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Lewis Thomas, the noted physician and essayist, mused openly on the allergic tendency of our species. He found the condition without teleological merit, and declared it a "mistake." Now two books—Mark Jackson's Allergy: The History if a Modern Malady and Gregg Mitman's Breathing Space, How Allergies Shape Our Lives and Landscapes—are available for those who wish to delve further into this "mistake" that affects 50 million Americans.
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Both works are splendidly done. Of the two, Breathing Space is distinctly American while Jackson, a British author, takes a more Continental view. Mitman prefaces his book with a disclosure: he has a personal stake in our allergic landscape. He writes with the authority of one whose childhood was viewed from inside an asthmatic's oxygen tent, and as a parent who, regretfully, has passed this trait on to his son.
Just how long has society been plagued by asthma and hay fever? In his essay "The Summer Catarrh in 1938," E. B. White describes his own struggles with seasonal allergies and tells us of the first modern statesman to fall victim to allergy's ruin—Secretary of State Daniel Webster. According to White, "Webster had had Presidential ambitions but by this time it had become apparent to him that anyone whose runny nose bore a predictable relationship to the Gregorian calendar was not Presidential timber."
The history of allergy is a relatively recent one, confined to the last century and a half. Both authors point toward industrialization and the disruption of native landscapes as contributing causes. Cut down a forest, and pollen-bearing weeds such as goldenrod are encouraged. Build a roadway or rail line, and those living nearby breathe in more pollen.
Before the advent of effective pharmacologic treatment, the only escape from hay fever was to leave home and go on a road trip. Places such as Bethlehem, New Hampshire became the destination of those wishing to escape urban pollen. The high altitude of the White Mountains made a perfect setting for dozens of luxury hotels; a hay fever industry was launched complete with hay fever clubs, literature, and luxury rail lines.
Both Mitman and Jackson explore the lucrative nature of allergy from its beginnings. A century ago, one pundit observed: "In no other country does hay fever give so much employment or cause so much prosperity. It has come to deserve to be a plank in the national platform of the Republican Party." Not to be outdone by their eastern cousins, members of the Midwestern hay fever clubs sought solace in the breezes of upper Michigan. Congress got involved and created America's second national park on Mackinac Island for the "health, comfort, and pleasure" of the people.
If history has a lesson, however, it is that once word gets out of a secret paradise, that Shangri La is imperiled. In an effort to make areas of escape "more civilized," developers and tourists defeated the original purpose of such refuges from allergy. Goldenrod sprouted along the rail lines to Bethlehem, and dust surrounded new building sites on Mackinac Island.
As more Americans developed asthma, towns such as Colorado Springs and Tucson became year-round havens. But then Bermuda grass was planted in the Arizona desert and its streets were lined with pollinating trees. The result? By the late 1970s, when the incidence of asthma in Tucson was twice that of the national average, the city found itself consistently in violation of National Ambient Air Quality Standards.
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