Human Osteological Collection
Emma and Pauline are part of the Hamann-Todd Human Osteological Collection, which is housed at the Cleveland Museum of Natural History and under legal control of Case Western Reserve University. The collection contains the skeletons of more than 3,000 individuals who died in Cleveland, Ohio, and were anatomized by Western Reserve University’s (now Case Western Reserve University) medical school, primarily between 1910 and 1939. The people in the Hamann-Todd Collection have been extensively researched over the past several decades, contributing to countless scientific studies in medicine, biological anthropology, forensic sciences, and other fields. For more information and updates on this collection, visit our website.
The Hamann-Todd Biography Project, led by Cleveland Museum of Natural History anthropologists, seeks to rediscover the stories of the individuals in our care through archival and genealogical research. It is important that we recognize these individuals for who they were in life as well as after death. We take our role of stewarding this collection seriously and encourage members of the public who may have a personal connection to individuals in the collection to contact us at anthropology@cmnh.org.
In this exhibit, we share the stories of Emma and Pauline, who lived two different lives but both died in Cleveland in 1928. One grew up in Ohio, while the other emigrated from Bremen, Germany. In 1883, their lives converged in the city of Cleveland. Their experience reveals the highs and lows of immigration, industry, and the evolution of modern medicine. Though the two women never met, their stories give a small glimpse into life in Cleveland at the turn of the century. The following narrative was written by Alexandra Hopkins, based on her archival research into the lives of these two women.
Late November 1883. Cleveland, Ohio.
Coal-powered trains quickly replaced any soot brushed away by the feet of passengers. Shouting and train whistles echoed off the grand ceilings. Dense crowds pushed the building to its limits and the once magnificent Cleveland Union Depot showed signs of deterioration.
Among the thousands pouring through the station stood 33-year-old Pauline, her 6-month-old daughter, Auguste, in her arms. They wouldn’t notice the cracking tile or the soot-smeared walls. For them, the Union Depot was not just a railroad station; it was the beginning of a new life.
Built in 1866, the depot was an architectural wonder, its towering walls and vast rooms made of iron and sandstone. A 96-foot clock tower stood against its south wall. In 1883 it was the second-largest building in the United States, surpassed only by New York’s Grand Central Depot.
Signs of industry surrounded the depot, promising a wealth of opportunity for incoming immigrants. The building stood on the lakefront, overlooking Lake Erie and the mouth of the Cuyahoga River, where cargo ships flooded the beaches. This was the city’s central business district (CBD).
Before ever reaching the Union Depot, Pauline and Auguste had begun their journey in Bremen, Germany.
In 1883, Bremen stood as a strong economic power on the West River. The city was a hub for transatlantic travel, industry, and trade, and most notably, it was the starting point of the Bremen-to-Baltimore line.
Decades earlier, Bremen had established a trade route with a newly independent Baltimore, Maryland. In exchange for German-made linen and glassware, Baltimore sent cotton and tobacco. In the early 19th century, half the boats in Bremen’s harbor hailed from Baltimore.
As the century progressed, imports from Baltimore tripled and, instead of sending empty cargo ships, Bremen welcomed passengers on board.
What began as an effort to fill empty space became Bremen’s most profitable cargo. Hundreds sought passage to America in the hulls of ships.
In 1868, a partnership formed between the North German Lloyd Company (NGLC) and the Baltimore & Ohio (B&O) Railroad. Under the agreement, the B&O Railroad built Locust Point Immigration Pier in Baltimore and connected the pier to its existing rail lines. NGLC passengers could disembark at the pier and hop on a B&O train toward the Midwest. Passengers only had to buy one $30 ticket (about $950 today).
The Bremen-to-Baltimore line was an immediate success. Locust Point rapidly became one of the biggest immigration ports in the United States, second only to Ellis Island.
Fifteen years later, Pauline and Auguste boarded a cargo ship, fittingly named America, toward Baltimore. On November 23, 1883, the mother and daughter joined the 1.2 million others who took their first steps on American soil at Locust Point.
After arriving in Baltimore, Auguste disappears from public records. It is possible she ended up in a children’s home or may have passed away at an early age.
Pauline’s train from Baltimore to Cleveland took about a day to arrive at Cleveland’s Union Depot. In 1883, the city would have been unrecognizable to us today.
The skyline of Cleveland was covered in decades of industrial smog. Skyscrapers had yet to reach above the clouds and most street transportation was horse powered. Many of the individuals Pauline saw in her first days in the city were other immigrants coming to the Forest City in the wake of the industrial boom.
Immigrants made up more than 35% of the population. People flocked to Cleveland from across oceans and land, including those native Ohioans who had heard about the city near the lake.
One of those individuals was Emma, who was just a few streets away, working as a compositor for the Cleveland Leader. Looking out the window from her office in the CBD and through the gloomy weather of late November 1883, Emma may have seen the very train that Pauline arrived on.
Emma was born in Ohio and found her way to Cleveland in adulthood, joining a growing number of women working in the printing industry as compositors. Her work consisted of placing individual letters into frames for manual printing, a job that has since become obsolete thanks to electronic printers.
She worked at the Cleveland Leader, a democratic newspaper with a large following. There, she was at the forefront of the city’s politics, business, and social happenings.
Joining the Cleveland Leader in the early 1880s meant Emma was in the first wave of women reentering the printing industry. Twenty years prior, she would have been turned away. The International Typographical Union (ITU) had all but banned women compositors in 1850, and it was not until the 1870s that women slowly reappeared in the work force.
Emma left the industry for a brief period between 1885 and 1890 and taught at the Standard School on St. Clair Avenue. Opening in 1885, the school welcomed thousands of elementary students through its doors. Emma would have taught her classes in German, focusing on the “3R’s”: Reading, wRiting, and aRithmetic.
However, it was clear that she missed her old work, and she returned to her work as a compositor in 1891. Emma appears in city directories as a compositor until the turn of the century, when she disappears from the public record.
Most likely, she retired or developed a form of dementia. Either way, she remained at the heart of Cleveland, spending the rest of her life in and out of Cleveland’s many medical centers and boardinghouses.
Meanwhile, Pauline reappears as a patient at the City Infirmary, where she was treated for an extreme vitamin D deficiency that weakened her bones. When this disease develops in childhood, it is known as rickets. When it emerges in adulthood, it is known as osteomalacia.
Though it is unknown when Pauline developed rickets, her disease would have been worsened by Cleveland’s severe overcrowding and air pollution. Most immigrants lived in population-dense housing and rarely left the city, where smog covered the sky and blocked out the sun. Many residents of these population-dense neighborhoods sought reprieve at Cleveland’s medical centers.
Around 1908, Pauline developed dementia and was moved to the Cleveland State Hospital, a state-supported psychiatric care facility. Cleveland’s hospitals were transforming from places of residence for the impoverished into true medical-care centers. However, many hospitals suffered from overcrowding, which led to neglect, cruelty, and low-quality care.
Pauline stayed at the State Hospital until her death on June 30, 1928, when she succumbed to the effects of rickets and dementia.
In February of the same year, Emma was admitted to Cooley Farms. She had contracted influenza, a virus that had taken the lives of more than 4,000 Clevelanders a decade prior. She was one of the first people to be infected by an incoming wave of the virus.
Cooley Farms was one of four newly established care facilities built on 2,000 acres of farmland outside the city. The state-supported institutions provided long-term care to Clevelanders and northern Ohioans. Opening in 1912, the “Farm” was quickly recognized for its progressive approach to medical care. Cooley Farms had replaced the old City Infirmary, where Pauline had originally been treated.
On February 29, 1928, Emma succumbed to influenza at the Cooley Farms infirmary.
Nineteen twenty-eight was the year before the Great Depression, and the Roaring '20s had created a prosperous way of life. The city Emma and Pauline had known in 1883 had completely changed.
Cable cars and buses lined the streets, radios were bringing news from around the world, and Cleveland had opened its first airport. Terminal Tower rose above the clouds and replaced Union Depot as the hotspot for arriving immigrants. Engines replaced horses and businesses were finding unprecedented success.
The population boomed despite World War I, and the city was second only to Detroit in industrial employment rates. Immigrants made up a quarter of the city’s residents. Societies, unions, and clubs were formed that left no one without a place. Newspapers continued to advertise social events, world news, and city happenings. Cleveland had made a name for itself and cemented its legacy in history.
Although they may not have made headlines or history books, Emma and Pauline cannot be forgotten when remembering the history of Cleveland.
