Post contributed by Jared Marrotte, Trent History of Medicine Intern.

Clarissa Harlow Barton, born on December 25th, 1821, is one of the most distinguished women in American History. She is renowned for her remarkable first aid services for the Union during the American Civil War, being called by many the “Angel of the Battlefield”, tending to the wounded even on the frontlines. She is also credited with founding the American Red Cross, a relief organization which, at the time, only had chapters overseas. She would serve as the organization’s president until her resignation in 1904.

Despite her accomplishments and contributions to war and disaster relief, however, Barton faced criticism regarding her leadership of the American Red Cross, and even the legitimacy of some of the work attributed to her. Mabel Thorp Boardman, the woman who would succeed Barton as the president of the American Red Cross in 1905, would spearhead these criticisms in 1916. In response to a plan to memorialize Barton in the American Red Cross’ new Washington D.C. headquarters, Boardman wrote a 3-page letter of charges (found in Box 2 of the Clara Barton Papers in Duke’s Rare Book & Manuscript Collection) and ordered them sent to “every member of Congress”. Boardman gives 30 statements that can be divided into 4 categories of charges against Barton’s character:

Statements 1-5 (page 1 of Boardman’s letter) question the legitimacy of the contributions Clara Barton made during the civil war, citing the lack of official documentation of her actions and impact, and emphasize that the building “is a memorial to all the women who sacrificed and suffered during the Civil War.”  After discrediting her efforts, they assert that another woman, , a fellow nurse during the conflict with official documentation of her efforts, would be more worthy of the memorial.

Statements 6-9 (page 1 of Boardman’s letter) question Clara Barton’s role in forming the American Red Cross, asserting that her efforts were not solely her own (nor were they the first), and that the organization she formed was small and lacked significant impact.

Statement 10 (page 1 of Boardman’s letter) cites a lack of official records of the activities of the Red Cross for 23 years (1881-1904 approximately); and related to that, statements 11-30 (pages 1-3 of Boardman’s letter) emphasize the lack of financial records of the American Red Cross during Barton’s presidency and claim that there were several instances of her misusing funds for personal use.

Boardman’s arguments, along with her tone throughout the letter, illustrate just how adamant she was that Barton, or as she says, “such a woman,” should not be memorialized in their new headquarters.

Only two months later, on November 27^th, 1916, William Henry (W. H.) Sears and Dr. Julian Bertine Hubbel, both associates and former field agents of Clara Barton, responded with an astounding 225-page letter (also found in box 2 of the Clara Barton Papers) responding to every objection. The letter included both typewritten papers and evidentiary documents supporting Clara Barton’s innocence and accomplishments:

The response to statements 1-5 (pages 1-10 of Sears’ letter) clarifies that the actual request, approved by Congress regarding the memorial, was meant to commemorate the services and sacrifices of the American women in U.S. conflicts, not just the Civil War. Even if that was the case, Sears and Hubbel prove, through correspondence between Barton and government personnel, the invaluable and often dangerous services she provided during the civil war.

The response to statements 6-9 (pages 10-17 of Sears’ letter) gives details regarding the first attempt at creating an American chapter of the Red Cross, which was a failure; she was not a part of this initial effort. It was Barton that managed to successfully ratify the Geneva treaty in the U.S., and the organization she formed had, contrary to Boardman’s statement, performed significant relief work. Sears shares several instances, such as “While Miss Clara Barton “remained” the President of this “small” American Red Cross she devised and proposed the American Amendment to the Geneva Convention, permitting the Red Cross to furnish relief on the fields of national calamities…” (page 14 of Sears’ letter)

The response to statements 10-30 was the strongest (pages 17-148), with Sears and Hubbel providing more than 100 pages worth of typewritten accounts, correspondences, unofficial records, and finance tables illustrating the efforts and finances of the American Cross during the 23-year gap addressed by Boardman. Clearly, the American Red Cross was neither idle nor insignificant during Clara Barton’s Presidency. To further support this, they also included several statements from commendatory press notices from various individuals and groups from different states and countries, praising her for her humanitarian services (pages 106-161 are filled with such praises).

Sears and Hubble conclude their response by reaffirming the character and accomplishments of Clara Barton, suggesting that the writer of the charges either wrote them out of malice or ignorance. If it is the latter, Sears asserts that the “defamer” should be given this record of Barton’s doings and be given an opportunity for “public retraction and apology.” (page 163 of Sears’ letter)

Today, Clara Barton is honored by several exhibitions, memorials, monuments, and historic sites around the country. Among which is an exhibition within the American Red Cross’s headquarters in Washington D.C., featuring one of her dresses that she would have worn during her meetings with U.S. military or government personnel.

Find more primary sources about Clara Barton at the Rubenstein Rare Book & Manuscript Library, including some written by herself!

Other resources:

https://www.clarabartonbirthplace.org/claras-life/

https://www.redcross.org/about-us/who-we-are/history/clara-barton.html?srsltid=AU7gw4UeGRWq3nRrVGpfb9a7wtZkCp4NphAoPGRWHm3dvDWHlD7B4B2t

Mabel Boardman | NOHredcross

Post contributed by Jennifer Dai, Josiah Charles Trent History of Medicine Intern.

As I near the end of my first semester as the Josiah Charles Trent History of Medicine Intern at the Rubenstein Special Collections Library, I’ve started reflecting on some of the amazing materials I’ve had the opportunity to work with. From Vesalius to the Four Seasons, I’ve handled exquisite and priceless items, often becoming caught up in their splendor and rarity. In those moments, I’ve found it easy to forget the human side of medicine. I look at hand-colored drawings and notice the artistry and the time it took to create such pieces but forget that the depictions are often of actual events that happened to real people.

I’ve spent the past few months researching patent medicine (aka quack medicine). Its colorful advertisements, deadly undisclosed chemicals, statistics, and fun facts are flashy and interesting. But they distract from the humanity of medicine. How did these cure-alls truly affect those who were on the receiving end of these treatments? How and why were they used? This is where the story of William Anderson Roberts comes in.

The William Anderson Roberts Papers start in the 1850s with a young William corresponding with friends and family about his faith, work as a portrait painter, and love life. By August 1859, letters that used to be addressed “Dear Brother” are now addressed “Dear Brother and Sister”, implying he has married (which he did, to a woman named Mary earlier that year). In 1861, William enlists in the Confederate Army and, throughout the war, is consistently in and out of the hospital. Despite numerous letters and attempts to be discharged due to a chronic medical condition called Neuralgia, he remains in the army until the end of war in 1865.

This lifelong affliction led to William’s first prescription for opium. He states that it not only “relieved the dreadful pain, but it soothed and quieted my irritable nervous system and stimulated my mind to act with double strength and quickness.” Later in his writing, he claims he could have stopped the habit if it hadn’t been for the “Cruel War.”

During the “Cruel War” in 1864, a doctor prescribed opium to help with ongoing diarrhea and dysentery after William had a bad case of measles. This treatment continued for weeks, and when he tried to stop, he found that he could not complete his assigned duties. He tried for years to overcome his dependence but was unable to paint or function without taking morphine.

William never overcame the addiction. By the 1880s the effect of continued opiate use is apparent in his correspondence. Where he had previously been requesting assistance from patent medicines, he now practically begs for cures. He states that his wife doesn’t understand him and has never even tried and goes as far as to say she would be better off if he were no longer alive. He mourns the life he could have had and discusses his guilt over not being a healthy and happy husband and father.

Fittingly, the last item attributed to him, and how his date of death is estimated, is a receipt for morphine dated between June and September 1900. Based on this estimate, he died at 63 years old.

William’s story isn’t particularly unique. Many people then became addicted to opium after taking the medicine under a doctor’s orders. Many people still do.

What is remarkable about this collection is that we have access to his letters over 150 years after they were received. This collection, and those like it, give us the chance to see the humanity in individuals from over 100 years ago. To understand a person’s struggle and see firsthand the effects it has on them is something deeply intimate. Looking beyond the titles or rarity of items, you may just find the humanity of someone you will never meet.

Further reading on William Anderson Roberts

Caswell County post about William Anderson Roberts

Post contributed by Jennifer Dai, Josiah Charles Trent History of Medicine Intern.

The History of Medicine Collection has recently acquired a fringe medical device, known as the Psycho-Phone, as a part of the Thomas Bashore Collection. Little is written about this item; upon immediate inspection it looks like every other wax cylinder phonograph, however, when you dive deeper you learn the interesting history of this hypnotic device.

In June 1927 the popular psychology magazine titled “Psychology: Health, Happiness, Success” advertised an instrument that claimed it would “enable you to use your vast unconscious powers to get more out of life.”  This instrument, called the Psycho-Phone, would allow users to listen to recorded messages of affirmation while sleeping.  Created by Alois Benjamin Saliger, this device utilized a clock which would be set to the time when an individual would be at their “most receptive cycle of sleep”. At that time, the device would turn on and play recordings of Mr. Saliger himself reading affirmations such as “you are being rejuvenated in perfect health.” “Your weight is normal.” “Your hair is growing in luxurious abundance.” and “I am now having a wonderful rest.” Once the affirmation was completed the device would automatically turn off and the listener would continue to sleep as a better version of themselves.

There were two variations of this device, either utilizing a disc or a wax cylinder to play these recordings. One major difference, aside from price, is that the wax cylinder version would allow users to record their own affirmations. In our collection we have a wax cylinder Psycho-Phone surrounded by numerous empty wax cylinders just waiting to hold affirmations. Enclosed in the travel case which holds the Psycho-Phone is a letter from Mr. Salinger himself from October 1927. He states that they had also sent “some information regarding affirmations which we think you will find useful as it has been prepared in the light of much expertise.” Unfortunately, we do not have the materials Mr. Saliger spoke of in his letter, leaving us to wonder what affirmations he personally recommended to buyers of his device. After allegedly selling 2,500 devices by 1933, the company disappeared, as did many of those devices.

Nearly 100 years later, we have apps and television shows that promote mental health in similar ways to Mr. Saliger’s device. A quick Google search will show numerous videos and podcasts promoting sleep affirmations. With this in mind, I see the Psycho-Phone as more than a heavy device that once resided on a few bedside tables, it’s the physical proof that no matter when in history you happen to live, we’re always striving for betterment any way we can.

Sources and Further Reading:

Technogalerie Post for a Psycho-Phone for sale.

Cumming’s Center blog post by Dr. Ludy T. Benjamin Jr.

Archived post from Antique Phonograph News about the Psycho-Phone

PBS History Detectives Special Investigation episode about the Psycho-Phone