PENGUIN PRESS, MARCH 2011
By the fall of 1901, the wave of American epidemics had carried smallpox to every state and territory in the union. The new mild type smallpox was the culprit in the majority of places, but deadly variola major struck several major American cities, particularly in the Northeast. Compulsory vaccination was the order of the day, enforced at the nation’s borders, in cities and towns, at workplaces, and, above all, in the public schools. The public policy was a boon to the vaccine industry, driving up demand for smallpox vaccine. American vaccine makers of the day ranged in size from rising national pharmaceutical firms such as Detroit’s Parke, Davis & Company and Philadelphia’s H. K. Mulford Company (a U.S. forerunner of today’s Merck) to the dozens of small “vaccine farms” that sprouted up around the country. To meet the unprecedented demand for vaccine-coated ivory points or capillary tubes of liquid lymph, the makers flooded the market with products, some inert, some “too fresh,” and some seriously tainted. Complaints of vaccine-induced sore arms and feverish bodies filled the newspapers and medical journals. Every family seemed to have its own horror story.
Popular distrust of vaccine surged in the final months of the year, as newspapers across the country reported that batches of tetanus-contaminated diphtheria antitoxin and smallpox vaccine had caused the deaths of thirteen children in St. Louis, four in Cleveland, nine in Camden, and isolated fatalities in Philadelphia, Atlantic City, Bristol (Pennsylvania), and other communities. In all but St. Louis, where antitoxin was the culprit, the reports implicated vaccine. Even The New York Times, a relentless champion of compulsory vaccination, expressed horror at the news from Camden, the epicenter of the national vaccine scare. “Vaccination has been far more fatal here than smallpox,” the paper told its readers. “Parents are naturally averse to endangering their children to obey the law, claiming that the chances of smallpox seem to be less than those of tetanus.”
Pain, sickness, and the occasional death after vaccination were nothing new. But the clustering, close sequence, and staggering toll of these events was unprecedented in America. Newspaper stories of children dying in terrible agony—their jaws locked and bodies convulsing, as helpless parents and physicians bore witness—turned domestic tragedies into galvanizing public events. Allegations of catastrophic vaccine failure triggered extraordinary levels of conflict between angry citizens and defensive officials. In one typical incident, which occurred as the ninth Camden child entered her death throes, the health officials of Plymouth, Pennsylvania, discovered that many parents, ordered to get their children vaccinated for school, were secretly wiping the vaccine from their sons’ and daughters’ arms.
Jolted from their professional complacency, physicians and public health officials were forced to reconsider the existing distribution of coercion and risk in American public health law. In one sense, compulsory vaccination orders, whether they applied only to schoolchildren or to the public at large, already socialized risk. The orders imposed a legal duty upon individuals (and also parents) to assume the risks of vaccination in order to protect the entire community from the presumably much greater danger of smallpox. Spreading the risk of vaccination across the community made its social benefit (immunity of the herd) seem a great bargain. As any good progressive knew, the inescapable interdependence of modern social life required just such sacrifices for the public welfare and the health of the state. Still, the state did almost nothing to ensure vaccine quality. The bacteriological revolution spawned a proliferating array of “biologics”—vaccines, antitoxins, and sera of endless variety—that were manufactured in unregulated establishments and distributed, by the companies’ druggist representatives and traveling detail men, in unregulated markets. The risks of these products lay where they fell—on the person left unprotected by an inert vaccine or poisoned by a tainted one.
The situation illustrates the larger dualism of American law at the turn of the century. Ordinary Americans, particularly working-class people, were caught between the increasingly strong state presence in their everyday social lives and the relatively weak state regulation of the economy. And the government insulated itself from liability. In a leading decision, handed down just three years before the Camden crisis, the Georgia Supreme Court took up the question of whether a municipal government could be sued for injuries caused by bad vaccine used by its public vaccinators. The answer was an unblinking No. Citing “a principle as old as English law, that ‘the King can do no wrong,’” the court refused to allow a resident of Rome, who had submitted to vaccination “under protest,” to sue the government for using “vaccine matter which was bad, poisonous and injurious, and from which blood poisoning resulted.” To allow such a case to proceed, the court warned, “would be to paralyze the arm of the municipal government, and either render it incapable of acting for the public weal, or would render such action so dangerous that the possible evil consequences to it, resulting from the multiplicity of suits, might be as great as the smallpox itself.” The arm of the state was protected; the arm of the citizen was not.
Supporters of compulsory vaccination defended the policy in a quasi-scientific rhetoric of risk assessment. From the expert point of view, lay concerns about vaccine safety were steeped in ignorance and fear, which should have evaporated in the face of hard statistical evidence. Officials assured the public that vaccines were safer than ever: “the preparation of glycerinized vaccine lymph has now been brought to such perfection that there should be no fear of untoward results in its use,” Surgeon General Walter Wyman said three years before Camden. Even if untoward results did arise, the social benefits of vaccination outweighed the costs. As the Cleveland Medical Journal put it, “Better [by] far two score and ten sore arms than a city devastated by a plague that it is within our power to avert.”
From Pox by Michael Willrich. Reprinted by arrangement of The Penguin Press, a member of Penguin Group (USA), Inc. Copyright© 2011 by Michael Willrich.