NYAM’s First Female Fellow: Mary Putnam Jacobi

By Carrie Levinson, Reference Services and Outreach Librarian

The history of the New York Academy of Medicine (NYAM) includes many great figures, including Samuel Smith Purple, a founding Fellow as well as advocate for our Library, author of a large number of medical works, and the ward physician under the Board of Health during the NYC cholera epidemic of 1849 (“Dr. Samuel Smith Purple”, 1900); Valentine Mott, an eminent surgeon who helped to found Rutgers Medical College and was chair of surgery at Columbia College (“Obituary: Death of Dr. Valentine Mott”, 1865); and Abraham Jacobi, a pioneer in pediatrics and President of the Academy from 1885-1889 (Watson, 1896). These doctors all had one thing in common (besides, of course, being physicians): they were all men. Until 1880, there had never been a female NYAM Fellow. The woman who managed to break this glass ceiling? Mary Putnam Jacobi – by one vote (U.S. National Library of Medicine, 2015).

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Mary Putnam Jacobi (Watson, 1896).

Mary Putnam was born on August 31, 1842, in London. Her parents, who were both Americans, returned to the States in 1847, and settled in New York City. In 1859, she began studying medicine, first receiving a diploma from the New York College of Pharmacy in 1862 (the first woman to do this) and then graduating with her MD from the Woman’s Medical College of Pennsylvania in 1864. In 1866, she traveled to Paris to enroll in the École de Médecine – once again, the first woman to be admitted – and graduated from there in 1871 (Watson, 1896).

Just these accomplishments would have been enough to put Putnam in the history books, but she hadn’t even begun to make her mark. Women’s education at the time was often separate from men’s, and she argued that higher education, particularly medical school, should be co-educational, as women’s medical colleges did not have the same resources as those affiliated with large hospitals. Returning to New York, she organized the Association for the Advancement of the Medical Education of Women and served as its president for almost 30 years (U.S. National Library of Medicine, 2015).

In 1876, Jacobi (now married to Abraham Jacobi) published an important essay: “The Question of Rest for Women during Menstruation”, which won the Boylston Prize at Harvard University (U.S. National Library of Medicine, 2015). Why was that so significant?

Jacobi was a stickler for rigor in scientific research. She believed that many other doctors did not live up to these expectations and allowed their biases to color their research. One of these biases was the widespread belief, specifically argued for in Edward H. Clarke’s Sex in Education; or, a Fair Chance for the Girls, that women who exerted themselves during menstruation could face serious health issues. This belief was used to justify separating women from higher education and certain professions. Relying heavily on statistics and empirical evidence, Jacobi thoroughly debunked this notion (Bittel, 2009).

Jacobi continued her work in fighting for equality for women throughout her lifetime – she wrote in favor of suffrage and taught at the Women’s Medical College of the New York Infirmary for Women and Children until 1889, assisting in elevating educational standards (U.S. National Library of Medicine, 2015).

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Letter from Mary Putnam Jacobi to Sophie Boaz, February 27, 1884, documenting Jacobi’s son’s death from diphtheria, a major public health problem at the time. NYAM Collection.

Jacobi even considered her own life as a means to advance medical research – when diagnosed with a brain tumor, she wrote a paper about it before passing on at the age of 63: “Description of the Early Symptoms of the Meningeal Tumor Compressing the Cerebellum. From Which the Writer Died. Written by Herself” (U. S. National Library of Medicine, 2015).

NYAM’s collection of Mary Putnam Jacobi’s productions can be found in our catalog.

References

Bittel, C. (2009). Mary Putnam Jacobi & the politics of medicine in nineteenth-century America. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press.

Dr. Samuel Smith Purple. (1900, October 1). The New York Times. Retrieved from https://www.nytimes.com

Obituary: Death of Dr. Valentine Mott. (1865, April 27). The New York Times. Retrieved from https://www.nytimes.com/

U.S. National Library of Medicine. (2015, June 3). Changing the Face of Medicine: Dr. Mary Corinna Putnam Jacobi. Retrieved from https://cfmedicine.nlm.nih.gov/physicians/biography_163.html

Watson, I. A. (Ed.). (1896). Physicians and surgeons of America: A collection of biographical sketches of the regular medical profession. Concord, NH: Republican Press Association.

“Alas, Poor Daft Jamie’s Pickled!”: Poetry Concerning the Resurrectionists

By Carrie Levinson, Reference Services and Outreach Librarian

You may have heard about “Resurrection Men” – people who robbed graves and even killed people to fill the unprecedented demand for cadavers in medical schools in the nineteenth century. You may have even heard the names William Burke and William Hare: two of the most notorious body-snatchers and murderers who ever lived. But did you know that there is poetry about these bizarre and tragic events?

 The New York Academy of Medicine Library has a digital collection, The Resurrectionists, which contains broadsides, ballads, pamphlets, poetry, and other literature concerning Burke and Hare, their accomplices, and their victims. Since it is National Poetry Month, we’ve decided to feature some of the poetry contained in this collection.

First, however, a little bit of background. William Burke and William Hare were two ne’er-do-wells in 1820s Scotland who enjoyed drinking and working as little as possible (Barzun, 1974). When another occupant in their lodging house passed away from natural causes, they sold the body. Soon they found that bodies for the medical schools (particularly, the anatomy and physiology class in Edinburgh taught by Dr. Robert Knox) were in high demand, but not in ready supply. To capitalize on this newly-discovered stream of funds, the group quickly turned to murder. Their first victim was likely a miller by the name of Joe, and more followed (Barzun, 1974).

Unfortunately for them, Burke, Hare, and their accomplices made a number of mistakes resulting in their capture: they murdered a prostitute by the name of Mary Paterson, who was a client of one of the doctors and whom he recognized (though he kept quiet at the time); they also killed a well-known and -liked young man known in town as Daft Jamie, whose disappearance was immediately noted and speculated upon (bringing suspicion upon Dr. Knox as well); and they also began to quarrel amongst themselves. Their arrest came after a couple who knew their last victim, Mrs. Docherty, went to the police (Barzun, 1974).

 

 

 

Hare was offered immunity to testify against Burke and Helen MacDougal, Burke’s mistress. After the trial, deliberations took less than an hour: Burke was declared guilty, while MacDougal went free. Burke’s punishment: he was to be publicly hanged, his skin to be tanned and sold in strips, and his body to be dissected and then lectured upon, much like the bodies he had murdered for profit (Barzun, 1974). Burke was hanged on January 28, 1829, and his skeleton is still on view in the Anatomical Museum of the Edinburgh Medical School. Hare left Edinburgh in disguise and soon disappeared. One enduring legacy was a new verb, to burke, originally meaning to kill by smothering (in order to leave a good body to dissect!), and now broadened to mean to suppress.

 

A huge amount of literature was generated from these morbid events, including, arguably, the genre of crime fiction (Barzun, 1974). Here are a few examples of the poetry: one, an elegy for William Burke, and two poems lamenting the death of Daft Jamie (Jamie Wilson).

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We hope you will peruse this collection and marvel at the many effects Burke and Hare’s dastardly deeds had on the law, medicine, and literature. Perhaps you’ll be inspired to write a poem of your own!

  References

Barzun, J. (1974). Murder for profit and for science. In J. Barzun (Ed.), Burke and Hare: Resurrection men: A collection of contemporary documents including broadsides, occasional verses, illustrations, polemics, and a complete transcript of the testimony at the trial (pp. v-xii). Metuchen, NJ: Scarecrow Press.

Finding Cause in Street Cleanliness:  The Citizens’ Association of New York Report of 1865

By Anne Garner, Curator, Rare Books and Manuscripts

It’s 1863. New York’s streets are dismal.  Downtown, the scents of manure, garbage and chemicals permeate the air.  The streets are littered with debris, and in some places, are navigable only by wading through standing water. The gaps between cobblestones catch sewage and other dirt discharged from nearby tenements.

Public health statisticians estimate that New York has upwards of 200,000 cases of preventable and needless sickness every year. The Board of Health, controlled by corrupt politicians, is ineffective.  In newspapers like Frank Leslie’s Illustrated News and Harper’s Weekly, the condition of New York’s thoroughfares is a punchline. Editorials, cartoons and newspaper stories blame immigrant populations, the poor, and an indifferent municipal government. [1]

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T. Bernhard Gillam, “The Streets of New York,” Harper’s Weekly, February 26, 1881.

What to do?  In December of that same year, a group of citizens met with Mayor Gunther, the recently elected reform candidate to consider the city’s social problems. The following year, these concerned citizens formed the Citizens’ Association of New York, dedicated to a cause they describe in simple terms: “public usefulness.” [2]  The organization quickly determined that physicians should play a prominent role in sanitary reform, and organized the Association’s Special Council of Hygiene and Public Health. [3]

In May of 1864, the Council embarked on a street-by-street sanitary inspection of New York City. Medical inspectors – all physicians—were assigned to 31 districts throughout the city in an attempt to gather detailed information about New Yorkers and their living conditions. For seven months, the inspectors visited every household in Manhattan and used a nine-page survey as their guide. [4]

​​During the course of the survey, the inspectors filled seventeen volumes of observations and notes comprising the most “precise and exacting account of a city’s health and social conditions ever compiled.” Many of these notebooks, including some remarkable hand-drawn maps, are available at The New-York Historical Society. The image below is taken from the Society’s archives and shows a tenant house for 200 people at 311 Monroe Street, in the 9th District. [5]

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Record of Sanitary Inquiry, 7th ward, 9th District, {BV Citizens’ Association}. Reposted with permission of the New-York Historical Society.

This survey, presented by medical inspector William Hunter to former New York Academy of Medicine President Joseph M. Smith, records the living conditions of a family of three recent Irish immigrants living in a three-story tenement on W. 14th Street in late October of 1864. The unit was comprised of David, age 30, described in the survey as an “intelligent but uneducated” gardener, Ellen, age 28, and Margaret, age 6. The survey suggests that all three family members had typhoid fever, likely contracted on their journey to America from Ireland just a few months before.  Though the family’s living conditions were described as “good,” Hunter notes that the six families in their apartment were living in close quarters in just six rooms, with only two windows as a source of light and ventilation, and in such proximity to the horse stable that the horse could freely wander into their hallway. [6]

Surveys of this depth and length were kept for every household throughout the city’s 31 wards.  Wards were frequently assigned to physicians who knew the neighborhoods and the residents.  Most of the residents were given a thorough medical exam, and the nuisances of their environment were recorded in detail. [7]  Each ward’s physician contributed a district report, summarizing their findings. Ezra Pulling, who was the sanitary inspector for the fourth ward, contributed a report on his district and his data was poured into the making of this extraordinary map, published along with the report in 1865.  ​

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Map of the Fourth Ward of the City of New York. Report of the Council of Hygiene and Public Health of the Citizens’ Association of New York. New York:  Appleton, 1865.

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Fourth Ward map, detail of Gotham Court

The long, rectangular building that you see here at the center of this detail is a tenant house called Gotham Court.  The stars here indicate that outbreaks of typhus and smallpox have occurred in the house.  Privies in the basement were discharged into subterranean drains or sewers that run through each alley and then outside through grated openings, blocking much of the waste. Inside, each individual has an average of 275 cubic feet.  If these dimensions are difficult to picture, imagine a closet 5 feet square and 11 feet high, allotted per person, for their body and for everything they own as well. Nineteen children were recorded as unvaccinated for smallpox (the only vaccine available at this time) here, and it was also noted that clothes were being manufactured in the building as well—clothes that were exposed to cases of typhus and measles. [8]

In another section of the map, we see a number of tenant houses north of the Bowery surrounded by stables, with a brewery and a coal yard at the east.  Less than 30 percent of the privies in this district are connected with drains and sewers, and at least ten of these, as marked on the map by black squares, are in extremely offensive condition. A number of these are indicated on the map below.

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Fourth Ward map, detail of the Bowery

The impact of the publication of the Citizens’ Association report and the map itself was mixed. The report led to higher sanitation standards throughout the city, and forced the attention of government officials, who passed a law to create the Board of Health.[9]  Under this law, at least three of the Board’s nine commissioners needed to be physicians. Though the Council went to great lengths to visually and verbally document the city’s housing conditions, the Council didn’t investigate wage equity or the frequency and rate of unemployment. Historian Elizabeth Blackmar has argued that “the surveys fueled the movement for developing building codes and sanitary inspection as a means of guaranteeing better housing, but they also erased from discussion reflection on the larger economic relations that produced them.” [10]  In some cases, the report’s writers unfairly drew a line of causation directly from better living conditions to economic security, implying that given the right housing, the poor could flourish, independent of employment opportunities, fare wages, and access to healthcare.

In spite of its shortcomings, the report offered keen observations about the city’s conditions, and was instrumental in inspiring great reform in the city.  Today, IMAGE NYC, a project launched by the Academy with the CUNY Mapping Service at the Center for Urban Research / CUNY Graduate Center earlier this year, embraces the methodology the Citizens’ Association deployed over 150 years ago, and largely for the same reason: to better understand the social determinants of health.  The site has an interactive map of New York City’s current and projected population, 65 and older.  Much like the Citizens’ Association map, the idea is to determine environmental risks and benefits to certain populations.  Here, instead of physicians canvassing the neighborhoods to note conditions, community members can use the 311 app to take pictures and send them to the city.

The Fourth Ward Map, published as part of the 1865 Report of the Council of Hygiene and Public Health, as well as the 1864 survey form documenting the household of the Irish immigrants living on 14th street, are on view in Germ City: Microbes and the Metropolis, until this Sunday, April 28th.

References

[1] Bert Hansen. “The Image and Advocacy of Public Health in American Caricature and Cartoons from 1860 to 1900.”  American Journal of Public Health. Nov. 1997, v. 87, no. 11.

[2] Report of the Council of Hygiene and Public Health of the Citizens’ Association of New York. New York: Appleton, 1865, P. vii.

[3] John Duffy.  A History of Public Health in New York City 1625-1866.  New York: Russell Sage, 1968. Pp. 553-556.

[4] Report of the Council of Hygiene and Public Health of the Citizens’ Association of New York. New York:  Appleton, 1865.

[5] See also the excellent blog by Reference Librarian Mariam Touba of The New York Historical Society, here.

[6] Citizens’ Association of New York: Council of Hygiene and Public Health. Report of pestilential diseases and insalubrious quarters. New York: n.p., 1864.

[7] Duffy, p. 556.

[8] Report of the Council of Hygiene and Public Health…1865. P. 49-54.

[9] Duffy, 557.

[10] Elizabeth Blackmar.  “Accountability for Public Health: Regulating the Housing Market in Nineteenth-Century New York City.” In Hives of Sickness, edited by David Rosner. Rutgers University Press, 1995. Pp. 42-64.

Women’s Work in “Behind the Scenes in a Restaurant”

By Carrie Levinson, Reference Services and Outreach Librarian

We tend to take labor laws for granted nowadays. There are limits in many jobs to how many hours one can work, minimum wage determinations, and other protections for those in the workforce. However, this was not always the case, particularly for certain kinds of workers. In the early twentieth century, for example, these laws had nothing to say about women in many professions, such as those working in restaurants. This resulted in long, grueling hours for many women, without respite or protection from exploitation.

Eight hours of work versus fifteen for restaurant workers

Fig. 1. Diagrams showing the normal working day versus a restaurant worker’s day. Consumers’ League of New York City (1916). Behind the scenes in a restaurant: A study of 1017 women restaurant employees. New York, NY: Author.

The Consumers’ League of New York City was alarmed by this, and decided to conduct a study, which turned into the pamphlet “Behind the Scenes in a Restaurant: A Study of 1017 Women Restaurant Employees.” The study had three aims: to find out the actual labor conditions in New York State restaurants; to determine whether these labor conditions led to a “wholesome, normal life” for the workers in these restaurants; and to see how these conditions impacted society as a whole (1916, pp. 3-4).

One thousand seventeen women were surveyed for this over the course of five months, in different locations such as their homes, their workplaces, and employment agencies. In New York City, all the interviews were given at the Occupational Clinic of the Board of Health (Consumers’ League of New York City, 1916, p. 3).  The workers came from all types of restaurants, allowing the League to get a representative sample of participants. Women of all ages were asked, as well as women of different nationalities (though women of color were noticeably absent). The largest group interviewed here was “Austro-Hungarian” (39%), followed by “American” (presumably meaning non-immigrants) (33%), German (8%), Irish (7%), Russian (4%), “Other”, (4%), English & Canadian (3%), and Polish (3%). While there is clearly an effort to be inclusive, there is still racist/ethnicist ideology that creeps in:

The largest single group is made up of Austro-Hungarians. The demand for cheap, unskilled labor in this occupation calls for the kind of service which these girls and others of the European peasant class can give. The outdoor life in the fields of their native land fits them for the hard labor required in a restaurant kitchen (Consumers’ League of New York City, 1916, p. 8).

Despite this language, the League was extremely concerned over the exploitation of these workers, noting that many worked 15-hour days (Fig. 1). Seventy-eight percent of workers exceeded a 54-hour week (Fig. 2), which was prohibited for women who worked in stores and factories. One of the participants, a 20-year old woman, worked 122 hours a week (Consumers’ League of New York City, 1916, p. 13)!

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Fig. 2. Weekly hours of labor of women employed in restaurants. Behind the scenes in a restaurant… (1916).

The long hours (Fig. 3) were not the only thing this report examined. Other issues included tipping, irregularity of work, and the low wages earned by many in the profession. Such practices prevented these women from having regular social or family lives and had deleterious effects on their health.

The Consumers’ League argued that because of these conditions, a regular working day for restaurant workers was “not only reasonable, but…essential to the best welfare of their people as a whole” (1916, p. 28). They recommended a legislative amendment under the already-existing Mercantile Law.

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Fig. 3. A movie of the restaurant worker. Behind the scenes in a restaurant… (1916).

Did restaurant workers in New York State get the protections they so desperately needed after this report was published? Not immediately. By 1933, a New York law limiting the amount of hours women could work was passed, but then it was struck down by the Supreme Court in 1936. Women restaurant workers had to wait until the federal Fair Labor Standards Act was passed in 1938 to have the right to a minimum wage and overtime (Hart, 1994).

Although it did not instantly better the situations of women working in restaurant positions, this report and others like it raised awareness of what it was like to be working in these conditions, and they remain as a testament to those who toiled for long hours to clean, prepare, and serve food to so many others.

This book and other recent acquisitions will be on display and available for “adoption” at the Celebration of the Library night, also featuring a lecture by New Yorker author John Colapinto. Join us on April 11th at the Academy!

References

Consumers’ League of New York City (1916). Behind the scenes in a restaurant: A study of 1017 women restaurant employees. New York, NY: Author.

Hart, V. (1994). Bound by our Constitution: Women, workers and the minimum wage. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

Death, Deformity, Decay: Memento Mori and the Case of the Colloredo Twins

This guest post is by Rach Klein. Rach is an art history Masters Candidate at McGill University whose research focuses on the early modern grotesque, medical illustration, and print. She is a current recipient of a Joseph-Armand Bombardier grant, as well as a Michael Smith Foreign Studies scholarship.

Throughout the last month I have had the privilege of working in the NYAM Library, looking directly at their remarkable collection of broadsheets and rare books.  The opportunity to closely examine the objects and images that I am studying is unparalleled. My research locates a framework for viewing 17th-century non-normative and “freakish” bodies in the memento mori traditions of the previous century. Memento mori, a Latin phrase meaning, “remember you will die,” became shorthand for a host of visual imagery and cultural objects rooted in medieval Christian theory, which permeated the European early modern.  With a specific focus on the culture of spectacle employed by early modern “shows of wonder” and touring freak shows, the research that I have been doing at NYAM combines visual analysis with medical history and disability studies to suggest that integral to the creation of early modern “freaks” is a manipulation of non-normative persons into objects that spark mortuary contemplation. Guiding this research is the case of Italian conjoined/parasitic twins Lazarus Colloredo and Joannes Baptista Colloredo (1617–1646). Their journey, which is remarkably well-documented in both text and image (for example, see Fig. 1), showcases the duality of the so-called “freak body” and its links to mortuary philosophy.

Historia Ænigmatica, de gemellis Genoæ connati

Fig. 1. Mylbourne, R. (Publisher). (1637). Historia Ænigmatica, de gemellis Genoæ connatis, [Engraving]. © The Trustees of the British Museum. Licensed under CC-BY-NC-SA 4.0.

In 1617, Lazarus and Joannes Baptista Colloredo were born into a life of spectacle and uncertainty. Protruding laterally from the breast of Lazarus was his twin brother, Joannes Baptista, whose malformed body lived partially inside him. Unable to speak or move independently, Joannes Baptista was deemed a “parasitic twin”.  As living persons that defy expectations of the “normative,” visual documentation of the Colloredo twins’ spectacular bodies/body provides insight into anxieties about the boundaries between animate/inanimate, normal/abnormal, beauty/ugliness, soul/body, and, ultimately, life/death. Jan Bondeson calls attention to how remarkable their story is, even within the history of conjoined twins. He says:

Conjoined twins are the result of imperfect splitting of a fertilized ovum and the site of conjunction depends on which part of the splitting has not occurred. Lazarus and Joannes Baptista Collerado represent one of the very few convincing cases of viable omphalopagus parasiticus twins (who lived).[1]

The words in parentheses here, “who lived,” iterate the challenges of piecing together a history of marginalized persons such as those who are disabled and deformed, and the gentle surprise provoked by the twins’ survival.

Perhaps the most interesting discovery found throughout my research is the nonlinear timeline in scholarship about these twins due to a misattributed/incorrectly labelled print from Giovanni Battista de’Cavalieri’s series of engravings, Opera nel a quale vie molti Mostri de tute le parti del mondo antichi et Moderni (Monsters from all parts of the ancient and modern world), published in 1585 (Fig. 2). This image, which is reprinted in Fortunio Liceti’s 1634 De Monstrorum Caussis (Fig. 3), is captioned with the twins’ names and place of birth, despite having been created thirty-years prior to their birth. As with many “freakish” bodies, the accuracy of their experience exists separately from its visual history.[2]

Although these contradictions of dates and attributions make reproducing a clean narrative difficult, they reflect a larger theme of teratology: that bodies are detached from persons, and imaginative ideals misaligned from lived experience. The image by de’ Cavalieri was likely a representation of an earlier set of conjoined twins in the 16th century, perhaps based on conjoined twins mentioned by Ambrose Paré in 1530. This image is subsequently reproduced in Liceti’s 1665 edition of his work, now titled De Monstris. Hence, the twins’ image has been collapsed into a narrative that took place well before their birth, and which frames them as simultaneously alive and dead.

 

Liceti_DeMonstrorumCaussis_1634_117_watermark

Fig. 3. Liceti, F. (1634). [Rueffo puer Amiterni natus uno brachio, fed pedibus tribus in hanc effigiem] (p. 117). De monstrorum caussis, natura, et differentiis libri duo … Padua, Italy: Apud Paulum Frambottum.

Worries and uncertainties over death and the body make themselves known in images and stories documenting the “freakish” body. Art that has been traditionally deemed “grotesque,” “macabre,” or more colloquially, simply “disturbing” is part of a symbolic system that expresses metaphysical anxieties about what lurks beneath the surface of the body. I am not attempting to medicalize nor romanticize the history of those who are or have been designated as disabled, deformed, monstrous, and freakish. Rather, my aim is to provide a critical and historical study of how non-normative bodies have been catalogued as a memento mori for its witnesses and used by able-bodied viewers as tools of self-reflection and meditation, a practice that actively erases personhood in favour of objectification.[3]

References

[1] Bondeson, Jan. The Two-headed Boy: And Other Medical Marvels. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2000.

[2] Jillings, Karen. “Monstrosity as Spectacle: The Two Inseparable Brothers’ European Tour of the 1630s and 1640s.” Popular Entertainment Studies 2, no. 1 (2011): 54–68.

[3] My work is particularly indebted to the disability, feminist, and race scholarship of Tobin Siebers (Disability Aesthetics), Rana Hogarth (Medicalizing Blackness: Making Racial Difference in the Atlantic World, 1780-1840), and Elizabeth Grosz (Volatile Bodies).

Further Reading

Bates, A. W., Emblematic Monsters: Unnatural Conceptions and Deformed Births in Early Modern Europe. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2009.

Benedict, Barbara M. Curiosity: A Cultural History of Early Modern Inquiry. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2002.

Daston, Lorraine, and Katharine Park. Wonders and the Order of Nature, 1150-1750. New York: Zone Books, 2012.

Thomson, Rosemarie Garland. Freakery: Cultural Spectacles of the Extraordinary Body. New York: New York University Press, 2008.

Remembering the Syphilis Study in Tuskegee

This guest post is by Dr. Susan Reverby, the Marion Butler McLean Professor Emerita in the History of Ideas and Professor Emerita of Women’s and Gender Studies at Wellesley College. This year she is a fellow at the Project on Race and Gender in Science and Medicine at the Hutchins Institute for African and African American Research at Harvard University. Reverby is most recently the author of the multiple prize winning book, Examining Tuskegee: The Infamous Syphilis Study and its Legacy and the historian whose work on immoral U.S. led research in Guatemala in the late 1940s led to a federal apology in 2010. She is currently completing her latest book, The Revolutionary Life of Brother Doc: A 20th Century White Man’s Tale (University of North Carolina Press, 2020).

Conspiracy theories and myths, medical and otherwise, often reflect ways to cope with racism in its multiple nefarious forms.   Many such tales focus on destruction of the black body: from the fears that Church’s chicken, now Popeye’s, put something in their frying that caused Black men to become sterile to the beliefs in South Africa that the HIV virus was spread by false vaccinations funded by the C.I.A. and British intelligence. Did you hear the one about the U.S. government letting hundreds of black men in and around Tuskegee, Alabama with syphilis not get to treatment that went on for four decades between 1932 and 1972?  Or that the government actually gave the men the syphilis and you can see it in the photographs, especially if you cannot differentiate between a blood draw and an injection?

Photograph of Participant in the Tuskegee Syphilis Study

Centers for Disease Control: Venereal Disease Branch. (ca. 1953). Photograph of Participant in the Tuskegee Syphilis Study. Image from https://catalog.archives.gov/id/824612

Only the fact that the government tried to make sure the men who already had late latent syphilis did not get treatment for forty years is true among these tales, and horrendous enough. Now we have to consider the meaning given to this Study over the nearly fifty years since it became widespread public knowledge.

The exposure of the Study came at the end of the modern Civil Rights era and after the medical community was beginning to acknowledge that even the “good guys” did immoral work. Along with the unethical studies at Willowbrook [1] and the Jewish Chronic Disease Hospital [2], the experiment in Tuskegee led to the federal Belmont Report [3] and the modern era of institutional review boards and regulations surrounding informed consent.

Kenan Thompson Hugh Laurie

King, D. R. (Director).  (2006, October 28). Modern Medicine: Hugh Laurie/Beck [Television series episode].  In L. Michaels (Producer), Saturday Night Live. New York, NY: NBC.

For many in the health care community and general public the words “Tuskegee” became symbolic of racism in medical research and care, making its way into popular culture in songs, plays, poems, rap, and cultural imagination.   In 2006, Hugh Laurie (T.V.’s irascible Dr. House) hosted Saturday Night Live and played the wife in a skit with patient Kenan Thompson. When the doctor offers care to Thompson, Laurie and Thompson both look at one another and yell “We know what this is: Tuskegee, Tuskegee, Tuskegee.” Others have done academic studies that prove and disprove that it is the memory of Tuskegee that keeps African American patients from seeking care or participating in research trials.  What we do know is that the subtle, and not so subtle, forms of racism create an aura of distrust that affects the kind of health care African Americans both seek and receive whether they know the details of what happened half a century ago or not.

So can there be another Tuskegee?  If by this question we mean the misrepresentation in informed consent, the danger of scientific hubris, and the misuse of patients of color:  probably in some form. Just as importantly, we need to ask what meaning is given to these experiences once they become public? How can the health care and public health communities create what historian Vanessa Northington Gamble calls “trustworthiness.”  It is the meaning of the study in Tuskegee that needs to be assessed, taught and considered. For it is this meaning that reverberates long after the men caught in its grasp wandered in the medical desert for 40 years, and long after any knowledge of its facts actually fade.

Join Susan Reverby along with moderator Aletha Maybank and Monique Guishard for our panel on February 26th, Could Tuskegee Happen Today?, addressing the history and legacy of the study and why it remains relevant today.

Footnotes

[1] J.D. Howell, R.A.Haywood, “Writing Willowbrook, Reading Willowbrook: The Recounting of a Medical Experiment. In: J. Goodman, A. McElligott and L. Marks, eds. Using Bodies: Humans in the Service of Medical Science in the 20th Century (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2003), pp. 190-213.

[2] Barron H. Lerner, “Sins of Omission—Cancer Research without Informed Consent,” New England Journal of Medicine 351 (2004): 628-630.

[3] Office of the Secretary, The Belmont Report: Ethical Principles and Guidelines for the Protection of Human Subjects of Research, April 18, 1979.

#ColorOurCollections 2019: Here Comes the Sun

Are you ready? Our fourth annual #ColorOurCollections week kicks off today! From February 4th through the 8th, libraries, archives, and other cultural institutions are showcasing their collections in the form of free coloring sheets. Follow #ColorOurCollections on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, and other social media platforms to participate. If you’re a cultural institution, share your own coloring sheets to our website, colorourcollections.org.  And if you’re looking for pages to color you can join in too, by following the social media hashtag. Be sure to visit the #ColorOurCollections website for free, downloadable coloring books created for the campaign.

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Last year our coloring pages took their cues from the ocean, but this year’s especially cold January had us running to our botanicals.  Here, we found a respite from the cold in the pages of Willem Piso’s natural history of Brazil, the vibrant cacti of Johannes Burman’s eighteenth-century volumes on American plants, and the always evergreen pines of the early and important herbal, the Hortus Sanitatis, or Garden of Health.

The earliest illustrations in this year’s coloring book come from a French edition of the Hortus Sanitatus, first published in Mainz in 1485. The woodblocks used to make the book’s many illustrations of plants and animals were reused many times to depict different species. In some cases, fantasy takes over entirely, as with a pair of images depicting male and female mandrakes.

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Source: Verard, Antoine. Des herbis & tabulae… (1500).

Athanasius Kircher was also no stranger to fantasy, and his levitating lily pad, from his illustrated guide to China published in 1667, is no exception. Kircher, a Jesuit, never travelled to China, but relied on accounts by his fellow Jesuits for source material for his book. Kircher promised that his travelogue would distinguish between the real and the unreal, but offered illustrations of a number of incredible sights, including winged tortoises and this flower with a face, who graces this year’s coloring book cover:

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Source: Kircher, Athanasius. Athanasii Kircheri e Soc. Jesu China…(1667).

Other images this year were taken from the herbal of the Dutch botanist, Johannes Burman, published between 1755–1757. Burman studied under Herman Boerhaave at Leiden, and qualified in 1728 as a doctor of medicine. He later replaced Frederick Ruysch as Professor of Botany in Amsterdam, and was responsible for the botanical garden there. Many of the illustrations in Burman’s Plantarum Americanarum were drawn by the French botanist and artist Charles Plumier (1646–1704). The flowering plant plumeria was named in his honor.

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Source: Burmann, Johannes. Plantarum Americanarum. (1755–1757).

Finally, two additional coloring images come from Willem Piso and Georg Markgraf’s astonishing Historia naturalis Brasiliae, published in 1648. The book contains 446 remarkable woodcuts illustrating local flora and fauna, and comprises the most important seventeenth-century catalog of zoology, botany and medicine in Brazil. The woodcuts are based on an original collection of paintings and sketches, now lost; many of these original depictions were likely done by Markgraf himself. Selected pages from the book are digitized here.

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Piso, Willem & Laet, Joannes de. Historia naturalis Brasiliae. (1648).

We can’t wait to see what you’re coloring from our collections—and from others!  Don’t forget to share your work and use the hashtag #ColorOurCollections on social media.

 

Winter/Spring 2019 Upcoming Events

Happy New Year! After finishing off a wonderful array of programming for 2018, we’re looking forward to the events we have in store for 2019, and hope you are too!

Our winter/spring programming begins on January 26 with our Bibliography Week lecture, “‘The Horrors of My Secret Toil’: What Frankenstein Demands of Curators”, with speaker, Elizabeth Denlinger. She will consider Mary Shelley’s fictional experiment with dead bodies and their place in the scientific world of Shelley’s time, as well as exploring the ethical implications of making a spectacle of human bodies — in the novel, in movies, and in exhibitions.

Please join the Academy on January 30 for the “Tenth Annual History of Medicine and Public Health Night, Part I“. This special evening of selected short talks will address varied topics in the history of medicine and public health from milk pasteurization to the eradication of rinderpest in East Africa.

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February 4-8 is Color Our Collections Week! Begun by the Academy Library in 2016, Color Our Collections Week brings you free coloring sheets based on materials in our Library as well as other cultural institutions from around the world. Users are invited to download and print the coloring sheets via the website www.colorourcollections.org and share their filled-in images with hashtag #ColorOurCollections.

Who is remembered, commemorated, and forgotten? Join us on February 6 for “Remembering the Dead“, a Germ City event where activist and artist Avram Finkelstein and essayist Garnette Cadogan consider the complicated social and institutional responses to infectious disease with the Tenement Museum’s David Favaloro.

The “Tuskegee Study of Untreated Syphilis” was an unethical medical research study conducted by the U.S. Public Health Service on hundreds of African-American men from 1932-1972. “Could Tuskegee Happen Today?”, the inaugural event in the Academy’s Race & Health series, to be held on February 26, will share first-person accounts from survivors, combined with expert perspectives and audience discussion, to address the history and legacy of the study and why it remains relevant today. 

On April 3, we will be presenting “Facing the Future: Predicting and Preparing for Disease Outbreaks“. At this Germ City event, science reporter Sonia Shah will speak with experts Dr. Amy Fairchild, Dr. Larry Madoff, and Lauren Flicker about how prepared we are for future pandemics.

Save the date for April 11, our annual Celebration of the Library: “How the Voice Made Us Human”! This year’s speaker is award-winning journalist and author of As Nature Made Him John Colapinto, who will discuss his current book project on the history of the voice.

Lastly, be on the lookout: newly-added dates for our incredibly popular walking tours on Roosevelt Island and Ellis Island are coming soon!

Check back here for special guest posts by some of our speakers in the coming months, and we hope to see you soon!

If you’d like all this information in handy brochure form, click here.

Digitizing the William S. Ladd Collection of Prints

By Robin Naughton, Head of Digital

We are excited to launch a new digital collection: the William S. Ladd Collection of Prints!

In 1975, The New York Academy of Medicine accepted the gift of the William S. Ladd collection, which consisted of 671 prints dating from the 17th – 19th centuries, from Cornell University Medical College via Erich Meyerhoff, then Librarian of the Medical College Library.   Since receiving the Ladd Collection, the Library rehoused and conserved the material. In the Spring of 2018, the Library submitted a proposal for funding to the Metropolitan New York Library Council’s (METRO) New York State Regional Bibliographic Database Program to digitize the Ladd Collection.  The grant proposal was accepted, and the Library began the process to digitize the Ladd Collection and make it available to the public. METRO provided the funds to scan the collection and the Library provided the resources to build a digital collection website.

Because the Ladd Collection was already conserved and in a ready-to-digitize state, we sent the collection out for scanning soon after receiving funding.  While the collection was being scanned, we turned our attention to the metadata created during the conservation process. The metadata, created for a different purpose, needed to be enhanced for the digital collection.  For the launch, we decided on seven pieces of metadata that would provide users with enough information to understand each print.

Metadata Field Example
Title Aesculapius
Portrait Subject (LC) Asklepios (Greek deity)
Aesculapius (Roman deity)
Collection William S. Ladd Collection of Prints
Repository The New York Academy of Medicine
Genre Prints
Illustration Technique Engraving
ID ladd_010

“Title” is the most critical piece of information because it describes the subject of the portrait and is an easy way to identify the context of the image. Where possible, the Library of Congress (LC) subject is identified.

“Illustration Technique” is an additional piece of information that describes the story of the technology used to develop the portrait.  Researchers and general users can explore the collection by “Illustration Technique,” including etching, stipple, engraving, mezzotint, and lithograph. With each technique hyperlinked in the collection, users can click to see all the prints in the collection with that technique. The top three techniques are engraving (~339 prints), lithograph (~115 prints) and stipple (~61 prints).

Aesculapius. Example of engraving.

Aesculapius. Example of engraving. Image: William S. Ladd Collection of Prints, New York Academy of Medicine.

Récamier, Joseph Claude Anthelme. Example of a lithograph

Récamier, Joseph Claude Anthelme. Example of a lithograph. Image: William S. Ladd Collection of Prints, New York Academy of Medicine.

Widmann, Johann Wilhelm. Example of stipple technique.

Widmann, Johann Wilhelm. Example of stipple technique. Image: William S. Ladd Collection of Prints, New York Academy of Medicine.

As users explore the collection, it becomes clear that there are mostly prints of men.  However, there is a print of a woman in the collection who is described as the wife of Michel Schuppach.

Marie Flückigger

Flückigger, Marie. Image: The William S. Ladd Collection of Prints, New York Academy of Medicine.

There are also prints of a few hospitals, including Brooklyn City Hospital (now the Brooklyn Hospital Center).

Brooklyn City Hospital

Brooklyn City Hospital. Image: William S. Ladd Collection of Prints. New York Academy of Medicine.

Digitizing the Ladd collection provides broad access to the public and an opportunity for researchers, conservators, artists, and the general public to explore early print technology (17th to 19th centuries) from any web-enabled device.  So, take some time to read more about the history of the collection and the important figures in medicine and science, compare multiple printing techniques, and discover these amazing works of art in our new digital collection.

Click here to check out our new digital collection.

Charles Terry Butler: An American Doctor in World War I

By Paul Theerman, Ph.D., Director of the Library

A hundred years ago this week, medical doctor Lt. Charles Terry Butler (1889–1980) entered Germany with the Army of Occupation. Yes, the Armistice had been signed a full three weeks prior, but “Charlie’s war” was not yet over. He would remain in uniform for over four more months. Through his detailed memoir, A Civilian in Uniform [1], we have   insight into his war service and the work of Evacuation Hospital #3, which followed the American war effort across France and into Germany in 1918 and 1919.

1st Lt. Charles T. Butler, MRC, US Army Sept. 1917

Image: A Civilian in Uniform, b/t. pp. 124-125.

As detailed in a previous blog entry, in 1916, Butler, newly graduated from medical school, spent six months as a volunteer surgeon in a British-French military hospital outside Paris, the “war before the war” for Americans.  His experience at Ris-Orangis turned out to be crucial for his later war service. Three months after he returned home, the United States entered the war on the side of the Allies. Butler’s adventures over the next two years capture much of the American medical experience of the Great War.

Butler’s first “battle” was to avoid getting drafted into the infantry so that he could serve in the medical corps.  A draft started right upon declaration of war on April 6th, and as a young man of 27, Butler was likely to be called up. He instead volunteered for the Army Medical Reserve Corps, where, with a medical degree, he received a commission as a first lieutenant in August. He was directed to go to Camp Greenleaf in Fort Oglethorpe, Georgia, by September 15th for additional training. [2] Afterwards, Butler shipped from Hoboken on January 12, 1918, bound for Saint-Nazaire, France, at the mouth of the Loire River, arriving on the 27th. Within a few weeks, Butler’s medical contingent was sent up the Loire and was divided, half to a hospital in Tours and half to one in Blois, both well behind the lines. He would serve separately in these locations over the next five months.

In early July, as part of “Evacuation Hospital #3,” he was moved to Rimaucourt, in the département of Haute Marne, close to the front. On July 29th, the operation moved to La Ferté-Milon “70 K. from Paris, about 23 K. from the Front.” [3]

The sound of guns was plainly audible; the signs of war were everywhere about. The station was almost wrecked—one end blown to atoms by a shell that had come through the roof. Everywhere were shell holes; among the tracks, in the platforms, and in the fields.… Houses everywhere were gaping ruins—roofs knocked off, holes in the walls, windows smashed. For, until the first Allied counteroffensive started, the enemy were within 4K. of the town. [4]

Entire route of Evacuation Hospital #3, 1/27/1918-4/12/1919.

Entire route of Evacuation Hospital #3 in France, where Butler served, from St. Nazaire to Brest. Image: A Civilian in Uniform, b/t pp. 354 and 355.

That afternoon he and his comrades explored the devastated town; less than a week later, the hospital was moved to Château-Thierry and then Crezancy. Butler’s hospital formed part of the medical services supporting the first major American military action in the War. “The camp at Crezancy was the first at which the organization came face to face with all kinds of casualties straight from the front.” [5] His unit remained close to the fighting, treating the wounded of the many battles of the Meuse–Argonne offensive, up until the Armistice on November 11th that marked the War’s end. On that day, Butler wrote to his mother from behind the lines at Verdun:

Everyone is wild with joy! The war ended this morning at eleven. But it’s hard to realize. Automatically we camouflage our lights, but I don’t doubt will get out of that habit before long. . . . They had a big bonfire after supper [tonight] to celebrate with speeches, song, etc. . . . Now we are wondering what will happen to us. There is some talk of our going into Germany with the Army of Occupation, but we have as good chance of getting home fairly early. [6]

Home early was not to be: in December the unit moved north through Luxembourg to Trier, Germany. There it provided medical services for Allied soldiers held in a military prison hospital. For the first time, Butler noted the Spanish Flu in his war reminiscence:

Worn out by months of fighting, their resistance exhausted from the long march, hundreds fell easy prey to the virulent flu-pneumonia bug that was epidemic. While I was in charge of the pneumonia ward, of the 153 admissions, 50 died—one-third. A soldier would come in on his feet and be dead in 48 hours.  The work was utterly frustrating. . . . [7]

Charles Terry Butler July to December 1918 personal diary

Pages from Butler’s diary, which was written from July to December, 1918. Image: Charles Terry Butler papers, New York Academy of Medicine.

After four months, the unit was ordered home. It left Trier on March 27th and arrived in Brest, France, on the 31st, then embarked by ship on April 12th for Hoboken, arriving on the 20th. On April 27th, Butler was discharged from the military at Fort Dix. Between his volunteer service in 1916–1917, and his military service in 1917–1919, he had served over two years, or half of the war.

Charles Terry Butler in July 1975.

Charles Terry Butler in July 1975. Image: A Civilian in Uniform, p. 399.

After the war, Butler married, had children, and entered private practice, but by 1923 rheumatoid arthritis led him to retire. Moving to the Ojai Valley of Ventura County, California, he became a prominent civic and cultural leader. In 1975, after many years of work, he privately published A Civilian in Uniform as perhaps “the most complete account of one of the most active large mobile evacuation hospitals” in the First World War. Butler died in 1980.

Reading through A Civilian in Uniform one learns the reason for its writing: to combine the historical and the personal. Throughout the work, Butler mixed his letters and diary entries with understanding of the war and the official account of his hospital unit. He was justly proud of that unit:

This outfit, through trial and error and after many varying experiences in battle areas, had reached a state of efficiency in all departments that may have served as a useful guide for the structure and administration of evacuation hospitals in World War II. [8]

And of his role:

Yet when, from the multi-thousands of wounded who passed through the portals of these two hospitals, are sorted out the hundreds who owe much of their future physical well being to the professional performance of one single individual, and perhaps that man’s work during those years of bloodshed warrants, in philosophical perspective, a place a notch or two above the microscopic level. [9]

For many, the attraction of war may come from the desire to play a role in a venture of world-wide consequence. For Butler, this played out through his medical work in World War I.

The New York Academy of Medicine Library also houses Butler’s papers.

References:

[1] Charles Terry Butler, A Civilian in Uniform (Ojai, CA: “Private edition,” 1975).
[2] Butler was expected to outfit himself for his service, in the amount of $275.00 for uniforms, insignia, blankets, cots, and incidentals such as mirrors, electric lights, and candles. He received $2,000 a year in compensation, from which were deducted the premium for War Risk Insurance—life and disability insurance provided through the government—and $1.00 a day for officers’ mess! Butler, A Civilian in Uniform, 123–24.
[3] Butler, “Diary,” July 30, 1918, A Civilian in Uniform, p. 230.
[4] Butler, “Diary,” July 30, 1918, A Civilian in Uniform, pp. 230–31.
[5] Butler, A Civilian in Uniform, p. 248.
[6] Butler to “Mother” [Louise Collins Butler], November 11, 1918, in A Civilian in Uniform, pp. 312–13.
[7] Butler, A Civilian in Uniform, p. 332. There also Butler was assigned the task of writing the history of Evacuation Hospital #3, which formed much of the basis of A Civilian in Uniform.
[8] Butler, A Civilian in Uniform, p. 364.
[9] Butler, A Civilian in Uniform, p. 355–56.