpox were all in the Black community, white people who had their laundry done by Black women in the Bishop and Pearl Streets neighborhood panicked, worrying that their laundry might be infected. (“$150 Weekly Voted to Health Officer,” Waterbury American, 1 July 1916, p. 3)

The Meriden Daily Journal, 1 July 1916, p. 2

Dr. Kilmartin traced all of the patients’ contacts and determined that the disease was brought to Waterbury by Cora Stevens, who moved here in April (“No New Cases Found,” Waterbury American, 3 July 1916, p. 3). Connecticut’s newspapers picked up on this and repeatedly made a point of blaming the outbreak on “a young colored woman” from the South. Sometimes she was from South Carolina, other times she was from North Carolina. The story eventually found its way to North Carolina, where headlines blared that “North Carolina Colored Girl Said to Have Cost Connecticut Quarter Million of Dollars” (Roanoke Rapids Herald, 18 May 1917, p. 1). It should be noted that this type of coverage was not normal; when outbreaks were traced to a white person, even if that person was an immigrant, there was never any sense that they were responsible for the outbreak.

The origins of the epidemic were disputed by Dr. Peyton F. Anderson, a Black physician and surgeon who treated some of the people who were sick in June. According to Dr. Anderson, his patients had suffered from chickenpox, not smallpox. His opinion was shot down by the white health authorities, who were certain that a smallpox outbreak started in the Black community. (“Physician Accepts Board’s Challenge,” The Meriden Journal, 15 January 1917, p. 1)

The Meriden Daily Journal, 15 January 1917, p. 1

No new cases were reported in July and August, but when smallpox appeared in the white community in September, contact tracing suggested that there may in fact have been several mild, unreported cases in Waterbury during those summer months. (John T. Black, M.D., “Smallpox in Connecticut,” Health News, April 1917, p. 88-89)

By November 18, there were seventeen active reported cases in Waterbury, creating concern that the city was about to see a repeat of the 1902 epidemic. The Board of Health voted in favor of requiring general vaccinations. Two parochial schools, St. Thomas and St. Ann, made vaccination mandatory for their students. (“General Vaccination Urged in Waterbury,” The Bridgeport Times and Evening Farmer, 18 November 1916, p.2)

The outbreak was declared an epidemic by the State Board of Health on December 8. The total number of cases since November 1 was thirty-eight. (“Smallpox in Waterbury,” The Bridgeport Times and Evening Farmer, 8 December 1916, p. 14)

Two public schools, Russell and Town Plot, were fumigated in December, while larger businesses started to request vaccinations for their employees. (“More Smallpox at Waterbury,” Meriden Record-Journal, 12 December 1916)

By the middle of December, thousands of people in Waterbury had been voluntarily vaccinated, and the Chase Park House, previously part of Waterbury Hospital, was prepped to become an isolation ward should the isolation hospital at Brookside Home town farm become overwhelmed with patients. (“Behaves Nicely in Trying Times,” Hartford Courant, 17 December 1916, p. 33)

Waterbury physicians vaccinated an average of about twenty people daily in December at their practices. The biggest vaccination push came from some of the factories – Scovill vaccinated more than 5,000 employees, including one thousand in a single day. (“May Have To Vaccinate Whole City of Waterbury,” The Hartford Daily Courant, 19 December 1916, p. 2)

Waterbury was identified as the center of a statewide outbreak of smallpox in 1917

Health News, 1917, p. 89

Health authorities recommended widespread vaccination, but many people were unwilling to do so. Waterbury’s low rate of vaccinations was considered the main contributing factor to the outbreak. Larger cities (Bridgeport, Hartford, New Haven), with vaccination rates between 80 and 85%, did not experience an outbreak. On January 1, vaccination of school children in Waterbury became mandatory. (Black, Health News, p. 88-89)

By January 6, thousands of Waterbury school children had been vaccinated. (“Two New Cases of Smallpox,” Waterbury Republican, 6 January 1917, p. 5) More than 800 students were not vaccinated and were not allowed to attend school. Many of them submitted certificates from their doctors stating that they had health conditions which prevented them from getting the vaccine, but the City did not allow them to return to school. (“Hundreds Sent Out of Schools,” Waterbury American, 9 January 1917, p. 7)

A vocal opponent of vaccinations was Domenic Manfredi of Ashley Street, a former constable and father of six school-age children. His oldest daughter, who planned to become a teacher, was expected to graduate from Crosby in June, but Manfredi’s refusal to have her vaccinated was preventing her from finishing school. Manfredi declared that he didn’t believe in vaccination, saying “I never was vaccinated and I have never been ill and I am as strong to-day as ever.” (An Italian immigrant, Manfredi may very well have been vaccinated as a child before coming to the U.S.) He thought that his daughter was at greater risk of getting sick if she got vaccinated than if she didn’t. (“Will Fight Board of Health Rule,” Waterbury Republican, 10 January 1917, p. 7)

A few others protested the mandatory vaccination of school children. George C. Nuttall, a former school district committee member, sent a letter of protest to the state, prompting an investigation by State Agent Henry J. Potter. (“Board to Deal with Waterbury Smallpox Row,” The Meriden Journal, 16 January 1917, p. 1)

The smallpox outbreak in Waterbury finally ended in July 1917, with 294 reported cases and no known fatalities. The City treated 168 patients for smallpox at the Isolation Hospital, quarantined 120 homes, and disinfected 231 homes Despite the fact that the annual report for the City’s Health Department stated that the outbreak started in September 1916, the report still blamed “help imported from the South” as the cause of the outbreak. In 1917, about 13,000 Waterbury school children were vaccinated for smallpox by the City, out of more than 26,000 students total. (Municipal Register of the City of Waterbury for the Year 1917, pp. 129-130) 

The Eradication of Smallpox

The last domestic case of smallpox in the United States happened in 1949, although there was a small outbreak in Washington, D.C. in 1965, brought here by a woman who had recently arrived from Ghana. Smallpox continued to plague the world, making it a constant threat everywhere. (Hartford Courant, 31 May 1965, p. 10)

Hartford Courant, 31 May 1965, p. 10

Connecticut’s last documented case of smallpox happened in 1939, but health officials remained vigilant. Following a small outbreak in NYC in 1947, the State Health Department urged people to get vaccinated if they had never been vaccinated or if it had been several years since they were vaccinated. (“Health Board Issues Warning on Smallpox,” Hartford Courant, 11 April 1947, p. 6)

Smallpox vaccination remained mandatory for some school children until the mid-1970s; requirements varied by town. In 1943, for example, only 57 cities and towns in Connecticut required the vaccine for school children; Waterbury was one of the municipalities that still required it. (“Smallpox Vaccination Is Required In Only 57 Communities of State,” Hartford Courant, 5 January 1943, p. 1)

While the United States brought smallpox under control within its borders, the disease was still rampant in other parts of the world. Travelers entering or returning to the U.S. were required to present a valid certificate of vaccination for smallpox (as well as for cholera and yellow fever, depending on where you had been). Travelers without a vaccination certificate could be required to quarantine for fourteen days. (“You Need A Proof Of Vaccination,” Meriden Record-Journal, 29 May 1957, p. 6)

The World Health Organization announced an ambitious plan to eradicate smallpox in 1958, urging all nations to participate in widespread vaccination in countries still suffering from outbreaks. Eradicating smallpox was possible because it was transmitted only between humans, not between animals and humans.

During the 1970s, as the global effort to eradicate smallpox neared its successful end, the U.S. Public Health Service (PHS) modified its rules, allowing U.S. citizens returning from countries without smallpox to re-enter the country without providing proof of vaccination. A smallpox vaccination certificate was still required “as a condition of entry into the United States [from] those persons who, within the preceding 14 days, have been in a country reporting a smallpox infested area….” (Murray J. Brown, “You Don’t Need Smallpox Shot, But…,” Hartford Courant, 5 March 1972, p. 10F)

Smallpox was officially declared "dead" in 1980 by the World Health Organization. 

World News, The Magazine of the World Health Organization, May 1980

Biological Warfare

Although smallpox was eradicated, samples were preserved in research laboratories. Although those samples were preserved for the purpose of beneficial research, their existence allows for the possibility that someone could use smallpox as a biological weapon. In 2002, worried that the U.S. could be attacked by terrorists using smallpox, the White House announced a plan to vaccinate essential military and healthcare workers throughout the U.S.

The vaccination campaign and related activities fueled fears of a smallpox outbreak. Connecticut was divided into 41 districts for vaccinations. In Waterbury, the Health Department put out a call for volunteer health care professionals and the general public to staff smallpox clinics in the event of an outbreak. Dr. Dada Jabbour served as Waterbury bioterrorism and smallpox coordinator, with the City Health Department using a federal grant to improve the city’s preparedness for a potential outbreak. (Robyn Adams, “Public Needed to Fight Smallpox,” Waterbury Republican American, p. 1B)

Smallpox vaccination kit

CDC Public Health Image Library