Deaf Education- Celebrating the legacy of Thomas Hopkins Gallaudet

~This post courtesy Katie Healey and Caroline Lieffers, doctoral students in Yale’s Program for the History of Science and Medicine, with additions by Melissa Grafe, John R. Bumstead Librarian for Medical History, Head of the Medical Historical Library.

Portrait of Thomas H. Gallaudet (1787-1851). Gallaudet is shown here wearing glasses; his name in American Sign Language is the same as the sign for GLASSES.  From Henry Barnard, A discourse in commemoration of the life, character, and services of the Rev. Thomas H. Gallaudet, LL. D. : delivered before the citizens of Hartford, Jan. 7th, 1852 : with an appendix containing history of deaf-mute instruction and institutions and other documents (Hartford: Brockett & Hutchison, 1852):

Portrait of Thomas H. Gallaudet (1787-1851). Gallaudet is shown here wearing glasses; his name in American Sign Language is the same as the sign for GLASSES. From Henry Barnard, A discourse in commemoration of the life, character, and services of the Rev. Thomas H. Gallaudet, LL. D. : delivered before the citizens of Hartford, Jan. 7th, 1852 : with an appendix containing history of deaf-mute instruction and institutions and other documents (Hartford: Brockett & Hutchison, 1852).

Thomas Hopkins Gallaudet, instrumental in the establishment of the first permanent school for deaf children in the United States, was born on December 10th, 1787. The popular account of the school’s founding states that in 1814, the young Reverend Gallaudet wondered why the daughter of his Hartford neighbor did not laugh or play with his own younger siblings. Nine-year-old Alice Cogswell was deaf, and her family and friends struggled to communicate with her. Gallaudet traced the letters H-A-T into the dirt with a stick and pointed to his hat. Alice immediately understood, and Gallaudet realized his life’s calling. After observing different methods of instruction and communication on a European voyage supported by Alice’s father, Dr. Mason Fitch Cogswell (BA Yale 1780), Gallaudet concluded that the French method of sign language was most effective. He recruited Deaf Frenchman Laurent Clerc to help establish the Connecticut Asylum for the Education and Instruction of Deaf and Dumb Persons, which opened in Hartford on April 15, 1817. Alice Cogswell was its first registered student. Now called the American School for the Deaf, this historic institution will celebrate its bicentennial in 2017.

Thomas Hopkins Gallaudet earned his bachelor’s (1805) and master’s (1808) degrees at Yale before graduating from Andover Theological Seminary in 1814.  Following his serendipitous encounter with Alice Cogswell, Gallaudet embarked on a year-long tour of European deaf schools. After a frustrating visit to the secretive Braidwood Academy in England, which taught speech and speechreading, he attended a demonstration of the French manual method—that is, sign language—in London. The National Institute of the Deaf in Paris invited Gallaudet to study French Sign Language and deaf instruction. Impressed with their curriculum, Gallaudet persuaded the esteemed instructor Laurent Clerc, a former student of the Institute, to teach deaf children in America.  A commemoration of Gallaudet’s life was printed in 1852 and is available through the Medical Heritage Library partner National Library of Medicine.

Laurent Clerc was born in La Balme, France in 1785. As he later recounted in his autobiography, he fell into a fire as a toddler, which left him deafened and scarred his cheek. His name is signed by brushing the index and middle fingers twice down the cheek. Clerc was an exceptional student and later an internationally known instructor at the National Institute of the Deaf in Paris. He left his students only reluctantly in 1816, when Gallaudet persuaded him to come help American children. During the fifty-two-day voyage across the Atlantic, Clerc and Gallaudet exchanged lessons in French Sign Language and English, and Clerc kept a diary to practice his English.  The Laurent Clerc papers (MS140)  are available for research at Yale University’s Manuscripts and Archives, and the Mason Fitch Cogswell papers (GEN MSS 920)   are at Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library at Yale University.  Read an address on deaf education delivered by Clerc in 1818 through this online copy, provided by the Medical Heritage Library.

Title page from Laurent Clerc, An address, written by Mr. Clerc, and read by his request at a public examination of the pupils in the Connecticut Asylum : before the governour and both houses of the legislature, 28th May, 1818 (Hartford: Hudson & Co. Printers, 1818).

Title page from Laurent Clerc, An address, written by Mr. Clerc, and read by his request at a public examination of the pupils in the Connecticut Asylum : before the governour and both houses of the legislature, 28th May, 1818 (Hartford: Hudson & Co. Printers, 1818).

Gallaudet University in Washington D.C. was named Gallaudet College in 1894 in honor of Thomas Hopkins Gallaudet.  Founded in 1864, Gallaudet University is the world’s only liberal arts college specifically for the Deaf and hard of hearing. It remains a center of both Deaf culture and Deaf rights activism.

For more on Gallaudet and Deaf education and culture, make sure to visit, the online exhibition Deaf: Cultures and Communication, 1600 to the Present.

Female Trouble: Headaches and the Modern Woman

Who among us has not experienced the dreaded throb of cranial pain that accompanies stress and anxiety? Headaches seem to be the physiological manifestation of modern life’s tensions: perhaps more so than aches in any other part of the body, pain in the head symbolically ties together physical, mental, and emotional distresses.[1] In popular culture, headaches are also seen as a particularly female trait – think of the old misogynistic joke about a woman pleading a headache as an excuse to avoid a man’s sexual advances. While acting as humor on the basis of supposed female frailty and sexuality, the alleged headache functions to indicate the inner conflict the woman has between the different demands she faces because of her gender and her will as an individual. Managing these clashing societal demands and personal desires is, as it were, a headache.

In my reading of popular nineteenth-century American novels by women, I have noticed an emphasis on women’s headaches as an indicator of the stresses of the modernizing world. Headaches emerge as a recurring trope in these novels about women navigating new gender roles amidst changing ideas about women’s self-actualization both in the home and in the workplace. For instance, in Sara Payson Willis’s semi-autobiographical novel Ruth Hall: A Domestic Tale of the Present Time (1854), she chronicles her titular protagonist’s climb from poor widowhood to successful writer. A proxy for Willis, a.k.a. Fanny Fern, the highest-paid columnist in the United States, Ruth is plagued by headaches throughout the narrative. Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, known as the author of one of the great bestselling novels of the century, The Gates Ajar, also channeled her personal and professional frustrations in The Story of Avis (1877). Avis wants to be an artist, but the constraints of the domestic sphere force her to temper her ambitions. In both novels, the headache is a ubiquitous refrain at points of tension between these women’s private lives and the various public demands they face. But what relation did these headaches as metaphor have to contemporary medical understandings of the phenomena? How might nineteenth-century medical literature allow us to better understand these ongoing cultural stereotypes about women’s headaches?

I researched these questions at the Historical Medical Library of the College of Physicians of Philadelphia as a proud recipient of a travel research grant from the F.C. Wood Institute for the History of Medicine. Texts I hoped to investigate that are in the Library’s collection included both standard and homeopathic medical publications such as Treatise on Headaches: Their Various Causes, Prevention, and Curse (1855), Nervous Headache: For Medical Profession Only (1880), and Headache and Its Material Medica (1889).

Unexpected hazard of research: turns out that it can be a challenge for a modern reader like myself to resist sympathetic pangs of pain when you spend hours reading detailed medical descriptions of headaches! Often referred to as the “nervous headache,” the “sick headache,” and the now obsolete term “megrim,” the medical literature consistently links the phenomenon to imbalances and abnormalities – such as being a woman. I joke not! It is often a vague historical truism that “people were sexist back then,” but it can be paradigm-shifting to read the specifics of how credentialed, authoritative professionals actively engaged in pathologizing women’s existence.

Female susceptibility to headaches apparently had to do with everything from the nebulous affliction known as “hysteria,” to menstruation, to mental and emotional excesses, to excessive education and literacy. Henry G. Wright, MD, in his Headaches: Their Causes and Cures (1856) alleges that women tend toward headaches for reasons ranging from “over-nursing a child” to exertion from reading “the contents of the circulating library from sheer want of better employment.” As for male sufferers of headaches, doctors associated their pain with emasculating deviancy such as masturbation, sedentariness, and “nervous” traits of emotional disturbances and anxiety. According to James Mease, MD, in On the Causes, Cure, and Prevention of the Sick-Headache (1832), “This disease is the result of our advanced state of civilization, the increase of wealth and of enjoyments in the power of most people in this country, and, I may add, of the luxurious and enervating habits in which those in easy circumstances indulge.” Western civilization itself is feminized.

During my visit I also found other striking materials that indicate how the spread of medical knowledge grew with the further development of print technologies. There was a mass-produced pamphlet aimed at medical professionals that advertised a “nerve tonic” for headaches and other nervous ailments based on coca, known for its role in the drug cocaine. On Nervous or Sick-Headache (1873) by Peter Wallwork Latham, MD, included reproductions of colored plates that demonstrated the effect of severe headaches with aura on vision.

One thing that must be stressed: the women who were the subjects of these medical treatises were white and from the middle, if not upper, classes. The pain of poor women, women of color, and other marginalized groups did not merit the same medical attention and were sometimes not considered to exist. In his same text, Dr. Mease alleges that headaches are “unknown among the natives of our forests.”

Finally, I hope to put this discussion of women’s headaches into a broader conversation about pain in medicine. The generous time afforded to me by the F.C. Wood Institute grant enabled me to peruse many other research interests related to women and medical science. I went through materials related to J. Marion Sims, MD, considered the father of American gynecology. He built his career on developing surgeries to fix fistulas – by practising on enslaved black women. In his writings, there was no mention of their pain.

In 2015, the journal Pediatrics, published by the American Medical Association, highlighted an editorial that reviewed a broad range of scientific studies on racial discrimination and pain treatment in medicine from the 1970s onward. Perhaps the question for us should not only be what the causes and manifestations of pain are, but also whose pain gets recognized.

[1] For more on the history of pain and medicine in America, I recommend Martin Pernick’s A Calculus of Suffering.

~This post courtesy Beth Lander and Christine “Xine” Yao. Ms. Yao just earned her PhD in English at Cornell University.  Later this year she will begin her position as a SSHRC Postdoctoral Research Fellow at the University of British Columbia.  She received an F.C. Wood Institute Travel Grant from the College of Physicians of Philadelphia in 2015.

Insanity, medicine and the law-The case of President Garfield’s assassin, Charles Guiteau

Title page from The Great Guiteau Trial: with life of the cowardly assassin. Philadelphia, Published by Barclay & Co., 1882.

Title page from The Great Guiteau Trial: with life of the cowardly assassin. Philadelphia, Published by Barclay & Co., 1882.

On November 28th, 1881, Charles Julius Guiteau, assassin of President James A. Garfield, took the stand on his own behalf, testifying in court until December 3rd, 1881. Guiteau’s rambling testimony documented his life and his belief that killing Garfield was necessary and divine providence. Following Guiteau’s testimony, the prosecution brought a succession of medical experts, who testified over the course of three weeks that Guiteau was not insane but “depraved,” “sane, though eccentric,” and many other descriptions skirting the definition of legal insanity.1 Guiteau’s mental state was a matter of considerable debate among medical and legal experts, as evidenced by a number of articles, pamphlets and books that are freely available through the Medical Heritage Library. Continue reading

Fake Silk: The Lethal History of Viscose Rayon

Join UCSF Archives & Special Collections on Friday, December 2, at noon in the Lange Room for an afternoon talk with medical historian and author Paul Blanc MD MSPH  as he discusses the toxic legacy of viscose rayon portrayed in his new book, Fake Silk. Dr. Blanc poses a basic question: When a new technology makes people ill, how high does the body count have to be before protectives steps are taken? His work tells a dark story of hazardous manufacturing, poisonous materials, environmental abuses, political machinations, and economics trumping safety concerns. It explores the century-long history of “fake silk,” or cellulose viscose, used to produce such products as rayon textiles and tires, cellophane, and everyday kitchen sponges. His research uncovers the grim history of a product that crippled and even served a death sentence to many industry workers while also releasing toxic carbon disulfide into the environment. Continue reading

Remembering Base Hospital 30 of the First World War

Benjamin Ide Wheeler. Photograph Collection, Portraits.

Benjamin Ide Wheeler. Photograph Collection, Portraits.

In his Annual Report of the President of the University to the then-Governor of the State of California, UC President Benjamin Wheeler outlined the part of the university in the Great War:

On February 13, 1917, in view of the increasing probability of the United States entering the European War, the Board of Regents, at the instance of the President of the University, formally offered to the National Government the entire resources of the University for use in meeting whatever needs should arise in prosecuting the war.

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Blood Transfusion: 350 Years

Richard Lower (1631–1691), anatomist. Oil painting by Jacob Huysmans. Iconographic Collections, Wellcome Library, London, accessed through Wellcome Images, https://wellcomeimages.org/indexplus/image/M0007626.html.

Richard Lower (1631–1691), anatomist. Oil painting by Jacob Huysmans.

Three hundred and fifty years ago, on December 17, 1666, the Philosophical Transactions published the first account of blood transfusion, in the form of a letter from physician Richard Lower to chemist Robert Boyle.i Lower’s experiments transfused blood from one dog to another. The article provided his methods, specifying where the arteries and veins were to be cut, how the quill was to be inserted that formed the blood’s conduit between animals, and many other details of the operation. Continue reading

Healing Energy: Radium in America

The Historical Medical Library of the College of Physicians of Philadelphia has launched a new exhibit on the history of radiation medicine in the United States.

In the final years of the nineteenth century, researchers in physics and chemistry discovered new forms of energy, starting with x-rays in 1895. In 1896, Henri Becquerel discovered that uranium naturally emitted an invisible, previously-unknown form of energy. Following up on Becquerel’s work, the husband-and-wife team of Pierre and Marie Sklodowska Curie discovered that uranium ore contained two new elements—”polonium” and “radium”—that constantly radiated tremendous amounts of energy. The Curies came up with a new word for these emissions: “radioactivity,” Along with x-rays, this new form of energy came to be known as “ionizing radiation,” and it would forever alter the world of medicine.

The exhibit was created by Jeffrey Womack and Tristan Dahn and includes sections on the Curies, Robert Abbe, and the use of radiation in medicine.

~This post is courtesy Beth Lander, College Librarian, Historical Medical Library, The College of Physicians of Philadelphia

Columbia History of the Health Sciences Lecture Series Surgical Transgressions? Michael DeBakey, Denton Cooley, and the Controversial Artificial Heart Case of 1969

textbookondiseas00steeuoft_0008Please join us on Thursday, November 10th at 5:30 pm in Conference Room 103-A of the Augustus C. Long Health Sciences Library Hammer Building for the next in the History of the Health Sciences Lecture Series: Surgical Transgressions?  Michael DeBakey, Denton Cooley, and the Controversial Artificial Heart Case of 1969. The speaker will be Shelley McKellar, Ph.D., Jason A. Hannah Chair in the History of Medicine, Western University, London, Ontario. Thursday, November 10, 2016. This series is sponsored by the Columbia University Augustus C. Long Health Sciences Library and is free and open to the public! Continue reading

Dr. Shrady Says: The National Impact of Shrady’s Intervention

We’re pleased to offer the third part of Dr. Shrady Says by Tom Ewing, Sinclair Ewing-Nelson, and Veronica Kimmerly. You can read Part One and Part Two on the blog and learn more about the Russian Flu project on the project website.

Close reading allows for insightful interpretation of the content, purpose, and structure of texts on a small scale; visualization tools allow for general interpretations of content on a large scale. Neither approach, however, indicates how

Mapping Newspaper Reports, January 3, 1890

7: Mapping Newspaper Reports, January 3, 1890

readers responded to the content of a text or its potential impact on society more generally. In the case of Shrady’s editorial, however, examining the many newspapers across the United States that reprinted claims made in the Medical Record allows for analysis of how this editorial shaped the flow of information during a disease outbreak. On a single day, January 3, 1890, more than twenty newspapers across the United States published, either in full or in an abridged manner, the Medical Record editorial (Illustration 7).

By reprinting this text, these newspapers affirmed that the disease was significant and that the recommendations of this New York doctor and his journal were authoritative. The simultaneous publication of this editorial on a national scale also confirmed the potential for Dr. Shrady to shape the ways that the public understood this epidemic and how the general public could anticipate its future course.

Locating these articles takes advantage of search tools with important applications for both historical analysis and contemporary understanding of disease. A keyword search for disease terms in a newspaper database enables students to construct a timeline based on information dissemination. A search for two terms, “influenza” and “grippe” in Chronicling America (available to the public from the Library of Congress), yields more than 4000 pages for the two months when the epidemic was most widespread, December 1889 and

*: Search Results, Chronicling America newspaper collection

8: Search Results, Chronicling America newspaper collection

January 1890. Reconfiguring searches allows for different perspectives on the timing of the disease. Search results for two newspapers published in New York City indicates how dramatically the coverage increased in December 1889 and especially January 1890, before diminishing in the months that followed (Illustration 8).

Searching using a data range and key words are powerful analytical tools because they make it possible to focus on a set of key issues, locate them geographically, and find important texts, using the highlighted terms on the newspaper pages (illustration 9). Similar searches in other databases, including America’s Historical Newspapers and Proquest Historical Newspapers, available by subscription, produces additional results.

In most cases, these reports simply reprinted the text of Shrady’s editorial, either in full or in an abridged version, with brief introductions that identified the journal as the source. Yet the headlines that framed the articles provided clear indications of the potential significance of the editorial (Illustration 10). The tone of the headlines ranges from reassuring to serious to humorous, thus illustrating the actual scope of reactions to the epidemic that Shrady wanted to shape to fit his own optimistic prognosis.

Highlighted Search Terms, Chronicling America, Newspaper Reports on Influenza, January 1890

9: Highlighted Search Terms, Chronicling America, Newspaper Reports on Influenza, January 1890

Editorials published by several newspapers that specifically referenced Shrady’s editorial provide a means to assess the potential impact of this publication. The New York Times, which had initially buried Shrady’s article in a lengthy account of deaths, published an editorial on the following day that offered a more reassuring message to the reading public. Declaring that Shrady’s article would “put laymen in possession of all the professional knowledge about the ‘grippe’ that they can assimilate,” the newspaper endorsed the view that the disease was unusual only in its “extent,” with so many sufferers, but “the danger is very small.” Repeating Shrady’s points about the importance of maintaining good health, the editorial offered this sweeping prognosis of the disease’s likely course: “The duration of the disability depends on the vigor of the patient and the skill with which he is treated. It is plain, therefore, that a cold that might ordinarily be neglected without much risk now requires professional advice. The omission to take such advice may involve confinement for a week instead of a day or two.”

On January 4, 1890, the Harford Courant declared that readers anxious about the influenza must have found the Medical Record article “not only interesting but (to a certain extent) comforting reading” for these reasons: “It is comfortable to be assured on such high professional authority that the disease on this side of the Atlantic is of a very mild type, that the reports from the other side have grossly exaggerated the mortality there, that no American citizen has yet succumbed to ‘grip’ pure and simple, so far as known, and that the danger of resultant pneumonia or bronchitis is by no means so great as it has been popularly supposed to be.” The editorial endorses Shrady’s recommendations to avoid fatigue and eat regular meals, and then elaborated on the potential impact on public attitudes and perceptions: “The Medical Record might well have extended its prescription by adding, Don’t worry! The imagination is always likely to be abnormally active in these cases, and is responsible for a great deal of mischief that is wrongfully laid to the atmospheric conditions, the microbes, etc. As sensible, rational care of one’s self is never labor wasted, grip or no grip, so nothing was ever yet gained by fretting, and fancying symptoms, and borrowing trouble. That is a sure way of making bad enough a great deal worse.” This newspaper editorial thus extended and amplified the potential impact of Shrady’s editorial by endorsing his view that the grippe was not a cause for concern and, if anything, the danger of excessive “fretting” was worse than the disease itself.

Newspaper Headlines, January 3, 1890, about Shrady’s editorial

10: Newspaper Headlines, January 3, 1890, about Shrady’s editorial

The Los Angeles Times introduced its editorial commentary on January 4, 1890 by anticipating that “some of the more nervous residents of the Pacific Coast are inclined to become a little alarmed at the steady march of the epidemic from the East,” yet the editorial quickly reassured readers: “There appears to be no ground for such alarm.” Highlighting statements from Shrady about the mild nature of the disease, the editorial quoted the entire section claiming that death reports had been exaggerated and not a single fatality in the United States could be attributed to “a pure and simple attack of the disease.” After referring to earlier outbreaks of influenza in American history, all of which had turned out to be quite mild, the Los Angeles Times returned to its regional perspective to provide further reassurances: “It may be added that the health-giving atmosphere of Southern California should secure us from more than a very mild visitation of this sickness, although the unusual moisture now prevailing will be more favorable to its spread than would our usual weather.” The Los Angeles Times editorial writers, like those in New York and Hartford cited above, thus invoked the expert advice presented by Dr. Shrady to persuade readers that the Russian influenza was not severe, that few deaths would result, and that worrying about the disease was potentially more dangerous than its actual medical impact.

Although American newspapers continued to report extensively about the Russian influenza for the next several weeks, particularly as death rates spiked across the United States, increasingly fewer articles referenced the editorial intervention by the Medical Record. The journal continued to report on the course of the disease, but it did not reprint another editorial for two weeks, until January 25, 1890, and this statement did not attract nearly the same attention as had editorials published early in the epidemic.

Advertisement, The Sun (New York City), January 12, 1890

11: Advertisement, The Sun (New York City), January 12, 1890

Yet Shrady’s name, and more importantly, his authoritative pronouncements, remained part of the discourse of influenza in the form of widely distributed, and frequently repeated, advertisements for Hood’s Sarsaparilla, which quoted the Medical Record editorial about the “after effects of the epidemic (la grippe)” and then recommended the “peculiar reviving strengthening qualities” of this tonic sold by druggists. The bold headline in the advertisement, “Dr. Shrady Says” illustrates the powerful influence of a medical expert in a context of public anxiety about the effects of a widespread epidemic (Illustration 11). This advertisement appeared as early as January 12, in The Sun, just over a week after the editorial was published. The same advertisement, all under the headline, “Dr. Shrady Says,” also appeared in other newspapers from New York City, Washington, Pittsburgh, St. Paul, and doubtless many more cities. The use of a medical expert to authenticate the health claims of a commercial product was common in this era when government agencies did not have any regulatory power over health products. In this context, the use of Dr. Shrady’s name in such a prominent way confirms that his influence as a medical expert had potentially broad effects on public perceptions of disease during a time of medical crisis.

This research on the Medical Record in 1889-1890 provides a method for understanding contemporary and future disease outbreaks, especially in situations where diseases are first noticed in other parts of the world, where medical experts are uncertain about the scope and severity of the disease, and where the public expresses a high level of anxiety, stoked in part by alarmist media reports. In these situations, medical authorities such as the World Health Organization, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, and the National Institutes of Health seek to provide the public with clear and detailed explanations of the disease, updated and accurate numbers of victims, and effective methods for prevention, containment, and treatment. Most importantly, medical authorities must balance the obligation to warn the public of serious health dangers with the dangers of exaggerating fears and provoking alarm. Shrady’s editorial about the Russian influenza successfully identified the trajectory, symptoms, and likely course of this disease as it reached the United States. As shown in the newspaper reports published on the same day of the editorial, and confirmed by subsequent reports of an increasing number of deaths due to influenza, his prediction that the disease would not prove a serious threat to public health underestimated the severity and scope of the epidemic. A careful reading of the text of this editorial combined with a broad assessment of its national impact illustrates the potentially significant role that medical authorities can exercise in the earliest and most challenging stages of a disease outbreak.

Johns Hopkins and the Great War

We’re pleased to offer this post from Phoebe Evans Letocha, Collections Management Archivist at the Alan Mason Chesney Medical Archives of Johns Hopkins Medical Institutions.

“We believe that war nurses can best serve humanity by arousing in the minds of men and women a deadly hatred of war, and that the most effective method of accomplishing this end is by making public the kind of things war nurses see.” (From Johns Hopkins Nurses Alumnae Magazine October 1914 editorial)

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