Century. He worked on helping victims in the aftermath of the 1906 San Francisco earthquake (estimated casualties,over 3,000), the 1909 Cherry Mine disaster (casualties, 259), and during the Mississippi River floods of 1912 (estimated casualties, 200).
Traveling to Omaha wasnât a decision made lightly, given that it would take roughly twenty-four hours almost nonstop by train to get there from Washington, D.C., but the destruction demanded the Red Crossâs attention. Bicknell was always buried in work, however, even when a crisis wasnât ongoing. Much of his job was spent promoting the development of the American Red Cross, which had been in existence since 1881 when Clara Barton, impressed by the International Red Cross, brought the concept to the United States. Between disasters, Bicknellâs main function seemed to be preparing for conferences, which invariably called upon him to write and deliver a speech and raise money and call attention to the organization. But when a disaster called, he pushed all of that aside and devoted himself to the relief effort, enjoying the experience of rolling up his sleeves and having a change of pace from the day-to-day bureaucracy.
And while he was gone, the Red Cross would remain in capable hands with Mabel Boardman, who was technically a volunteer, but in actuality a wealthy philanthropist who ran the entire organization. Boardman took herself out of the running to be at the helm of the American Red Cross, believing the public would more naturally follow a male leader, although Bicknell himself was far from a ceremonial figurehead. In her current back seat, Mabel may have not been doing much for womenâs rights, but she did a tremendous amount for the Red Cross, devoting her life to it, working for the organization from 1903 to 1944, just two years before her death.
Bicknell was a man with brown eyes that almost matched his sandy brown hair that he parted in the middle. In 1913, when walrus mustaches were still the norm and muttonchop sideburns could occasionally be spotted on older gentlemen, Bicknell was clean-shaven, apparently an early adopter of Gillette razors, which had debuted on the scene in 1900. If Bicknell managed to secure a time machine and travel to modern times, other than his shirtâs starch-infested white collar and early twentieth-century tweed suit, he wouldnât seem so out of place.
Bicknell boarded the train in Washington, D.C. that evening, fully believing that he could conduct affairs more efficiently from Omaha. Either way, he would be of more help than half a nation away inWashington. If all went as planned, throughout the night his train would pass through several states, mostly Ohio and Indiana, and he could be in Chicago by noon the next day, where he would then board another train for Omaha. But, of course, it didnât all go as planned.
Through the night of March 23 and into the 24th, all across the Midwest
Omaha had the worst of it, but it was one community hit by one tornado. The night of March 23 was packed with tornadoes. Depending on the source you believe, it may have been as few as six or as many as twelve. Omaha, with the tornado cutting through a densely populated downtown, was the most affected, but at least six tornadoes tormented Nebraska, Iowa, Illinois, Missouri, Michigan, and Indiana within the span of about two hours, killing more than two hundred people and destroying thousands of homes. What hit Omaha also attacked Neola, Iowa, where two people lost their lives, and Bartlett, Iowa, where three more people died.
In the Nebraska town of Berlin, which would change its name to Otoe five years later when America fought the Germans during World War I, seven people died. Another twister destroyed half the buildings in the Nebraska town of Yutan, killing sixteen. There were still more tornado-related deaths in Walton and Sterling, Illinois, another in Traverse City, Michigan, and yet another in Perth, Indiana,