Local History: Medicine men preyed on community in early 20th century

BY SHELLIE TAYLOR

I recently came across a 122-year-old newspaper article that sent me down a rabbit hole. On December 19, 1902, the Landmark printed a brief story from the Charlotte Observer. In the Sharon Township of Mecklenburg County, just south of Charlotte, a white man claiming to be a doctor came to the community selling patent medicine. He came across a sick Black man and promised that for $10 he could provide the cure to his ailment. The man was only able to scrounge up $9, but the “doctor” accepted it and provided the medicine. He then left, claiming he was going to treat another patient. Less than 24 hours after taking the medicine, the Black man died. The traveling “doctor” was never seen again.

I reread the article to make sure I understood it correctly. In today’s world full of malpractice suits, it seems far-fetched, but there was the story in black and white.

I decided to research the world of patent medicine.

Disturbingly, I found that stories like the one from 1902 were not uncommon. The concept of patent medicine dates to before the Revolutionary War, but the practice of selling medicine for profit gained popularity in the mid-19th century. Ailments for which these remedies would be sought ranged from hair loss to arthritis and heart disease. Many, if not most, of these patent drugs contained opiates such as cocaine, opium, and morphine. Newspapers were filled with advertisements promising miracle cures with people singing the praises of the magic medicine. Of course, people would say the medicine made them feel better. They were high!

Society was in search of quick solutions to these ailments without the need to consult a physician. In rural areas, doctors often weren’t readily available and if they were, a lack of knowledge sometimes hindered proper treatment. For many, especially marginalized communities such as impoverished or African American groups, hospitals were considered a death sentence, and mistrust for doctors ran high. In Iredell County, the Davis Hospital was known for treating Black patients in the basement with minimal care. Horror stories were told of patients being left downstairs to “heal and rest.” Many were ignored and suffered lonely deaths. Many African-Americans living in Statesville avoided going to hospitals, especially Davis. Those conditions created a perfect opportunity for traveling medicine man promising a miracle cure for a few dollars.

Patent medicines were also used to treat children. Drugs promising to calm crying babies or to soothe teething infants often contained the same harmful opiates. Newspaper ads, paid for by profit-seeking druggists, advertised in large letters and with fancy lithographs the calming effects of products such as Mrs. Winslow’s Soothing Syrup. Originally created in 1849, Mrs. Winslow’s syrup became one of the most popular patent medicines on the market for young children. Meanwhile, smaller and less costly warnings would be printed in tiny script on the bottom of pages detailing the deadly effects of these drugs. In 1888, a bulletin from the North Carolina Board of Health announced that soothing syrup accounted for the deaths of nearly 150,000 children every year (The Landmark, April 19, 1888). The reputation of traveling medicine men was widespread. People knew to expect entertainment from these so-called doctors, including Black actors who were paid (minimally) to ridicule themselves at the humor of white folks who would then pay the medicine men for whatever they promised would cure them. These men were often called scoundrels and fakirs, but they still managed to con people into buying their supplies. The Charlotte Observer reported in 1903 that a medicine man named J.C. Hunter had been misleading people in the lower part of Mecklenburg County and had raised suspicions. It was discovered that the company he claimed to represent did not exist. It crossed my mind that this J.C. Hunter may have been the same man who killed the unfortunate African American man the year before, but I have no proof of that. Soon it became common knowledge that these “doctors” were nothing but swindlers.

Several newspapers printed satirical scripts such as this one from The Franklin Times out of Louisburg:

Patent Medicine Man: Madam, did your husband use the bottle of Fagen’s Balm of life I left him?
Wife: Yes. It took immediate effect.
Patent Medicine Man: Good. Then you can conscientiously say that he will use no other?
Wife: I’m quite sure of it. He’s dead.

Or this one from The Hickory Press in Catawba County:

Farmer Peastraw: I wonder who that is going up to my house?
Farmer Oatcake: A patent medicine man.
Farmer Peastraw: Gee whiz! I must rush away and head him off. If he gets ten minutes’ talk with my wife she’ll be down sick with every disease in the almanac.

Although these tidbits were comical, they represented a very real and dangerous threat.

By the early 20th century, some local commissioners and government officials tried cracking down on these practitioners. As early as 1890, officials in the Georgia courts ruled that proprietors of patent medicines were liable for injuries or death to anyone who took the drugs according to the instructions (The Landmark, January 23, 1890). In 1904, a Bridgeton, N.J., newspaper reported that two children had almost died after ingesting toothache drops which had been thrown all over the streets haphazardly. The community begged for laws that would restrict the careless distribution of these drugs (The News of Cumberland County, April 30, 1904). In 1905, a committee in Portland, Maine, tried to pass a bill that would require patent medications which contained alcohol to list the percentage of alcohol present in the formula directly on the label (Evening Express, March 9, 1905). It wasn’t until the federal government passed the Pure Food and Drug Act in 1906 that changes started to take place. Transparency of drug ingredients was pushed for, including listing ingredients on labels and more honest marketing campaigns. The Food and Drug Administration was founded this same year.

Although it seems bizarre to a modern audience that these types of medicines would be believed to be beneficial, keep in mind that this era is not far removed from the generation who believed in bloodletting. Bloodletting was the practice of cutting skin to allow blood “impurities” to escape the body. Sometimes this resulted in the death of the patient from bleeding out. Sound judgment in the early medical field was quite lacking. Thankfully, the practice and knowledge of medicine has expanded and although our society is far from curing every disease known to man, we can confidently say we have come a long way from the days of the traveling medicine men.

To learn more about this subject, visit the digital exhibition “Quack Cures and Self-Remedies: Patent Medicine” by the Digital Public Library of America.

Shellie Taylor is the Local History Program Specialist at the Iredell County Public Library. She can be contacted at michelle.taylor@iredellcountync.gov or 704.878.3090, Ext. 8801.