What a difference 14 months make. When I originally wrote this column in January 2019, a widespread pandemic in South Carolina seemed as remote as the Bubonic Plague. Now, as we wrestle with new realities imposed by the corona virus, it’s worth remembering how earlier outbreaks led everyday people to do extraordinary things. Here’s the original column. I’ll bet it has more relevance to you today than it did just 14 short months ago.

History is filled with stories of prostitutes who did inspiring things. The Bible tells about Rahab, who harbored two Israeli spies inside Jericho. Gone With the Wind includes Belle Watling, whom some scholars believe was modelled on real-life Kentucky madam Belle Brezing.

And there was Annie Cook, the Hero Hooker of Memphis, Tennessee. Never heard of her? It’s no surprise; she’s largely unknown today. But her bravery touched countless hearts in her time.

It all started with a mosquito. That annoying insect frequently carried death up the Mississippi River. Science wouldn’t discover until the 1900s that it was responsible for several epidemics, including Yellow Fever.

Spread by mosquito bite, those infected suffered miserable symptoms. They began with a headache followed by chills and fever. The liver and kidneys eventually failed, giving the skin a yellow color and the disease its name. Death usually took two agonizing weeks. Many who survived its ravages were left physically and mentally disabled. The Mississippi River Valley was especially susceptible to Yellow Fever.

Which is where Annie Cook enters our story. No likeness of her exists. Given her occupation, it’s likely Annie Cook wasn’t even her real name. We know she was born in Ohio in 1840 from German stock. She was also beautiful, both inside and out, for she displayed a kind heart from an early age. Annie worked for a family in Kentucky, where people later recalled her caring for patients during a smallpox outbreak.

When she turned to prostitution isn’t known. But she apparently learned how to make it pay. She wound up in Memphis sometime after the Civil War operating an upscale brothel called the Mansion House.

Then one day in 1873 came the news: yellow fever was on the loose. Memphis had experienced epidemics in 1855 and 1867. This one was worse. People evacuated the city. Annie dismissed the Mansion House’s working girls to flee while she stayed and nursed the sick.

But that was nothing compared to what happened five years later.

It began in July 1878 when Yellow Fever broke out in Vicksburg, Miss. Panic gripped the city. While the epidemics of ’55, ’67, and ’73 had grown progressively worse, there was good reason to fear this would be the granddaddy of them all.

A quarantine was imposed. Nobody traveling up the Mississippi could get off their steamboat. That didn’t ease jittery nerves. Some 50,000 people lived in Memphis; more than 20,000 fled.

It’s believed a steamboat crewman defied the ban by slipping ashore and dined at a nearby restaurant. On August 13, restaurant owner Kate Bionda became the first victim of Memphis’ Yellow Fever Outbreak of 1878. It spread like wildfire.

Annie again tended the ailing and turned the Mansion House into a hospital. All she could do was wipe feverish brows, hold dying hands and comfort victims as they slipped into the Hereafter.

A newspaper reporter heard of her bravery and featured her in several stories. Soon all Americans were reading about the Hero Hooker. Of the 30,000 people left in the city, 20,000 were sick.

Annie Cook became one of them in late August. Word of her illness swept the nation. The Christian Women of Louisville’s letter to her was published in the local paper: “God speed, dear madam, and when the time comes may the light of a better world guide you to a home beyond.”

That light shined for Annie on September 11 when she joined the more than 5,000 Memphians who died.

The disease disappeared when fall’s frost killed the mosquitoes. Annie was buried in a simple grave. Later, when life returned to normal in the Bluff City, it was moved to a place of honor in prestigious Elmwood Cemetery. A large monument was erected to her in 1979.

Ironically, the selfless sacrifice of a woman whose occupation made her a sinner in many eyes perished fulfilling the teaching of Jesus Christ’s Great Commandment: Love thy neighbor as thyself.

Have comments, questions or suggestions you’d like to share with Mark? Message him at jmp.press@gmail.com.