Part One: The Sanitary Home
Mark Twain as published in Letters from the Earth
The worries and social disruption we face as a result of the novel coronavirus are not novel from a historical perspective. In the 19th and early 20th centuries, concerns about diseases with questionable causes and ineffective treatments were everyday worries. The threat levels of such concerns varied, however, depending upon one’s wealth and advantage. Families like the Fricks had the means and mobility to deal with potential community pathogens that the average Pittsburgher literally couldn’t escape.
Pittsburgh: Disease Incubator
Society’s collective understanding of disease theory took a long time to evolve. Today we know that infectious diseases are caused by microscopic germs like bacteria or viruses. We understand that some diseases are also communicable or contagious, spreading directly from one person to another via droplets or bodily waste, or indirectly through a common contaminated vector.
People came to understand this in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, but it was a gradual process. Increased industrialization and immigration had resulted in a population shift from rural areas to cities. Those cities were particularly vulnerable to epidemics, both because they were ports of entry for disease-carrying insects and because urban proximity enabled the spread of contagions. The poorest people lived in overcrowded, substandard housing. They were served—if at all—by inadequate public water supplies and waste disposal. Such conditions were perfect for repeated outbreaks of communicable diseases to flourish.
There was a direct relationship between official social responses to ameliorate such conditions and improved scientific understanding of germ theory. But that relationship took a while to evolve, too. Episodes of pestilence were grimly regarded as regrettable but normal scourges of urban life. After all, it was the poorest city dwellers—those who could not advocate for themselves, and whose very natures were popularly associated with the filthy conditions they lived in—who were disproportionately affected by these diseases. Until circumstances reached a crisis point, there was a distinct lack of urgency in attending to these dire urban conditions.
There was not only a scientific knowledge lag stymieing municipal progress toward eradicating disease-fostering conditions. There was also a compassion lag.
View of downtown Pittsburgh c. 1835, looking from today’s Southside across the Monongahela River.
Illustrated lettersheet engraving, Carnegie Museum of Art, (ACN 16.33.5).
However, statistics kept in the latter half of the 19th century also confirm that it was only when illnesses like cholera, diphtheria, typhus, and tuberculosis reached crisis points in Pittsburgh that collective official attention was directed toward mitigating conditions that allowed such diseases to flourish in the first place. Some very public shaming vis-à-vis national attention drawn to the circa-1907 publication of The Pittsburgh Survey, the first vast sociological study of urban conditions, helped prompt local municipal change. Still, changes mostly occurred because Pittsburghers feared that the combination of this region’s impoverished conditions, associated diseases, and presumed moral decay had reached a tipping point that might allow all that badness to spread to more comfortable parts of the city.
Pittsburgh had its own compassion problem when it came to taking care of its poorest citizens.
The Pittsburgh Survey commentary by Ida Tarbell, published in a similarly-named magazine addressing social and political issues entitled The Survey, 25 September 1915.
It wasn’t that Pittsburghers didn’t worry about disease outbreaks; they did, just like the rest of the world. Local newspapers avidly followed the spread of cholera across Europe in 1829–1830. Those same papers dutifully detailed the arrival of cholera in Pittsburgh in October 1832, likely arriving with visitors aboard a steamboat originating in Cincinnati. The disease simultaneously manifested in five individuals, including two who were Black, one of whom was described as “an intemperate” or alcoholic, and another who had been jailed as a petty criminal. Those distinctions were important to include in the story, for they reassured many Pittsburghers that this dirty disease had come from Elsewhere and was concentrated amongst those who lived on the fringes of society. The Pittsburgh Gazette further assured its readers that no epidemic was forecast: “Our atmosphere, we believe, is now as pure, and healthy as it ever has been; indeed, if we may judge from our own feelings, and from our conversation with various persons, decidedly purer and healthier than it was three or four weeks ago.” This nearly 200-year-old reassurance probably strikes modern readers as insidiously naïve, since it treacherously misrepresents the outbreak. But that’s because today we understand cholera is caused not by bad air but by bacteria transmitted by water or food contaminated by infected feces, and that it can affect anyone anywhere poor sanitation exists.The Gazette’s reassurance was certainly premature. Six months later an estimated 75 people had died of cholera locally. A 1927 retrospective entitled Pioneer Medicine in Western Pennsylvania noted: “It is impossible to give the exact number of cases of cholera or the exact number of deaths because the newspapers deliberately suppressed the extent of the scourge and no other record is known to exist. Business was seriously interfered with, in fact was almost at a standstill, while the epidemic lasted.”
Another severe cholera outbreak in 1849–50 killed between 150–200 people. Pioneer Medicine noted that “many temporarily retired to rural districts” hoping to avoid spread of the disease. Ever-worsening cholera outbreaks continued into the 1850s, prompting the formation of Pittsburgh’s permanent Board of Health to keep accurate records and advocate for sanitary conditions.
For those who could afford to leave, or who had the good fortune to live outside an urban center, the comparatively socially-distanced life of rural seclusion helped insulate from epidemics.
It was Henry Clay Frick’s good fortune to be born in 1849 in West Overton, a town near Scottdale in rural Westmoreland County, Pennsylvania.
Henry Clay Frick’s birthplace, the Overholt farm in West Overton, PA.
West Overton Museums.
A Sanitary Home in 19th-Century Pittsburgh
Clayton (then known as Homewood) c. 1883.
Courtesy of The Frick Collection/Frick Art Reference Library Archives.
Although original floor plans do not exist, the home’s interior domestic design would have reflected the intersection of attitudes about health and personal space as manifested through issues of ventilation. The free movement of air and light between rooms was considered critical in allowing potential miasmas to dissipate. It was common to have interior windows, called transoms, situated above doorway support beams that could open to allow air and light to circulate even when doors were shut. The Fricks remodeled their home in 1891. Given the new prominence of germ theory combined with changing architectural taste, they likely removed some of the interior transoms in favor of other sanitary measures. Some transoms were kept for interior ventilation, however, like this one on the left leading to the second floor hallway from Mrs. Frick’s bedroom.
Clayton bedroom of Adelaide Howard Childs Frick, featuring transom over door leading to second floor hallway.
Frick Art and Historical Center.
The Clayton nursery of 1891 was designed to the era’s standards for sanitary living.
Frick Art and Historical Center.
This bathroom adjacent to the bedroom of Henry Clay Frick was constructed by Pittsburgh architectural firm Alden and Harlow in 1897. It featured popular white wall tiling and the most modern and sanitary accoutrements.
Frick Art and Historical Center.
Bathroom medicine cabinet at Clayton containing health care products and toiletry goods belonging to the Fricks.
Frick Art and Historical Center.
To learn more about disease and illness in Gilded Age Pittsburgh, read Part Two: The Fricks Afflicted and Part Three: Death in the Air.