Reading the Fine Print of Quackery

In the 1870s, druggist Warren Toppan of Lynn, Massachusetts made and sold Calcutta Cholera Mixture.

It must have been somekinda powerful: the bottle is only 3.75" (9.525 cm) tall from base to the top of the lip and held only 3.25 teaspoons of cure. That's okay, huge medical breakthroughs often come in small packages, right? Penicillin: big-time disease cure, small petri dish; aspirin: whopping headache cure, small pill; Calcutta Cholera Mixture: breakthrough cholera cure, small bottle.

Umm, not really.

You've probably never heard of this quack cure. Its maker did not become rich or famous and he did next to nothing to advertise this medicine. This may seem to be extraordinary modesty given that he was claiming to have invented a cure for cholera.

Well, that's what he claimed ... sort of. You have to read (and understand) the small print (admittedly, ALL the print on this tiny bottle is small). Under the name of the medicine we read, "For the Cure of Cholera Morbus, Dysentery, Diarrhoea, Colic, and all Inflammation of the Stomach and Bowels." Cholera and Cholera Morbus are not the same thing; cholera is the epidemic variety and cholera morbus was a term used to describe the non-epidemic family of gastrointestinal diseases whose symptoms resembled cholera. So he wasn't really talking about curing the epidemic type of cholera that people associated with the 1832 global pandemic that originated among the impoverished people in the Bengal region of India. He was only promising relief for the spectrum of gastrointestinal complaints that hit Lynn during late summer through the fall of each year. Yet he purposely called it the Calcutta Cholera Mixture. And he couched his promises in caveats of even tinier type size:

If given in the forming stages of Cholera, it will arrest the progress of the disease.

In other words, if you're too far gone, Toppan's cure can't be blamed. And if you're not too far gone, it really only promises to stop the disease's progress, not knock it out of your system. So at best, the stuff won't let you get worse, unless you are already worse, then tough luck, Charlie. It's what small print was invented for.

Americans watched warily after the first (and worst) cholera pandemic hit the U.S. in 1832 and other scares in 1849 and 1866. But in 1849 John Snow of England demonstrated that cholera was spread through fouled water and many U.S. communities began to tap cleaner water sources and setting up water filtration systems. Lynn had a water pumping and filtering system by 1870, so why was there a need for a medicinal cure in Lynn in the mid-1870s?

Like many cities in the U.S., Lynn, Massachusetts was getting crowded. Its shoe factories required many workers; tenements stacked next to each other, forming three-story urban jungles. Poor immigrants filled the housing and were condescendingly regarded by the upper classes as a necessary evil. Delicate white bejeweled fingers pointed disdainfully at the poor as the source of filth, squalor, and disease. Toppan's Calcutta Cholera Mixture was not just a promised cure of the choleric symptoms that came from contagious gastrointestinal diseases, but also was an implied cure from the filth of the slums spilling over into upscale lives. It was bad enough if you got dysentery or cholera morbus, but even worse that you got their diseases, making you no better than them.

Warren Toppan's Calcutta Cholera Mixture was a cure for physical illness and social downfall. Small bottle, big attitude.

Yes, Virginia, there really is a Mrs. Dinsmore

For over twenty years I have collected the medicine bottles, advertising, and promotional items associated with a 19th century proprietary medicine called Mrs. Dinsmore's Cough and Croup Balsam, made in Lynn, Massachusetts. The advertising (and a few of the bottle labels) have the stern image of Mrs. Dinsmore. Products like Aunt Jemima Syrup, the Betty Crocker Cookbook, and even Chicken of the Sea Tuna became HUGE commercial successes using images of women that never existed and it set me to wondering, was there really a Mrs. Dinsmore and if so, who was she? I mean, gee whiz, if she was real, why couldn't they use a friendlier image of her, maybe one that is at least smiling?? I realize she's not as cute as Betty Crocker or Aunt Jemima, so would her medicine have sold better with a more fetching image? Hmmmm - Chicken of the Sea Cough and Croup Balsam - umm, maybe not.

Well, through a combination of collecting, research, and pretty nifty detective work, I was able to determine that there really was a Mrs. Dinsmore, there was a reason she wasn't smiling, and her remedy sales were pretty terrific for decades, even though she didn't have blonde hair and a fishtail. You can check out the whole story by looking at an article I published a few years ago: The Man Behind the Woman's Face (just click on that title under the sidebar heading, "MORE FASCINATING QUACKERY" in the melon-colored sidebar on the right).

Every time I look over that article, my thoughts wander to the years of research, hundreds of miles travelled, and many dollars spent in my quest for the truth about Mrs. Dinsmore. I found out she existed, as well as about her parentage and siblings, and her husband and children; I followed them, figuratively and literally, as they travelled from China to St. John's, New Brunswick, Canada, then to Pittsfield, Maine, then to Lynn, Mass. - and why they made each move. I found out why their house smelled and I met their descendents who live in a wonderful house. And I found out that I was able to buy my first house because of her medicine. There's so much of a story behind the story of Mrs. Dinsmore. I thought it would make a great follow-up article to the first, but it still remains to be done. Maybe I'll do a blog entry in the future about Finding Mrs. Dinsmore. But right now, it's supper and I'm hoping that Aunt Jemima, Betty Crocker, or the mermaid have something waiting for me in the kitchen.

GLORIOUS NEWS TO THE AFFLICTED!

Antique collecting is a lot like fishing: the two most fun parts of it are the thrill of catch and then showing it off to others. But here's the key - you have to find kindred spirits who are interested in the same thing you are, be it fishing or antiques, because if you try to show a disinterested person, your personal pinata gets clobbered in one swing, spilling out your accumulated ego, excitement, and joy. I know firsthand. That's why I'm doing this blog. You folks around the world who are reading my blog are my kindred spirits. I knew you were out there; I just didn't know where! I'm glad you're enjoying my blog. So with that little preface, let me share another one of my fish stories:

I vividly remember finding this unassuming trade card. I was at Brimfield, the largest outdoor antique fair in the U.S., about ten years ago. It was hot and dusty because I was near the street at the time and my feet and back were aching from being bent at a 45-degree angle over the dealers' tables, thumbing through boxes and bowls containing trade cards. I was feeling a sympathetic bond to these little scraps of paper, carelessly tossed naked (no archival sleeves, no unarchival sleeves) and sometimes jammed into shoeboxes then callously fingered by people bent on speed at all costs so that they can get get back to the hunt for the next box load of paper scraps. These cards suffer more bent corners, scratches, and tears in one antique show then they have from the previous 150 years of their fragile existence. I feel that I don't buy trade cards - I rescue them.

But I digress. I suspect the trade card collectors who did their quickie groping through the box near the dusty street at the Brimfield show passed by this particular card because it was "just a common." The front is a common stock card image, but the card turns out to be anything but common. I know that it wasn't because they all had this little treasure. It was the first one I'd seen and I've only seen one other in the ten years since this show. Some probably made the mistake of seeing "Independent Spiritual Retreat" on the card front and just figured it was some kind of religious card, like those put out by the American Tract Society. Not so. Dr. Hargrove was a dyed-in-the-wool spiritualist and a person who claimed to heal others with the help and aid of the spirits of the departed with whom he could commune. Many of these spiritualists laid claim to having a "spirit band," a sort of consortium of spirits who were dedicated to channeling through a particular mortal medium. Dr. Hargrove had his allies in the spirit on whom he could rely to help him in his calling as a doctor; he mentions his spirit band on this card. They apparently helped him to build a table unlike any that you or I have seen, with holes and tubes connecting the patient to the central container of leaves and roots, etc. It almost sounds like sick people were having a seance at a round pool table whose pockets and passages were filled with the healing aroma of healing leaves and roots instead of the clacking of cue balls.

The front of this trade card may be common, but the back is rich with history and quackery. I can't do it better justice to it than to let it speak for itself:

GLORIOUS NEWS TOTHE AFFLICTED!

A Spiritual, Medical and Developing Table

DESIGNED BY SPIRITS

Through the Mediumship of Dr. A. Hargrove, the

English Test, Medical and Business Medium,

1243 Washington Street, Boston, Mass.

This wonderful invention consists in disposing the medicinal substances from which the operative or healing effect is to proceed, in a Closed Chamber of suitable form and dimensions, having a covered passage from the inside of the Chamber to an opening or openings near the patient, over which openings the patient to be treated places his hands. The Chamber which is to contain the medicinal substances is located in a table with circular top, and from the inside of the Chamber are made in or under the table top, covered passages extending to openings in the upper surface of the table around and near the edge of it when not in use. These openings are fitted with and tightly closed by suitable ornamental covers. When in use, the patient or patients sit at the table, and two of the openings are uncovered for each sitter at the table, and the hands of the patient are placed over the openings, and the active medicinal properties of the vegetable substances which the disease of the patient requires are transmitted through the passages to the system of the patient, and produce the desired effect with more certainty and safety than when administered in the ordinary manner. The Vegetable Substances to be used in the Chamber are selected and compounded by the aid of spiritual knowledge, in connection with Pure Vegetable Substances. The magnetic currents are kept in constant operation, producing wonderful results. Substances correct all impurities. Spirit forms are frequently seen and described by the medium and others at the table. Manifestations of a remarkable nature are continually occurring.

Remedies magnetized in the table by the Doctor's Spirit Band, in connection with his wonderful powers, and sent to any part of the United States. Parties wishing particulars must enclose stamp. Sittings daily at the table, 9 A. M. to 5 P. M. Valuable advice upon sickness and all matters.

Special Notice. Free Circles for Ladies only, Sunday & Wednesday Evenings at 7:30. These Circles are to be held especially for the development of a high order of Spiritual Knowledge. A few of the Drs. personal gentlemen friends excepted.

Dr. A. Hargrove was Alfred Hargrove. Born in England about 1848, he was a grocery clerk in Boston in 1870, was practicing as Dr. Hargrove in Boston around 1875 and was in Providence, Rhode Island in 1880, listed as an astrologer.

What WAS Momma feedin' this kid??

In honor of my friend, Donna, from Maine, I am focusing today's entry on one of the best and rarest trade cards in my collection: Dr. John F. True's Pin Worm Elixir, made originally in Auburn, Maine. Boy, is this a story waiting to be told!

In the 19th century, people worried a good deal about getting worms. Some of the concern was warranted and some of their fear was drilled into them by ads and notices of itinerants who claimed their medicines had successfully extracted worms of gigantic proportions. I just read one such itinerant's claim in a Lynn, Massachusetts newspaper from 1875 of a patient who had been relieved of a worm 147 feet long! More likely, the only big thing that had been "passing through" was the itinerant himself once he had a sufficient dose of his patients' money.

Adults and children were equally susceptible to getting worms by eating food containing tapeworm segments and eggs or pinworm eggs. Yum.

Dr. John F. True's Pin Worm Elixir was one of the best-selling anthelmintics (dewormers) in the 19th century. Bottle diggers in New England find his bottles all the time. Skinny little bottle, big fat claims. In the attached trade card (circa early 1870s), the Lincolnesque doctor tells you with a straight face,

Being a mild and gentle laxative, it is a corrective of the greatest value. ... It has also expelled several lizards, one eight inches in length, is spotted, belongs to the water species, and looks like a veritable young aligator.

There were lots of medicines back then promising to remove worms, but as far as I know, only True's promised to remove lizards and alligators. No wonder there are so many of those bottles being found now.

By the way, the world is still full of tapeworms and pinworms today. Well look at that - it's almost lunchtime!

Thank Goodness for Pills!

It's 5:32 pm here (no matter what my computer clock says) and things are winding down. It's that time of day when many guys will be lifting a bottle - a cold one - to drink; but me, I'd rather be lifting a bottle - an old one - just to admire and research. Kind of funny that a guy so interested in bottles doesn't drink alcohol; probably 99% of the bottles in my collection contained alcohol, either as a refreshment or a medicine; in fact, some of them still have contents. The alcohol in medicines were used as a bracer and a sedative, but also as antifreeze and a preservative.

Until the late nineteenth century, most homes did not have heat beyond that produced by the fireplace or the stove. This left much of the house very cold on a cold winter day or night. I have read several journal entries of ink frozen in the bottle and medicine bottles that had exploded due to frozen contents. I once lived in a house in central Massachusetts built in 1794 that still had no heat on the second floor, where our bedrooms were. In the morning on the coldest days we would awaken to the sight of ice covering the bedroom window panes - on the inside! We kept anything liquid on the first floor.

That last reason for alcohol in medicine - as a preservative - is also hard to understand today. Many of the medicines had lots of plant matter in them and the alcohol was used to preserve them - in effect, to "pickle" the contents. But after 140 years or so, the plant matter, water and alcohol move around in the bottles like murky greenish-gray clouds oozing over swamp muck that had sucked down wooly mammoths. One look at the bottles in my collection with full or partial contents is enough to keep me a non-drinker for the rest of my life - and to always make sure they don't freeze - I never want those bad boys exploding their swamp-muck contents into my study!

Digging for Buried Treasure

As much as I love digging in the dirt, I've only gotten to do so a few times in my life.

I remember when I was a little kid in Dartmouth, Massachusetts, playing with my best friend and our toy trucks on a huge pile of dirt that had been excavated to create a cellar hole. As I pushed my Tonka truck through the dirt, it uncovered a piece of a very old dish, then another, and another. Then a clay pipe bowl. Then more stuff. Something primal just took over and I parked my Tonka and started digging for the stuff. My little friend thought I was nuts and kept playing with his truck. He was right - I was crazy and still am: I love to dig for evidence of people who stood on the same ground long ago.

When another friend showed me the site of a small dump on a hillside in Saugus, Massachusetts, you would think I was at Sutter's Mill in 1849! I dug like a crazed archaeologist! I found a few clay marbles, a few Chas. Crompton & Sons bottles, an odd-shaped goldish thing with a decoration on it, an engraved silver bottle top, and an Indian Head penny! I was in hog heaven.

Then there was the dig with my sons in Maine. They were about 8 and 7 years old and this was their first time digging with Dad. You can see the "treasures" in their hands were just a bunch of junky bottles, a flower pot, and an old hubcap to put them in; you can tell from the smiles on their faces, they felt like they had just dug up the Hope Diamond.

That day, my friends, is when I found one of my greatest treasures - the memory of diggin' in the dirt with my boys.

The Blue Lydia

There are millions of Lydia E. Pinkham Vegetable Compound bottles out there because the medicine was just so darned popular. And because it was purchased by millions of women, bottle diggers and bottle collectors could care less about them. The bottle itself is pretty ho-hum to begin with. Not a fancy shape or color and the most basic embossing. Not pontiled either.

Now if you come across a labeled version on the internet or in an antique shop or yard sale, odds are verrrrrrrrrry high that the color of the label will be somewhere between aged tan to rotted pumpkin (keep your jack-o-lantern until December to see what I mean). That was the color range for about 70 years. The label's text and design changed from fancy Victorian promises to government-issue boring, but what almost nobody knows is that the very first Lydia Pinkham bottle had a blue label. Yes, boys and girls, it is the ultra-rare, fabulously valuable, and hauntingly beautiful Blue Lydia.

I know of only three in existence after almost 30 years of collecting and researching. The best and earliest example is at the Lynn Museum and Historical Society in Lynn, Massachusetts. The second best example is in a private collection a few miles from my home; and the third is also in a private collection but has all of the blue leached out so that the label is just aged tan.

I do not have one; I am not yet worthy. But I have been allowed to hold and photograph all three and now I put an image of the best one into your virtual collection. You're welcome.