In order to stimulate Mother to finish her story, I promised her that I and possibly Donovan and Dorothy would attempt to tell about our lives.
The stories which follow are written mostly for our children. We realize that only by recording facts will they remain undistorted. Our hope is that the recording of these facts will be of interest to those who follow.
J. F. C.
May 1958
At the turn of the century which ushered in the 1900's, Prairie township and Montebello township of Hancock county was a typical Illinois farming community, characteristic of the flat level prairie which was famous for good corn. This is the type of farming land which had been chosen by both grandfathers whose farms lay approximately one and two miles away from the farm on which I was born in 1903.
The farm of 240 acres on which the Lynn Campbell's lived was quite flat, in fact, the problem was that of drainage after a rain - rather than erosion. At that time, hedge fences were in vogue and bordered most of the roads and in many cases even the inside boundaries of the farm. Near the house, hog proof wire would be necessary, in addition to the hedges, when hogs were places in the pastures. I believe we had a small pasture of five acres where our hogs would pasture. This pasture was rough and showed where the hogs had been rooting - a name we used for the practice of the hogs to turn over the sod in search for roots. A pasture used by hogs was always left with very irregular and uneven surfaces because of this rooting.
The roads were always straight in that community, and usually were the boundaries of a section which would include six hundred and forty acres. The roads were dirt, but were graded so that the drainage was usually adequate. It was a common practice for various farmers to be responsible for certain sections of farm roads, and the road drags were furnished by the county.
Rotation of crops was becoming popular. Corn was the main crop, and would be rotated with timothy hay, clover hay, wheat and oats.
All farming was done with horses, and we usually kept from twelve to fifteen horses. Four horse teams were used for heavy work as plowing, disking and harrowing, while two horses were used for cultivating corn, planting corn and to pull wagons.
One hired man was usually required, and when I was a very small boy he would live in our spare bedroom, and would be one of the family. He was paid by the month, and $20.00 a month was the wage which I remember. Sometimes this included in addition to his board the use of a horse and buggy.
When I was older, our hired men would live elsewhere, usually at their home, and would drive out to our farm daily. For this purpose they would use a horse and buggy furnished by my father.
The hired man sometimes would perform duties not particularly agrarian. I cannot remember of a haircut in a barber shop until I was quite a young man, and the hired men were usually the barbers.
Our farm was rented from my mother's uncle John, and I suppose we were well off as our neighbors. Everyone in our community was frugal in their habits, and it was not the custom of anyone to spend money foolishly. It was always my mother's wish to have her house painted, but as long as we lived there and until we moved away when I was seventeen, the house showed not the least tint of color. A Virginia Creeper helped to brighten up its surface to some extent.
The one room school house that served our district was District #134. It was located one and one-half miles from our home, and was a nice walk twice daily in the spring and fall. In the winter time, when there was snow on the ground, it seemed like a long way. I remember particularly walking across fences covered over with snow drifts which had a crust heavy enough to hold us. In those drifts we would look for burrows where rabbits had hold up for protection from the zero temperature. I also remember when spring thaw would come, every little creek, pronounced "crick", would be filled to its banks. Our problems with the mud were complicated with the swollen creeks since our usual path to school was through the fields. The school house was one mile west, and one-half mile north, so this was the shortest way.
Our school teachers at first were young girls who had graduated from high school or who had had some college. I remember Miss Lela Trone in my early years who boarded at the Behnke's and later married one of the boys.
Miss Elida Hosford taught in my last three years, and I feel that she influenced my future as much as any one teacher I have ever had. She was a college graduate whose father lived one mile west of the school house. She was a gentle woman who encouragement and approval we all sought. By this time all three of us boys were going to school; so my father erected a shelter for the horse, and we drove old "Dewey" or "Blackie" to school and kept them under the shelter until ready to go home.
Farm family names such as Behnke, Hindman, Millican and Thomas will always flash back to those happy days.
When Ronald and I, who were in the same grade, took our seventh grade examinations from the county superintendent and passed it, it only meant we could progress on to the eighth grade where we took another examination at the end of that year.
Ronald and I went to high school in Elvaston which was three miles from home. We drove a horse to a buggy and kept it in Grandfather Kirkpatrick's stable. He was not really our grandfather, but was the father of our half-uncles and half-aunts. By this time there were four of us to go to school. I remember mostly the escapades and stunts we would perform on and about the buggy to relieve the monotony of the drive. We would climb out on the shafts, onto the horses back, and then back around the sides of the buggy to the back where we often would keep a board extending our from the rear. We would run along the back of the buggy and then ride awhile on the board. Since only the three boys, Ronald, Donovan and I, were involved, we would have to take turns.
Donovan and Dorothy were in grade school during the three years I attended Elvaston High. I had skipped a grade and Ronald was one year later in starting; so we were in the same grade until his death in our Junior year.
Ronald was short and stocky and I was short and skinny, but were in good physical trim. Basketball was played by everyone, and since the school was too small for football, it was the main sport. We had a basket erected on the side of the barn, and after a day's work, would spend the remainder of the evening shooting baskets. Ronald went out for track and was on the track team, running the 440 yard race.
In the influenza epidemic of 1918, schools were dismissed for a month or longer, and so Ronald and I "shucked" the corn. The crop was light that year so it wasn't as much of a job as usual. It was in this epidemic that we lost Ronald; so I finished the Junior year alone.
I had no definite plans for the future, but had a desire to take a course in Chemistry. Since Elvaston did not have such a course, I was enrolled in the Academy of Carthage College, which was five miles from our farm. I lived in North Hall and roomed with Robert Martin, who is now a prominent farmer in the Elvaston Community. It was my initiation into dormitory life, and to having my own checking account. I soon found that money went faster than it seemed possible.
After graduation, our family decided to try to find a more healthful climate for my father's health. They were considering Arizona; so I enrolled in Park College in Parkville, Mo. This is a self-help Presbyterian College located just outside Kansas City, and is on the banks of the Missouri River.
The summer following graduation, we bought a new seven passenger Buick. With two spare tires, a tent strapped on them, and boxes for provisions on the running boards, we started for Arizona. We would stretch the tent across the car and spread our pallets on the ground or on folding cots, and lived the life of Gypsies. My father did the cooking on a camp stove, and steak was the easiest and best dish for all occasions.
My train ride from Phoenix, Arizona, to Kansas City was my first long trip. In a chair car to save expense, my problem was sleeping, since I had never been able to sleep unless in the prone position. I have a vivid recollection of dreaming that I was at home, and was getting ready for bed. I pulled off my trousers and just after they were completely off, I awakened. Embarrassed even though the car lights were dimmed, I rapidly put on my trousers and went into the space between the cars just as we were coming into Trinidad, Colorado.
My year at Park College was enjoyable, and the complete change of living away from home took a great deal of adjustment. Homesickness became an epidemic, and one of our friends, a home boy from Elvaston finally persuaded his parents to let him come home.
Walter Miller, an Elvaston boy, and I roomed together. They called roommates "wives" at that time. We also worked at the same job, which was to fire the boilers which furnished power to the generators which furnished electricity for the school and the town. However, Walter was a fireman, while I was only the helper, which meant that I shagged ashes and coal.
It was here that I started smoking. The penalty for smoking was expulsion; so every evening a group of boys would walk down the railroad tracks in order to smoke. Other rules were likewise strict. It was a daily necessity to attend morning prayers, convocation and two church services and Sunday School on Sunday unless an excuse was obtained. A demerit was given for each absence. An absence from class also warranted a demerit, and twenty-five demerits would cause expulsion. So some of our time was spent in devising excuses for absences. For instance, we were required to work three hours daily; so on Sunday we would change with the earlier shift and work six hours which gave us an excuse from Church and Sunday School. We would frequently visit Kansas City on our Sundays off, ostensibly to visit my uncle and aunt who lived there.
Because of the limited time to study, we learned to concentrate during study hours. I was fortunate enough to have grades sufficiently high to excuse me from History final examinations, which pleased me a great deal.
The following summer was spent in Illinois working for my Uncle Paul. My father, mother, Donovan and Dorothy were traveling around trying to decide on a permanent residence, but were seriously considering Oklahoma City. I was treated as one of the family by Aunt Aurelia and Uncle Paul, and enjoyed their son, Leonard Paul, who was a child.
The fall of 1921 found me in Oklahoma City, where my parents decided to settle, and I enrolled in Oklahoma City College, later to become Oklahoma City University. It was my first exposure to Biology and I was so intrigued with this study that I decided to study medicine. I give credit to Dr. Frank Brooks for making the study so enjoyable.
Highlights of the three years spent here are, (1) fraternity activities which consisted of reviving an old fraternity, Kappa Phi, started in 1909 at Old Epworth University. Edward Potts, Lemuel Fenn, Claude Huffman and I were all freshman [side note states author as being a sophomore]. Along with an older member, Ray Miles, we started the fraternity, and built it up in the three years I was there to a leading position on the campus. I served as president of it twice. In my senior year, it nationalized to become Theta Kappa Nu.
(2) The start of a new Biological Fraternity, Beta Beta Beta. Dr. Frank Brooks was the sponsor, and I was one of the charter members. (3) My only straight A average was made in my junior year while carrying a heavy load of science and twenty-one hours of laboratory. (4) The twice daily walk from our home at 2031 West 16th. St., which was about one and one-half miles, (5) and my graduation in June of 1924 with an AB degree.
Our recreation on the farm was not supervised. My father and the hired man would be working in the fields and this could be as far as a half-mile from the house. My mother had plenty to keep her busy also, with cooking three meals a day for family and hired man, making bread at least once a week, washing the clothes and ironing. Other tasks were those of washing all the intricate mechanisms which separated the cream from the milk, and which had to be done twice a day. This and sewing had to be done. Much of the clothing worn by us children was made by mother in her spare time.
So we children were left to find our own play. There was plenty to find; such as a large hay barn to climb into and around, hay derricks from which to swing on ropes, large silver maple trees to climb, gopher holes and burrows to flood, thus causing the animal to emerge, calves to ride, horses to ride, and ponds in which we learned to swim, often after having driven out the hogs.
The first accident occurred when Ronald was about four years old. He was climbing around on the roof of a coal shed and fell through onto a pile of coal. He broke his leg.
The next accident was when Donovan was experimenting with a corn knife. He was possibly about three years old at the time. He placed his left index finger on the garbage container, that we called a slop bucket, and the knife came down cutting of the distal one-half of his finger.
I was the victim the next time. Ronald and I were playing that the corn stalks, which were five or six feet tall, were the trees in the forest and that we were the wood cutters. It fell my task to hold the tree while Ronald cut it down with a corn knife. As the knife was quite heavy he could not control its swing, and I ended up with a large gash in my leg.
Ronald and I were innocent bystanders when the next incident took place. As a matter of fact, we were up in a cherry tree either picking cherries for family use or our own personal use. We saw smoke come out of the barn. Donovan, who was a very small child, had seen mother burn the hens nest after the eggs had hatched, and having found a nest under a manger in the barn, proceeded to burn it. It was a series of buildings consisting of barn, granary, machine shed, and carriage house which burned to the ground. A small colt was also burned. This was possibly the summer of 1908 because our barn, finished the next summer, had the date 1909 painted on its side.
It was in the summer of 1909 that I was shot through the face. Donovan and I were playing with twenty-two caliber rifles, one belonging to us, and the other to a cousin, Russell Campbell, who was helping us that summer. Somehow, in loading them, pointing them, and without any malice, I was shot through the face, the bullet ranging from my left eye-lid which was creased, through the floor of my nose, through the right antrum and out my right cheek. I spent much of that summer convalescing, but with the exception of losing three teeth several years later, due to the bullet having severed the roots, I have never had any bad effects.
Close calls which might be mentioned were numerous. One which stands out was the time when I fell from the roof of the house. The roof was not very steep so we would run around on it. This time we were playing "catch" with a ball. In backing to catch the ball, I fell the 10 feet and landed on my back. Temporary unconsciousness was my only injury. The cat that I fell on did not fare so well.
Boys and girls who are raised in the city miss the many chores which those of us raised on a farm were taught to do, even at an early age. The work would start out with bringing in the wood and coal and would soon become more responsible, such as bringing the cows from the pastures night and morning. As soon as our hands became large enough to squeeze on a cow's teat, we were assigned a cow, or possibly two, to milk. After the milking, there was the milk separator to turn with a crank. Fifteen gallons of milk might take fifteen or twenty minutes to separate - and of course then, the "blue John" or milk without cream, had to be carried out to the hogs. The cream was stored in five gallon cans to take to town and sell to a creamery, where it was tested for butter fat.
Each summer, one of the smaller boys, possibly six or seven years old, would be the derrick boy. This boy would ride a horse and at a signal would ride him until the fork full of hay had been raised high enough to let down on the hay stack. The house would back up to let the fork down as soon as the fork was emptied. The forward and back motion was repeated all day as the hay stack grew higher and higher.
The same method was used to raise the hay into the barn, but here the horse would be on the other side of the barn, and the signal would be a loud shout, loud enough to be heard clear on the other side of the barn.
By the time we were ten or twelve we were able to harness up a horse and manage a team of horses in the field. It was during our summer vacations that we were busy every nice sunny day - working in the fields, but when it would rain, and work could not be done here, there were hedges to be cut. Most of the fences then were osage hedges which made up the outside boundaries and these were kept trimmed to three to four feet height - and as we had one and one-half miles of hedge, we never lacked for something to do.
On occasions, we were allowed to do day work for one of our uncles, Uncle Paul or Uncle Fred, and for this we were paid one dollar a day. A day started at about seven or seven-thirty, and continued with a lunch hour off until six in the evening. Perhaps it was not quite this late, but it would certainly seem like a long day.
Our father never gave us money until we were in high school, but we always had the privilege of charging almost anything within reason at the country store, which during part of the time was operated by Uncle Wilson Campbell and sons, Russell and Harold.
The first money I received was one dollar because I was going to a box supper. A friend, Ivan Rosa, and I conspired to pool our resources and buy a double box. The one we bid successfully turned out to be one owned jointly by my Aunt Laura and his sister (I believe Wilma), and they had been expecting their beaus to bid it in. You can imagine our enthusiastic welcome.
Our father had gone to Peoria in the fall of 1915, and had purchased a new car. It was a Jackson, with a four cylinder motor, full elliptical springs that would throw you to the roof when a bump was hit, and latches on the doors which were buttons, which we pressed. This car was soon driven by Ronald and father, but I later was able to drive it on the country roads.
The summer of 1919, I started dating a Hamilton girl, Esther Ruhs, and my parents would allow me to have the car only once a week. If I wanted to go to Hamilton more than this, I took the horse and buggy. On one occasion, it had rained very hard while I was on a visit in the Jackson, and coming home I slid in a ditch in such a manner that only my back wheels were in. After many unsuccessful attempts, I conceived the idea of wrapping the chains around the tires and between the spokes of the wheels, especially since I couldn't get them on in the usual manner. This attempt was successful in pulling out of the ditch, but in so doing knocked all of the external springs, which operated the brakes. From that time until we traded for a Buick in the summer of 1920, we had to coast to a stop because we had no brakes.
After we bought the new Buick, I was privileged to take it on our Senior picnic. The Carthage College Academy was having their picnic at Wild Cat Springs north of Hamilton. After taking a car load to the picnic site, I went back to Hamilton to see if I could see Esther Ruhs. Driving along the street, looking at every girl to see if it might be Esther, I rammed into a Ford car that had stopped ahead of me in the middle of the street. It did not hurt the Ford, but it bent down a front fender on the new car. My father didn't say much, but I'm sure he thought plenty.
In looking back over my medical school days, I don't think they were as difficult or that we were entitled to any pity, even though we often thought we were. I fully believe they were happy years, and that the studying which we did, and the long hours which we put in were not too difficult, especially when viewed from this distance. Of course, it is true that by this time our view point has been changed and our memories somewhat dulled by the years.
Thirty years is a long time to remember, especially so when we try to remember our problems at that time. I do recall that stories were rampant about medical students who had lost their health or who had a mental break down because of their long hours of study. There were certainly none in our class or in the medical school to my knowledge who were any the worse for their experiences.
I cannot remember exactly why I did not apply to enter the University of Oklahoma Medical School before the end of my senior year at Oklahoma City University, but do know that at this time I found that I lacked sufficient credit to enroll. I possibly thought that my B. A. degree would automatically allow me to enter - or possibly since I had a teacher's certificate, there may have been some idea of teaching for a year or so. I can remember that I had applied to teach in some of the schools, and seem to remember of receiving some offers to teach at what seemed a handsome salary. At any rate these plans were abandoned when I fully decided to try to get in medical school.
In the summer of 1924, I spent every morning studying "the physics of heat" for at least six weeks and with a great deal of effort, since I wasn't at all interested in the subject. I was able to acquire the two hours of physics necessary to enter medical school.
By this time the quota to enter the freshman class was full; in fact, they mentioned a long waiting list, but through the efforts of Dr. Arthur White, who was mother's physician at the time, and who was on the faculty of the last two years of medicine which was in Oklahoma City, I was promised a place in case some of those accepted did not come.
Apparently my optimism with which I have always been endowed was rewarded, for when time came to enroll, I was in the Freshman class.
The era in my life was quite a change in my way of living. Whereby I had always lived at home while going through the last three years of Oklahoma City University, now I was rooming and boarding. My friends were now my new fraternity brothers, after I pledged A. K. K., and also my anatomy partner with whom I shared the cadaver in the old "Stiff House".
At that time, the medical school was not housed in one building, but was in part of two buildings. The Science Hall was where we had most of our classes, and the "Stiff House", which was a long, low barrack type of structure situated back of the main building on the Oval, was where we learned our Anatomy.
The body assigned us was a large muscular negro, which at first pleased us until we found that the bodies of individuals dying of some wasting disease were more durable because of the lack of fat, thus making it easier to isolate the small nerves, and blood vessels. Near the end of the second semester we think we discovered why he had been committed to the Mental Hospital which was conveniently located across the town of Norman. When it came time to remove the calvarium which is our name for the portion of the skull which would be covered by a cap, we found a jack knife blade embedded back of one ear. We suppose that in some altercation he had been stabbed with the knife, and the blade had broken off. Since a mental illness could result from this we are assuming that he was committed to the asylum for this reason.
Many of our bad habits were established at that time. Because of the odor in the dissecting room, due to the formaldehyde which pervaded everything, even our clothes, almost all medical students would chew Tobacco. This we could do because of the convenience of the refuse bucket at the end of the table. It is very likely that we spent more time spitting than chewing because it was a habit which never became very firmly embedded. My cadaver partner, Hathaway, had gained great distinction by being able to spit for quite a distance. Smoking, however, which everyone did between classes was not so easy to throw off, and although I started sucking on a pipe, it was only a matter of time before I changed to cigarettes, because of convenience. This habit was not abandoned for 15 years, and even though I very much regretted the expense, inasmuch as I found it necessary to conserve every nickel, I nevertheless must have thought it necessary to my self-esteem to continue.
After the second semester, we moved into a new building. This building was quite an improvement over the facilities to which we had become accustomed, and was quite a show place to visitors who for some reason would go through the buildings of the University. One group of high school students had visited the laboratory one day and was about to leave when one of the girls fainted in the hall. When she had recovered consciousness she pointed to the pocket of her coat. When a human finger was discovered, the reason for her fainting was easily explained.
By the time we had reached the second semester we had developed a certain amount of callousness for regard for the human body; at least, in so far as our cadavers were concerned. It was no uncommon sight to see a student eating candy or an apple, and then rest it on the body between bites. It was this seeming disrespect that made it possible for a student to mischievously throw parts of fat, ears or fingers at each other. The fact that most of us were only about 20 years of age explained some of that lack of maturity. I was 21 when I entered medical school, which was older than the youngest since some had entered after two years premedic work; and younger than those who had taught school for awhile before entering.
My second year in medical school is not as vivid in my memory, and only a few details stand out. One memory which I will always cherish was my year of rooming with Charles Earnheart. We roomed at the home of Claud Reed's, which was convenient to the campus, being on Chautaqua Street, but somewhat removed from the various eating places. We would buy a meal ticket for five dollars, and when this was punched out, buy another. Since I spent my weekends in Oklahoma City at home, a meal card would usually last me a week. We would vary this somewhat by eating at different boarding houses for awhile until we were tired of this food.
The second year in medicine was also eventful in that I made my first A. There weren't many of these made in medical school, and since I had had a straight A average for about three semesters at O. C. U. it was somewhat of a come down. This A was in a minor course, and if I remember correctly was History of Medicine.
This year was easier in that we had progressed far enough that we had overcome our fear of failing, and thus being expelled. This was a very real fear during our first year, and was renewed each time the grades were posted. The method of grading used was the "sliding scale" method whereby a certain percentage of students would pass. A line would be drawn under which would be the names of those who were failing. If your name appeared under this line too often after the grades from the various quizzes were posted, it was very bad news. According to this system of grading a certain percentage would fail, so the competition was quite strong. I probably felt, and I'm sure my students did when I taught in the medical school later, that the professors took a great deal of delight in throwing "pop quizzes" in order to catch as many as possible unprepared, and thus throw them below the line.
My summers between the first, second and third school years were spent working in a grocery store called John A. Thomas. It was one of the last groceries to remain downtown and was on Main Street. My job was to put up orders of groceries, and to deliver them by means of a T model truck. Near the end of the second summer Charles Earnheart and I thought we deserved a vacation. We each took $25.00 and a rebuilt Model T Ford, and started out for Arkansas. Unexpected expenses such as a new tire, a "hot shot" to help start it, tightening up the bearings under a tree, and more food than we counted on, made us come very near the point of trying our hands at picking cotton in order to get home. It happened, however, that we were able to get home from Hot Springs without this extreme measure.
The third year in medicine was in Oklahoma City where all of our classes were in the University Hospital. The last two years are called the clinical years, and for the first time we were allowed to take histories on patients and our courses dealt with illness, its diagnosis and treatment. We also would observe operations in the University Hospital, at St. Anthony's Hospital, and one course was at the State Mental Hospital in Norman. So, I was able to convince my father that I needed a car. By luck and good management, my father was able to buy a 1923 Ford Coupe for one hundred fifty dollars, which had been driven but very little. It had also some refinements not found on the Ford when purchased, such as a Delco system, with self starter and extra coil springs.
The car served me very successfully from 1926 until I finished internship in the summer of 1929.
My memory is somewhat hazy about the amount of time I spent as an intern at McBride's Reconstruction Hospital, which at that time was situated on Robinson Avenue, not far from the high school. I spent part of my Junior year and all of my Senior year living on the premises, giving diathermy treatments and massages to patients who were recovering from broken bones, taking x-ray pictures, and cutting off casts. I also would be there to give first-aid to industrial cases at night.
This experience gained at McBride's was invaluable to me because of the self-confidence I acquired. It was probably more nearly cockiness because I remember that a mother one time brought in a baby with a safety pin in the stomach. After I had taken the x-ray picture, the mother asked me what she should do. Through my inexperience, I said that I would have it removed, so even though Dr. Elias Margo and Dr. Earl McBride assured her it would pass, she went to a surgeon to have it removed. I can't remember whether he did it, but hope he was able to persuade her that it wasn't necessary.
In the last year of medical school, a great deal of correspondence is done with hospitals in order to acquire a good internship. Those in the upper 10% of the class are chosen for the University Hospital, and so I was chosen. I had an idea though that I would like to go where different doctors were on the staff, and thus get different ideas. One of my A. K. K. fraternity brothers had liked St. Joseph's Infirmary in Houston, so I decided to go there.
After I had finished my last senior examination I drove down to Price's Falls, where the annual Y. M. C. A. youth camp was held, as the camp physician. I had gone as counselor one year while in college; so I was familiar with the routine. I spent the entire month of June of 1928 with the exception of the day I spent taking the State Board, down in the Arbuckle Mountains. It was not without something to do either because I had one case of appendicitis, one broken bone and plenty of sunburn and poison ivy to treat. The one hundred dollars which I made was probably the first time I ever had that much together at one time.
My two months at St. Joseph's Infirmary were a new experience to me, but were disappointing to me in that I wasn't able to do any work myself. I had already been able to do so much at McBride's that holding retractors, taking histories, and taking care of drunks down in the emergency room was a waste of valuable time.
Several friends who had graduated in my class were interning at Parkland Hospital in Dallas. Since the intern staff was not full, I was able to start there, September 1st, 1928. It was a fruitful 10 months in many ways, and not the least of which was that I met my wife here. She was taking a course in Laboratory Technique, and also in X-ray, preparatory to going to work at the Freeman Memorial Clinic. She had graduated from Texas State College for Women at Denton at the same time that I had graduated from medical school.
Here at Parkland, we had complete charge of our patients, and the consulting staff was just that. I delivered more than my quota of babies, and can remember of four in one night, had several operations to my credit and had considerable experience in emergency surgery, as all injuries in the city were brought here by the city ambulance.
After finishing my year July 1, 1929 and receiving one hundred dollars severance pay, I started looking for a location where I could do general practice. Unable to decide what to do, I heard of a temporary practice in Broken Arrow, Okla. This was to hold down Dr. Law's practice while he attended a clinic meeting in Chicago. It was here that I found out that I didn't want to do general practice. All of the babies delivered came at night, and I slept many nights in the car waiting for them. My ability to work had apparently been impaired by being on hospital routine, because I found myself literally dragging while I followed the old doctor around. Consequently, when I received a wire asking me if I would like to teach Anatomy in the medical school at two hundred a month, it seemed too good an opportunity to miss. I'm afraid I didn't fulfill my obligation to Dr. Law by not staying on, since he had been so kind, but am sure that six weeks spent in Broken Arrow changed the course of my life a great deal.
My recollection of my year as instructor in Anatomy is more vivid in respect to all of the manual and semi-skilled work which we did than of the instructing. The medical school had just moved into a new building in Oklahoma City, and all the new equipment had to be put together and spray-painted before it could be used. So Dr. Karl Dickens, the other instructor, and I spent every morning doing this. Our preparation for the afternoon's work, had to be done the night before. By the time the year was almost completed, I was sure this wouldn't be my life work.
About this time, I heard about a clinic in Muskogee, which was willing to send a young man to New York for training in Dermatology. My interest in this field had been stimulated by a severe intractable eruption on my hands. And agreement was reached for me to start about the middle of June. This allowed me a little time in which to go to Dallas and bring back my new wife.
Life in Muskogee was happy and I was contented, except that I couldn't see much future in the way I was going. I didn't have enough training to take an examination by the Board of Dermatology, and while I was in Muskogee I was bound by honor, at least, to stay with the clinic. Salaries were low during the depression, and even after seven years, I was making only two hundred and fifty a month.
After much inquiry I heard that Dr. A. Benson Cannon would pay one hundred fifty a month for someone to work in his office. This allowed the afternoons to be spent at Columbia Medical Center, since his office was open from 8:30 to 1:00. This amount of training along with my practical experience would allow me to take the Board.
There was an unfortunate amount of friction from the younger of the Fite brothers who operated the clinic, and who seemed to think that the three months in New York which they had financed, bound me to them for life, so that it was not with his blessing that I left Muskogee. Subsequent events which have caused all other physicians so employed by the clinic to leave have proven to me that my action was wise.
Leaving my wife and two children was difficult. The children were five years and eighteen months respectively. The house was not sold until after I had been in New York for sometime, but the profit which we were able to bank helped us when we were again ready to go into practice.
My first residence in New York, where I arrived September 1st, 1937, was in Washington Heights, where I roomed with Dr. Malcome Bazemore from Augusta, Georgia. He was working on a fellowship on fever box therapy part of the time, and devoting the rest of his time to Dermatology. Each morning I spent 45 minutes on the Eighth Avenue subway getting to work; so after about two months of this I decided to move closer to the office which was at 371 Park Avenue. I had friends who lived in Greenwich Village, Bob and Mary Nell Tarkington, and paid thirty-five dollars a month. It had a cupboard kitchenette and a studio couch which had to be made up each night and morning.
It was convenient in many ways both to the office and to the Medical Center, since they were both on the Independent Subway System. Two boys occupied the apartment next door and who became good friends. They took pity on me, since I was away from my family. Ike Harrison was working on his Ph.D. degree and is now Dean of the Business School at Texas Christian University. Bryan Shaver, his roommate, was working on his Masters Degree. He is now principal of a high school in Houston.
My second year there in New York started in July, 1938. Dr. Joe Rankin of Atlanta, Georgia, shared a walk-up apartment on East 53rd. St. He also worked in Dr. A. Benson Cannon's office at 371 Park Avenue. We had an apartment on the fourth floor of an old house which had been converted into apartments. It was just around the corner from our Park Avenue office and also convenient to the subway.
I was studying to qualify for the examinations of the America Board of Dermatology; so most of this year was spent in studying. Dr. Lowry Miller, who was married and lived at Douglaston, L.I., had been with Dr. Cannon many years, and he and I studied together in the evenings. He and his wife, Louise, were good enough to invite me out to their house on several occasions, and helped me over the weekends, which always seemed long. My hard work and my friends helped me get through this second year, but I certainly missed my family. I lived for the letters and snap-shots of the children.
I was especially happy when the two years were finished, and especially so when both Lowry and I took the Board examinations and passed them. The written examination I took in Dr. Shelmire's office in Dallas and the oral part was in November of 1939, in Philadelphia.
Josephine and I felt that the sacrifice which we had made in taking this work was rewarded. She had worked as a laboratory technologist in Dr. Carter's Laboratory in Dallas the first year away from Muskogee, and in the laboratory of Harris Clinic the next two years. She had been able to see the children only on weekends during the first year. Her mother had cared for the children during all three years that Josephine worked.
Her parents were self-sacrificing and certainly were wonderful to us in every day during these years in New York and the first year in practice when we lived in their home. We will always be grateful to them.
While practicing in Muskogee, we spent our vacations in Fort Worth with Josephine's parents. I was always impressed with the friendliness of the people and had resolved before going back to New York that I would come to Fort Worth to practice Dermatology.
My father and mother drove Josephine and Ora Lu Jack, her youngest sister, up to New York to see the World's Fair, and to bring me home. They came the last week of July in 1939, and stayed in an apartment which I had rented for them, and we all drove home in August.
The heat of Texas was particularly oppressive after that of New York. I suffered more from the heat then than at any time since. My new office in the Medical Arts Building was not air conditioned but I thought it nice and cool because of the nice draft which was created by the elevator shafts.
I was happy to be on my own and was self satisfied with my slow start, since I had expected it to be slow. My collections amounted to ninety dollars the first month which paid my rent and other expenses. The collections slowly increased and amounted to about $5000.00 gross, the year of 1940.
My first office number of 1310 Medical Arts was my address from 1939 to 1952, although the space had been enlarged twice. In 1952, Dr. Edmund Walsh, who had come with me under a partnership agreement, and I moved to the 18th. floor, where we had about one-third of this floor. By this time our practice was large enough to necessitate two full time nurses, a receptionist and a bookkeeper, and an extra nurse to help out on afternoons off (Wednesdays and Thursdays), and on Saturdays.
On July first, 1957, we moved into our own building at 1410 Pruitt St. We had built this on a lot which I had owned for about two years, situated very near the Harris Hospital. At this writing, we have enjoyed our new office for eleven months, and find that our patients also like it.
During the war years, demands on our profession were very heavy. Because many physicians had gone to the Service, we all felt that we should see everyone that we could possibly see. I had been rejected because of a heart murmur, but am sure that Army service would have been easier than what we did do. On one day, we saw eighty patients, which was possibly a record for me while it was a one man office.
After the war was over in 1945, three young physicians came with me as preceptees. The first was Dr. Oscar Hamilton, whose time with me was supposed to be two years. He stayed an extra year in order that his second child could be born in Fort Worth. A Dr. Hawker was with me for six months, but decided that he wanted to do Psychiatry. Dr. Clayton Taylor, who had interned at Harris Hospital, was then with me for one year. His wife was a nurse in our office while he interned but stopped due to pregnancy when he started with me.
Dr. O. A. Hamilton is now doing dermatology at Harlingen, Texas. Dr. Clayton Taylor is following the same specialty in Columbus, Georgia. They are both doing well.
Our first home in Fort Worth was an apartment on Oakland Blvd., where we stayed for one year. We then bought an eight room house at 2703 Scott Avenue, which was across from the home of Josephine's parents. On their premises lived Mr. and Mrs. Jack and their youngest daughter, Ora Lu, and in the garage apartment lived their second youngest daughter, Francis and her husband, James R. Harris. We called him Buddy. So, the family was all together; that is, the three sisters lived close and the oldest sister, Mary Abbie worked in Dallas and came home on weekends.
Here, the children attended Tandy Elementary School. We have always felt grateful to these experienced teachers for the foundations in education which they gave our children. James then went to William James Junior High School. Since Gail was four years younger than James, she went only to Tandy while we lived on Scott Avenue.
About 1942, we purchased a lake house on Lake Worth and spent many of our weekends here. We had intended living here in the summers, but found that to do so caused our town house to be neglected. Even on weekends, we would always come in to town to Sunday School and Church, so that the day was broken. The children learned to swim here and to be at home in the water. Our first boat was an outboard hull with a 16 horse power Johnson motor, which we later traded on a Chris Kraft runabout. We all learned to surf board, at least James and I did.
When my parents decided to retire in 1946, we offered them the use of the lake house, Camp Bell. They lived here about two years until they bought the house on Williams Road. The lake house was better for their having lived there because they improved it a great deal by painting and planting shrubs.
In 1947, we bought the house in which we still live at 2017 Windsor Place. From here, James entered Paschal High School, and Gail entered Lily B. Clayton Elementary. Both of these schools were fairly close, so that the children could walk part of the time. After one year, Gail went to McLean Junior High School, and later to Paschal High School.
After high school graduation in 1950, James went to Kemper Military School in Booneville, Mo. for one year, and then four years at Texas Christian University. He had changed his major from Premedic to Physics and this required an extra year. He was always interested in mechanical and electrical appliances; so his change into this field was normal.
After graduation at T. C. U. in 1955, he was accepted at Massachusetts Institute of Technology for graduate work in electronic physics. At this time, 1958, he is still there doing work toward his Ph.D. degree.
Gail graduated from high school summa cum laude in 1954 and enrolled in Randolph-Macon Woman's College in Lynchburg, Virginia. After two years there, she changed to Texas University, from which she will graduate, next week, May 1958.
Both children have been active in their social clubs. James joined Lambda Chi Alpha fraternity which had become affiliated with Theta Kappa Nu, the fraternity to which I belonged in Oklahoma City University. Gail joined Kappa Alpha Theta at Randolph-Macon and affiliated with the Texas University. chapter and is living in the sorority house this year.
My story will end here. All of us who belong to the Campbell and Marshall families have reason to be proud of our heritage.
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