“Spanish Flu” is not written on any death certificates recorded at Town Hall from February 1918 to April 1920; however, the era’s listings of “alcoholism”, “senility”, “old age”, and in one instance, “sudden”, as the cause of death, were replaced with the words “pneumonia” and “pulmonary congestion”. Certainly townsfolk lost loved ones, as so many of us have.
Generations from now children will ask – what was it like? There are such varied repercussions of shut-downs and social distancing, and such varied reactions for those with Covid, yet everyone who has contracted it will tell you that, even in the mildest cases, the uncertainty is what’s so frightening. Imagine how uncertain they were in 1918. During this pandemic, we relied upon experts – Dr. Fauci has become a household name. The conditions and advice are more sanitary and practical than warnings against “spitting on the sidewalks”, and we have a vaccine. A hundred years ago, people relied on common sense, homemade remedies, the herb garden, and “the Country Doctors” we feature in this month’s “Rural Heritage”.
Dr. John Brewster, though not as famous as his son, a prominent portraitist, was the town’s first doctor. Dr. Brewster started tending to the medical needs of residents in 1755. Folklore and Firesides lists the succession of physicians who followed: Drs. Houlton and Hovey (1829); Dr. Hughes (1830-1881) who “made his rounds on horseback with his pillboxes in saddle-bags” for a fee of “twelve and a half cents” per call; Dr. Potter (1845-1862), a “botanic doctor”; Dr. George Avery (1863); Dr. Warner (1871); Dr. Hazen ((1874-5), an “eclectic”; Dr. Gardener (1876-84): Dr. Dunham (1886); Dr. Converse (1886-91); and Dr. Bannister (1893 – 5).
Dr. Spencer tended to residents from 1895 to 1910, though there was speculation as to whether or not he was trained. From Hampton Remembers: “A persistent rumor claims Dr. Spencer as a doctor with no formal training who learned whatever he knew from working as a driver for a doctor in Providence. Apparently for a long time no one suspected he might not be a regular doctor and he took care of the town for years.” At the turn of the century, midwives were relied upon to help deliver babies, and “bed-side manner” mattered.
My mother Jennie Hopkins – I don’t know how many babies she helped deliver and many she delivered herself when the doctor didn’t get there. So many times when I see somebody I think “Well, I remember when you were born.”
Lucy Lewis from “Hampton Remembers”
Though babies were delivered in their family’s homes – we have two residents, Gloria Burell and Jane Marrotte, who still sleep in the rooms they were born in – there was at one point, reportedly, some sort of a “medical facility”.
At one time the house just north of the store used to be a kind of hospital or nursing home. The owner of the building, Mr. Guild, was very good at caring for sick people although he himself was not a doctor.
Ethel Edwards from “Hampton Remembers”
Dr. Avery, who served from 1903 to 1907, was remembered mainly for owning the first automobile in Hampton.
Dr. Avery had the first car in town. It was made like a buckboard with the dashboard up in front and one seat, with the engine under it, and all open in back. You steered it with a lever the way a kid pulls back the handle of his wagon towards him and steers with it. I got permission from my parents and then I got to ride in the back – my first ride in a car.
John Hammond from Hampton Remembers
Reportedly, the vehicle attained a speed of twelve to fifteen miles an hour in dry weather, but the good doctor relied on his horse and buggy to make his rounds in the rain. Regardless, the purchase was, according to Evelyn Estabrooks, “an exciting event for the town.”
Aside from his military service in World War I, Dr. Arthur Marsh was Hampton’s physician from 1912 until his retirement. According to Kathy Thompson, who resides in the Main Street home where Dr. Marsh lived and worked, the front room served as the office where he examined patients. A dedicated doctor, he made his rounds with his horse and buggy and walked if necessary for house calls. In a 1985 Gazette article, George Fuller reported that “Dr. Marsh walked in a storm to attend his birth at his home in the valley.”
On May 3, 1922, the town showed their appreciation to Dr. Marsh and his bride upon their return from a Mediterranean cruise with a reception at the Chelsea Inn.
Nearly two hundred people were present. During the evening a musical program was enjoyed and refreshments were served. A mahogany clock with cathedral chimes and a sum of money in gold were presented to them. Hampton did well to unite so strongly and so willingly to show her interest in her doctor and his bride.
The Hampton Church Review, June 1922
Dr. Marsh was very active in the community, serving as Town Clerk and Treasurer in 1923. He was instrumental in establishing our local American Legion, and on Memorial Day, the Post recognizes Hampton students for good citizenship with the Marsh-Chesters Award, named for two of its charter members. Dr. Marsh was also known for his sense of humor. Austin Emmoms in a 1992 Gazette article recalled singing Christmas carols to townsfolk. “Dr. and Mrs. Marsh came out to greet us, and the minister asked if they had any request,” to which Dr. Marsh replied, “Please don’t sing ‘It Came Upon a Midnight Clear’!”
Dr. Moritz Jacobsohn moved here from New York City in 1955 to retire, according to his grand-daughter Margaret Loew. Once folks found out he was a doctor, they started coming to him, she said. He never turned a patient away. He was honored posthumously in Germany with a Promenade in Marienfelde, a suburb of Berlin, where he served as the town’s physician until the Nazis revoked his license in 1938. According to a 1991 Gazette article, during the ceremony he was remembered as a “real country doctor”, who did not charge patients who could not pay and who “delivered babies under all conditions, in a potato field, behind a stone wall, on a kitchen table.”
Here in Hampton he’s remembered for “making house calls” and “gluing us back together after accidents”. Peggy Fox relayed that her children thought of him as a Grandfather, and Claire Winters recalled a Thanksgiving house call, stating, “He wasn’t only a doctor, but a friend.” He also delivered several of us – Dorothy and Carolyn Fox, Becky Stocking, June Pawlikowski, Lois Ann Wade, and me. (He was a very good friend of Albert Einstein and I think that’s what accounts for how smart we all are.)
Though his practice was in Abington, remembrances (such as the mercurochrome faces he drew on your arm prior to administering the shot) are abundant of:
Dr. Bruce R. Valentine
My Hampton childhood provided a series of experiences with this larger than life man. After numerous trips to the Abington Eliza F. Clark Memorial Clinic for everything from broken bones, flu, sinusitis, abrasions and cuts among many others we became more than acquainted. As the head of the OB/GYN department of Day Kimball Hospital, he also delivered a number of my peers. We had class trips there for reasons I can’t remember but class trips were always good times regardless of why.
One of my more memorable encounters with Dr. Valentine was in about 1965 when I was about 14 and my parents were away and we were under the supervision of my dear grandmother who no longer drove. I was in the garage with an unnamed (for his protection) friend throwing darts. In those days there was a church dartball league and the darts used were much bigger than normal darts. So as we were throwing these darts I felt a thud on the left side of my head and heard a gasp from my friend. As I reached up, I quickly realized that a dart was stuck in my head. It didn’t hurt but was really stuck in my skull and I couldn’t get it out. A quick call and Eleanor Moon came racing over in her Rambler and took me to the Abington Clinic.
I was feeling very foolish, especially since I could almost hear the wind whistling through the feathers of the dart as I walked. As I entered the clinic, the nurse took one look at me, and with a very weird look picked up the phone and said to Mrs. Valentine, “Virginia, send the doc over. It’s one of the Osborn boys with another of those believe it or not cases.” I was instructed to go into his office and wait for him. As I sat there on a stool worrying about how this was going to go, in a short while the room became dark as his very large frame filled the doorway. I looked over and he was standing there in his overalls and rubber boots with his arms crossed and a look on his face that said way more than I could quickly interpret. I wisely said nothing and as he slowly shook his head, he finally said, “Do you guys stay up at night thinking this stuff up?” I thought I couldn’t feel more foolish until he muttered something like, “You could at least pulled it out.” I didn’t respond and he reached for the dart and was surprised that it didn’t budge. I felt a very slight amount of vindication. This could well have been a Norman Rockwell painting as he placed his foot against the leg of the stool and twisted and pulled the dart until it finally gave up its hold on my skull. He finally chuckled and said, “Oh good, I don’t see any brain matter coming out.”
This was only one of these discussions he and I had over the years while he stitched up wounds or fixed other things, whose cause I usually totally lied about. There was no way I was going to tell him that it was due to us chucking rocks at each other or some other equally brilliant and well thought out endeavor. I believe now he clearly knew the real reasons. It wouldn’t surprise me to find he had a diary with a vast list of really stupid reasons why kids needed his care. As mementos I have some very good examples of his sewing skills on my body. This was a man who I didn’t spend time with other than when I was in some distress and who never missed a chance to rib me but always showed love even after real evidence of my childish stupidity.
As I look back on that period in my life I realize that my experiences were all framed by wonderful caring people who gave us way more grace than we deserved. I also know we provided a few chuckles to them. Hampton life was about sharing life’s moments together, clearly something I couldn’t appreciate then but do now.
John Osborn
Dr. John Woodworth set up his medical practice in Hampton in 1974 after an illustrious medical and military career, serving as a surgeon in World War II. “A true old fashioned family doctor,” Bill Johnson, who cared for his former patients, said in a Gazette article, which recognized Dr. Woodworth for his involvement in the town. A veteran who delivered the Memorial Day Address twice, he was on our editorial board for 22 years, on the stage of the Community Players, in the choir of the Congregational Church, and at Trail Wood, and “returned us briefly and blessedly to the era of the country doctor.”
Dayna McDermott