Content note: description of death in a fire.
An early summer breeze fluttered my bedroom curtains, the only proof I had that the outside world still existed. Stay-at-home measures for the pandemic were already underway when I had gone into the hospital for a routine treatment that ended up leading to the discovery of a small, but surprise, tumor in my leg. (Because of course it did.) A surgeon popped the tumor out and told me to stay in bed for a month, which was where I was when I found the first evidence that disabled people had existed in Nebraska over 100 years ago.
I wasn’t supposed to sit up, even in bed, but I did anyway. This wasn’t something I could process laying down. When I had decided I wanted to learn the history of disabled people that had lived close to where I call home, I felt peaceful and connected. But now I felt sad, claustrophobic, and weak. Though I had started reading about disability history in general, this was the very first sliver of information I had found on the local level, the first breath into the core of my project that might bring it to life.
But now I felt… afraid. Not only because the brief I had just read was horrific in itself. But because I now faced the harrowing task of diving in to Lizzie’s story and I was just as afraid of what I wouldn’t find as what I would.
Mostly, I was afraid that I wouldn’t find out anything about Lizzie at all, other than the tragic and violent way in which she died. Though it was only the first thing I had read about her, the brief was not a promising way to begin.
But I had to begin somewhere. The brief I stumbled upon ran in Palmyra, but Lizzie died in Talmage. As was common for the time, the brief would have run after a larger story. The details from that story would have been condensed to as short of a sentence as possible to get the point across, then run in the papers of surrounding towns. Thus, I set out to find the full story.
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The full story of Lizzie’s death ran in the Talmage Tribune on Friday, November 16th, 1900. At the time the story ran, Lizzie was still alive but expected to pass away (she died later that night). This same story along with the additional line that she had died ran in the Syracuse Journal on Friday, November 23rd, 1900. Here is the story from the Syracuse paper. (Discretion advised, the story is very sad and descriptions are somewhat graphic.)
from the chair outside is therefore a mystery. Neighbors immediately ran to her rescue and extinguished the flames but not until she had been burned almost past recognition. Medical aid was at once summoned and all that is possible is being done to relieve her and the family and a host of friends are hoping for the best. However it is not thought she will live and the parents together with near relatives of the unfortunate girl are here awaiting developments. The affair is a frightful one and one which the Tribune chronicles with sadness. –Talmage Tribune. The young lady died Friday night. Page 8, Syracuse Journal, Friday, November 23rd, 1900.
All the details in the story pertain to Lizzie’s death. Even the detail that she was a dressmaker, something I’m very grateful to have found out, directly ties into the event that caused her death. However, I don’t read the article as being over-sensationalized. There are only so many ways to report such an excruciatingly painful death, that took place in a small community.
Lizzie is not the only person I’ve read about in local papers who died in an accident at home involving a stove fire at the turn of the century. These most often pertain to women and children, but I have also seen occasions where it happen to men. The fact that Lizzie was disabled is really, then, not an outstanding detail in the accident. Of everything in the article, the fact she used a wheelchair could have been left out, but it was pertinent enough to the story that I don’t think it was left in just to be sensational. The line about not knowing how she got out of her wheelchair does strike me as odd. If she had enough motor ability to make dresses and heat an iron in the fire, she could navigate herself about the house well enough that there shouldn’t be a mystery here.
Regardless, this article was reporting the accident, and was not a proper obituary. I found that she was buried not in Talmage where she died, but in Seward, near where her parents lived. Papers for Seward county were available to view and I found an obituary that ran in the Blue Valley Blade on November 21st, 1900:
Miss Lizzie Imig, daughter of Carl Imig of this county, was fatally burned on Monday of last week at the residence of her sister, Mrs. Bertha Badberg, at Talmage. She had been ironing, and the fire in the stove getting low, she undertook to hurry it up with coal oil, which resulted in her clothing taking fire, burning her so badly that, after great suffering, death came to her relief Friday night. Her remains were brought to Seward Monday for interment, the funeral services taking place at the German Evangelical church at noon, and was largely attended. Miss Imig was a young lady greatly loved and respected by all who knew her, and her relatives have the kind sympathy of the community in their sad bereavement.
Miss Imig had been making her home with her sister, Mrs. George Allgaier, at Talmage, for over a year, and had but recently went to stay with her sister, Bertha, who lives next door to Mr. Allgaier.
–
CARD OF THANKS We desire to return our thanks to our many friends for their sympathy and assistance, in our late bereavement, in the death and burial of our daughter and sister, Miss Lizzie.
CARL IMIG AND FAMILY
Page 3,
Blue Valley Blade, Wednesday, November 21st, 1900.
I must say, the obituary reads quite similar to others at the time. The average obituary for this time included the following: who the person was married to, any children they had, surviving relatives, where they were living and when they moved there, where they were born, what they did for work or hobbies, what church they went to, and how they died, including how long the person was unwell if they died of illness. Lizzie’s obituary is admittedly lacking, as the details of the accident overshadow personal details. However, she does not appear to have been married or have had children so those details were just not available. (I did find two Lizzie Imig’s in the papers that were married in that area in the 1890’s, however, I don’t believe they were her. The first was obviously a different Lizzie Imig, who went on to have children and do other things after 1900. The second could possibly have been her as I could not find any more information about the couple. However, the women I’ve found who got divorced or were widowed at the time kept their ex-husband’s last name. It would be odd to continue to refer to her as Imig if she had been married at all, even for a very short time. Plus, I think a marriage, even one that ended shortly or badly, would have been mentioned in the obituary.) Lizzie’s other family members and her living situation were referenced, so I don’t think that her obituary was treated any differently than others at the time. Perhaps most telling of this is the line that she was “respected by all who knew her.” To a modern ear, it sounds like filler. And the phrase was used in many, many obituaries at the time. (Even her father who died in 1919 had the line “he was well liked and respected by all who knew him” in his obituary.) But I think the sentiment was genuine, especially because her funeral was largely attended. Even if the showing was more in support for her family than her, Lizzie seems to have had belonging within her community. This sentiment is strengthened by a card of thanks that ran in the Talmage Tribune on November 23rd, 1900:
We wish to publicly express our heartfelt thanks and appreciation of the many deeds of kindness shown us during the recent calamity which has come to us in the death of our beloved daughter and sister. The friends in Talmage have been kind to us in the dark hour of our affliction in a manner that makes us feel their sympathy, and for it all we are duly thankful and hope to be able to show in deeds what we lack of expressing our full appreciation of the same in words.
– MR. & MRS. CARL IMIG AND FAMILY
” ” GEO ALLGAIER
” ” HERMAN BADBERG.
A second obituary ran on November 22nd, 1900 in the Seward Independent Democrat:
Last week it was stated in these columns that Mr. Carl Imig had been called to Talmage Tuesday by the critical condition of his daughter, Miss Lizzie, who had been making her home with her sister, Mrs Geo. Allgaier of that place. While endeavoring to hurriedly start up a smoldering fire with kerosene the day before Miss Imigs’ clothing had become ignited and resulted in her being frightfully burned, from the effects of which she died about 12 o’clock Friday night. The remains were brought to Seward for burial, arriving here Monday noon. They were taken from the B. & M. depot to the German Evangelical church, where funeral services were conducted by Rev. C. A. Houck, after which they were laid to rest by the side of those of the deceased’s mother in Greenwood cemetery.
The unfortunate young lady was about 27 years old, and had been a cripple for many years.
Mr. Imig and family will have the sympathy of their many friends in this locality in this their hour of affliction, and they desire to express their gratitude to those who have aided them, both in Seward and at Talmage.
Though we shouldn’t read into it too much, I find it interesting that in the first obituary, no mention is made of Lizzie using a wheelchair, but it is mentioned that she was “a cripple” in the second obituary. If I had found the first obituary while perusing the papers without knowing more, I would not have known that Lizzie was disabled, and would likely not have tried to find any more about her story.
I’m over-zealous sometimes when it comes to words that are used, mainly because my research tends to be restricted by the vocabulary used at the time in the newspapers to describe disability, which is in itself quite narrow. Mostly I’m left with “cripple” and “invalid.”
Lizzie was born in 1873, making her 26 or 27 at the time of her death. A young person who couldn’t walk would have likely been labeled as a cripple whereas an older person who lost their ability to walk due to old age might have been described differently, usually with the word “invalid.” Perhaps I’m getting a bit too pedantic because there are examples in the papers at the time of “cripple” and “invalid” being used more or less interchangeably. However, in this instance, I’ve noticed that “cripple” was used at this time more often for a disabled person who was born with a mobility disability or became permanently disabled at a younger age, while “invalid” was used to describe an older person who developed a mobility disability due to illness or age. Invalid was also used to describe someone of any age who became ill for an extended amount of time, even if their mobility wasn’t greatly impacted. Mostly “invalid” pertained to how it impacted a person’s ability to work or participate in social gatherings rather than what they could move or feel.
It is difficult to say why the first obituary didn’t mention her disability while others did. Filling in the gaps gets tricky and could easily turn into fiction if we aren’t careful. Categories and perceptions of disability were different at the turn of the Century and modern sentiments about disability were shaped mostly after WWI. The truth is that I don’t actually know how others felt about Lizzie’s disability, let alone how Lizzie herself felt as a disabled woman at this time and place. We can look at some things, like where she was living.
Lizzie living with her sisters could have been an empowering thing–rather than living with her parents this could have been a way for her to live a more independent life of her own making while still being able to receive familial support. On the other hand, her parents could have been unable or unwilling to support her, and her living with her sisters may have been seen as charity with all the resentments that might build up because of that. In the second obituary we find out that her mother has already died. My research turned up that after Lizzie’s mother died, her father remarried. So it is difficult to say if that was also a factor in Lizzie moving in first with one sister, then with another.
Honestly, I don’t have enough information to make a conjecture either way. If anything, I found that Lizzie’s story showed me ways in which I needed to check my own projections when taking on this type of historical research. For example, something that also initially struck me was that Lizzie’s headstone says “Elizabeth” while all the references to her in the paper call her “Lizzie.” At first, I was suspicious. I’ve seen many instances of infantilizing disabled adults with nicknames–calling someone “Danny” instead of “Dan” or “Jennie” instead of Jennifer. Sure, it’s understandable if parents or close family members use these nicknames. (Able-bodied people still have grandma calling them “Danny,” even if Dan’s 37 now.) But when the wider community only knows a disabled adult by a cutesy sort of nick name, this can be a sign of not seeing them as a person. However, this is very likely not the case with Lizzie. It was actually rather common at the time for women to go by names other than their given name–either their middle name or a shortened version–“Lottie” for “Charlotte,” for example. But even more evidence for this is that Lizzie’s sister, Anna Wilhelmina, is referred in the papers as having gone by “Minnie.” (A shortened version of a middle name, the bane of genealogy researchers everywhere!) So it seems that, once again, Lizzie was not being treated any differently in this instance.
One last thing I will point out is the use of “Miss” and “young lady” to refer to Lizzie. Some people I’ve talked to who don’t know a lot about the context of the time have found this kind of language to be disrespectful or belittling. (I’m not throwing shade here–I’m aware that few people just hang out and read newspapers from 1900 for fun.) However, from my reading of the old papers, these phrases are not disrespectful. Lizzie was in her ’20’s. Despite stereotypes that women were just old spinsters by 25 back in the day, this wasn’t really true, especially by 1900. She was a young lady, and being unmarried, “Miss” would have been the respectful title for her in the papers. Just another example of how we must be careful not to press too many modern ideals upon the conventions of the past.
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Of course, I wish I had found out more about Lizzie. This project is ongoing, so if and when I ever travel or gain access to other archives or avenues that might provide more information about Lizzie or the Imig family, I might find out more.
I can’t say that I wish more was written about her disability, because I don’t know how it would have been taken at the time. If publishing the reasons why Lizzie couldn’t walk would have been more for the benefit of a gawking public, or would have been shameful and intrusive to her, then of course I have to put my desires as an researcher aside and accept that there is no more information out there. Then again, if details of her disability were excluded because of a similar shame, it poses the idea that even the few things I could find about her are a mistreatment of her story, and I could be inferring things incorrectly in my reading of the documents that do exist.
This is the risk we take when we seek to discover the life in ghost stories. People of the past did not know they were telling ghost stories in briefs and obituaries. But it is through these many long gone voices that I must try to find Lizzie Imig:
Lizzie Imig was a cripple who burned to death.
Lizzie Imig was a dressmaker.
Lizzie Imig was greatly loved and respected by all who knew her.
One day when I myself lay down to rest beneath a weeping willow, at least I will know that I looked for Lizzie Imig.
Perhaps that will be the day I will know that I found her.
Chapter Links:
Elizabeth Imig on Find A Grave
Continue to Chapter 03. Eliza
