Medical

Common Scams in the Old West

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Recently, a friend of mine was complaining about the number of scams she’s hit with on daily basis. I doubt there’s anyone who can say they don’t regularly receive suspicious phone calls from someone claiming to be with the IRS or emails from foreign “multi-millionaires” wanting to share their fortune with us. All we need to do is provide these people with our personal banking information which will either erase our debt or make us rich.

While these particular scams are relatively recent, deceiving people out of their hard-earned money has been around for centuries, if not since the dawn of civilization. What’s the old saying? If you believe that, I have a bridge in Brooklyn I can sell you.

Scams in the old West were no exception and abounded. Who hasn’t heard of The Lost Dutchman’s Mine—a popular legend here in Arizona where I live? One of the reasons the unproven story of the mine’s existence (to this day at least) gained such traction is because industrious scammers drew up and printed fake maps which they then sold to unsuspecting and gullible fortune hunters. Not only were wannabe prospectors sent on wild goose chases, many, sadly, met their deaths.

The Lost Dutchman’s Mine wasn’t the only scam of its kind during the days of gold fever. The practice of selling fake mining claims thrived. A common scheme called “salting” was used to dupe eager individuals looking strike it rich. Ore from a producing mine was scattered over a barren area. The soft ore would embed into the rock and give the appearance of a valuable claim. If done right, these salted areas often passed inspections by assayers but then, after the sale was complete, the poor buyer discovered no gold other than what the unscrupulous seller had scattered about.

Another old West scam was the origin of what eventually became a popular saying that still endures. I can remember my grandmother referring to a local real estate agent as no better than a snake oil salesman. And while she was using the term to refer to con men in general, a snake oil salesman is actually someone who proports to have a miracle cure. One of the first and most renowned snake oil salesmen was Clark Stanley, nicknamed the Rattlesnake King. While he claimed his tonic contained rattlesnake oil, it did not and was completely worthless. On a side note, Chinese laborers who came to the U.S. to work on the railroads did bring snake oil with them as an ancient medicinal treatment, which is likely where old Clark Stanley got the idea.

A different, popular scam along these same lines was the traveling medicine show which, if you think about it, was an early infomercial combining entertainment with hyped up sales techniques. These tonics, like Stanley’s snake oil, were worthless and made from common household items like castor oil, ginger, and alcohol. I did a bit of research, and there were several movies made featuring traveling medicine shows. Here’s just a few oldies but goodies:

Paradise Canyon with John Wayne

Sante Fe Marshal with William Boyd as Hopalong Cassidy

Riders of the Dawn, a musical western (I think I need to see this one)

Prairie Badmen with Buster Crabb

And the scams don’t end there. Really, there are just too many for me to list in detail. Land fraud was abundant with fake deeds being sold to families coming out West and desperate for a fresh start. Even the poor, noble horse, a necessity back then, was often used to separate the naïve and trusting from their money. A young and healthy horse was sold but an old, broken down nag was swapped out. There were crooks who cheated at poker with hidden cards (an Ace up the sleeve) and loaded dice. Gullible people were fleeced by shell games and other slight-of-hand tricks. And lets not forget the psychics who claimed to see the future or speak with deceased loved ones.

Sadly, there will probably always be disreputable individuals who find new and innovative ways to take advantage the easily influenced. The most we can do is be on the lookout. Remember that the next time someone tries to sell you some oceanfront property in Arizona 🙂

Warmest wishes,

Cathy McDavid

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Hear a Little About Early Hearing Aids

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I’ve had a big change in my life recently—one that took me a bit by surprise. I got hearing aids. Let me start out by saying I’m WAY TOO YOUNG to need hearing aids. But here we are, right? Truth be told, I had noticed some difficulty hearing things this past year. It became really apparent when I went to a conference and struggled to hear the speakers. So, not long after that off to the ENT doctor I went and got tested. I don’t like the word “profound” but that’s what he used when describing the level of my hearing loss. Sigh.

I decided to be optimistic about this change, and I’m glad I did. I actually love my new hearing aids. I have a good friend who talks very soft, and I used to miss about a third of what she said. No more. I hear every word! And who knew my favorite pair of shoes squeaked when I walk? Or that the neighbor’s dog barks all day (okay, maybe this isn’t a good thing). I told my husband, I can now hear the sun shine and grass grow.

This got me wondering a little about how people throughout history dealt with hearing loss. I mean, these devices I’m currently wearing are so technologically advanced, I think they could transmit a message into outer space while tracking a bald eagle in the Colorado Rockies (only slight exaggeration – ha, ha). So, I did a little research.

The first recorded use of hearing aids, which may date back as far as Egyptian times, were called ear trumpets. They were pretty much what you’d imagine them to be—a horned shaped object, small on one end and large on the other. Most were constructed of wood, hollowed out animal horns, and in later years, brass. During the old west, hollowed out buffalo horns were often used. These ear trumpets didn’t work all that well, amplifying sounds only directly in front of the user and then to a small degree. They functioned best when someone spoke directly into the ear trumpet at close range.

The interesting part, however, was how clever ear trumpets became in their design. No one likes admitting to having a hearing loss, so inventors created some pretty cool ways to make hearing aids less conspicuous and a true fashion statement. They hid the devices in wardrobe accessories like ladies’ fans and headpieces and men’s canes­. In the home, hearing aids could be hidden in vases. King John IV of Portugal had a throne designed for him with ornately carved lion heads on the arms. The lions’ open mouths transmitted sound to the back of the throne and into the king’s ear via a speaking tube.

In 1898, the first electric hearing aid, called an Akouphone, was invented. As you can imagine, it was huge and bulky and not very portable. But then in the early 1900s, carbon hearing aids came into being, using similar technology to early microphones and telephones. While they amplified sound, they weren’t all that effective. In the 1920s, vacuum hearing aids came along, an advancement that allowed the size to be greatly reduced. One of the biggest jumps came after WWII with the invention of transistors–which reduced the size of hearing aids even more. For a while, there were even hearing aids built into eyeglasses, though these were awkward to wear and didn’t last long.

In the early 1960s, some smart person came up with the first behind the ear hearing aids – a style still in use today by 70% of people who wear hearing aids. But everything changed around 1995 with fully digital versions hit the market. Rather than simply amplifying sound, the user could now differentiate between low, mid, and high frequencies and adjust the hearing aid to their surrounding.

Interesting, huh? You know what I like best about my new hearing aids, besides the improvement to my hearing? They are connected to my phone, and I can listen to audio books without earbuds or headphones. Now that’s cool 🙂

 

 

Dr. Grace Danforth, a Remarkable Woman

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Here where I live, it used to be rural only now, the town has grown up around it. That’s a long way around what I wanted to say. My power is supplied by an electric co-op company and each month they put out a short little magazine that often has very interesting articles. This month, there was one about a pioneering woman doctor.

Dr. Grace Danforth was born in Wisconsin in 1849, but she spent most of her life in Williamson County, Texas. Prior to becoming a doctor, she taught school for many years. She was the first woman accepted into the Dallas Medical Association, and she was the first woman to practice medicine in the county. She was also the founding member of the Texas Equal Rights Association that is still operating today in an effort to be accepted into what was considered to be a man’s field.

Grace quickly jumped onboard the women’s suffragist movement and fought tirelessly for voting rights, so she didn’t just twiddle her thumbs, she wanted to make a difference. And she did so much work for the advancement of women’s causes.

In 1889, this woman of such a vigorous and active mind was practicing medicine in Granger, Texas, although how much business she got, it’s hard to know. She did deliver a lot of babies and the women liked her. But overall, there was severe prejudice against her that she never really overcame despite that her brother was also a doctor in Granger.

She suffered from terrible cluster headaches and the only thing available for pain at the time was laudanum. However, she didn’t like taking it so mostly she endured it without anything even though her pain must’ve been severe.

As most historical romance readers know, laudanum was opium and alcohol, and it carried a huge risk of becoming addictive. Laudanum never failed to make patients feel better—if it didn’t kill them.

On the night of her 46th birthday, Grace got a bad migraine and desperate to get rid of it, she took a large dose of laudanum that proved fatal. She’s buried in the Granger cemetery but her name lives on. The Daily Times Herald published a nice article about her and said, “She was one of the most remarkable women in Texas history.”

I hope you enjoyed learning about her. Name another profession that was hard for women to break into?

I’m working on a new book that I can’t wait to tell you about. It’s Cade’s Quest and it’ll release August 11th. My sister Jan has also finished a new one and we’re going to release our books on the same day as a “Sisters Write” sort of thing! I know you’re going to love this story. I’ll have more in the coming months. It’s already available for preorder HERE.

A Walk Through History: The Wheeled Chair

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Hello, Winnie Griggs here. I hope all of you are having a lovely May.

A few years ago, I found myself rolling through life in a way I never expected—literally. After a series of foot surgeries, I spent several weeks where I had strict doctor’s orders not to let my foot touch the floor.   During that time I made use of a wheelchair and a knee scooter.  And while I was grateful for the mobility, I quickly discovered how those devices shaped not just how I moved, but how I experienced the world.

Simple things—like going outside, feeling the breeze or warm sunshine on my face—became things to be carefully organized and usually involved the help of others.

That experience stayed with me.

So when I sat down to write Luke, my upcoming July release, I found myself drawing on those memories in a very personal way. Luke Dawson, my wounded Texas Ranger hero, suffers a serious injury early in the book—three broken ribs, thanks to an ambush gone wrong. His path to recovery is slow, painful, and not something he’s thrilled about. But helping him along that road is Hattie Brooks, the heroine—his former sweetheart and now the quietly capable assistant to her uncle, the town doctor.

Hattie isn’t just administering medicine and checking his bandages. She’s taking him out into her herb garden. Letting him soak up the Texas sun. Offering fresh air and green things and the quiet rhythm of growing life as part of his healing.

And yes, she’s doing it with the help of a wheeled chair. But I couldn’t just draw on my own experience, I had to research what wheelchairs were like in the late 19th century and what their availability was. Here is a little of what I found.

A Bit of History:

I used to think of wheelchairs as a modern invention, but the truth is, humans have been building ways to move the injured and infirm for centuries.

The earliest known mobility chairs date back to ancient China and Greece. Fast-forward to the 1500s, and I learned that King Philip II of Spain used an ornate chair with footrests and wheels—though it required someone to push him. In 18th-century England, the “Bath Chair” became a common sight, named for the spa town where invalids were rolled out to take in the healing waters or sea air.

. 19th Century Bath Chair

Of course, these early chairs looked more like rickshaws or high-backed baby strollers than what we know today. But their purpose was the same: to give an individual a bit of independence, to give them some form of mobility, however limited, during their convalescence—or at least provide comfort.

In 19th-century America, especially in rural towns like my fictional town of Tucker’s Gap, Texas, wheeled chairs weren’t exactly common. But they existed. A resourceful doctor or carpenter might fashion one out of wagon wheels or rocker frames. Or, as I imagine in Luke, a progressive or enterprising doctor might acquire one for their clinic to help their patients.

Interesting Facts & Trivia About Wheelchairs

  • The first recorded wheelchair dates back to 6th-century China. Although rudimentary wheeled furniture existed earlier, an image from around 525 A.D. shows a device clearly designed for mobility assistance.
  • Early wheelchairs were symbols of status as well as necessity. They were often custom-made, ornate, and considered a luxury—used by wealthier invalids who could afford attendants to push them.
  • Self-propelling wheelchairs didn’t become common until the 20th century. Before that, most designs required a caregiver to push from behind. The first modern self-propelling model appeared in the 1930s, changing mobility and independence dramatically.
  • Wheelchair racing has been part of the Paralympics since 1960. Since their introduction in the first Paralympic Games in Rome, racing wheelchairs have become marvels of speed, engineering, and athleticism.
  • Franklin D. Roosevelt used a wheelchair—but the public rarely saw it. Due to stigma at the time and press cooperation, very few photos exist of the U.S. president in his wheelchair. His disability was widely known but visually hidden.
  • The world’s fastest motorized wheelchair hit a jaw-dropping 61.18 mph (98.3 km/h). Inventor Jason Liversidge set the record in the UK in 2020.
  • Hein Wagner, a blind adventurer, completed 1,000 km (621 miles) across South Africa in a manual wheelchair alongside adventurer Jaco van Gass. This currently holds the record for the Longest Distance Traveled in a Manual Wheelchair
  • The Most Ornate Historical Wheelchair: A mid-1800s Victorian invalid carriage designed for British nobility featured velvet upholstery, brass trim, lace curtains, and a parasol. These weren’t just for comfort—they were a status symbol!
  • Created by artist Tommy Hollenstein, the smallest functioning wheelchair (used for a doll as art) measures just 4.5 inches tall and includes tiny rubber wheels that actually turn.
  • The oldest preserved wheelchair is an elegant wood and iron rolling chair from the 18th century. It is displayed at the Museum of the History of Medicine in Paris. It belonged to a French noblewoman and has a surprisingly modern silhouette.
  • The Longest Use of a Personal Wheelchair is difficult to track officially, but many veterans from WWI and WWII used the same personally fitted wheelchairs for decades, often retrofitting them with homemade parts—a testament to both durability and limited access to medical tech in early 20th-century rural areas.

 

Back to my story:

Luke might be stubborn and hurting, but Hattie knows something he doesn’t yet: recovery isn’t just about the body—it’s about the spirit. And sometimes, a slow ride through a garden can work more wonders than any medicine.

Looking Ahead

Luke releases at the end of July, and I can’t wait to share more with you about these two characters who have unfinished business, unspoken feelings, and one last chance to get it right.

Until then, I’d love to know—have you ever had a season where your mobility was limited? What made you feel most yourself during that time? Or have you ever used the simple power of nature—sunlight, herbs, fresh air—to help someone you love heal?

 

And to check out all of the books in this great new series, go to the Amazon Series page HERE

Let’s chat. Leave a comment to entered in a drawing for a signed copy of one of my books.

Train Doctors (Reprised)

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Hello everyone, Winnie Griggs here. I apologize for reprising a previous post but I’m knee deep in tax filing prep right now. And since I have nineteenth century railroads on the brain (I’m part of the Love Train series author group some others have mentioned here) I thought this post from back in 2009 would be fun to look at again. So here we go.

There are articles and headlines aplenty to be found around the topic of health care, but would it surprise you to learn that one of the early adopters of employer-based health care was the railroads?

While the vast majority of nineteenth century workers had to find and pay for their own medical care, the railroads were developing a unique and valuable benefit for their employees.

Because the nature of railway work and travel conditions led to a higher-than-normal likelihood of injuries not only to railway workers but also passengers and bystanders, some form of available medical services became a necessity.  The problem was only exacerbated when the transcontinental railroad opened, greatly expanding long distance overland travel opportunities.  As an ever increasing number of people traveled the rails across unsettled territory, territory that never seen trained physicians or even the most rudimentary of medical facilities, the railroad companies had no choice but to hire their own physicians and create medical facilities along their routes.

Thus was born the era of train doctors.  Most of the physicians who answered this call were actually general practitioners who could also perform surgery. And because of the unique dangers railroad workers faced, the so-called train doctors found themselves dealing with types of injuries which few had dealt with before.  They were pioneers in the development of trauma care under primitive conditions, developing techniques and treatments that eventually found their way into routine medical practice.

From the outset, most of these practitioners expressed concern over the conditions and equipment they had to work with, as well as the ability to see their patients in a timely manner when minutes could literally mean the difference between life and death.

One tool that resulted from the drive to get stop-gap care to workers who sustained injuries in remote areas, were special packs devised by railway surgeons to be carried on all trains.  These packs were stocked with basic emergency supplies such as medicines, sterile dressings and basic implements. These were, in fact, the precursors of the modern day first aid kit.  Train doctors also promoted training key railroad workers in the use of these materials so that the injured party could be given appropriate first line aide until a proper physician could be reached.

As for facilities, early on railroad doctors tried using hotel rooms, spare rooms in private homes or even back porches for emergency medical care, but such rooms not only lacked the necessary equipment, their use also resulted in a large expense for the railroads who not only paid for the use of the room but also faced cleaning and replacement costs for bloodstained linens and furniture.  As an alternative, the train doctors pushed for the development and use of hospital cars which could serve both as properly equipped surgical stations and as the actual transportation for seriously ill or injured patients.

As could be predicted, the adoption of such cars greatly improved the survival rate of the seriously injured railroad worker and eventually evolved into highly sophisticated facilities.  They had room enough to handle the care of three to four patients at one time as well as house a fully equipped operating room.  They were scrupulously maintained in order to provide a clean environment in which the surgeon could effectively perform his duties, stabilizing his patients before sending him or her on to a regular hospital.

Speaking of hospitals, the railroads were also very influential in establishing such facilities along their routes.  In mid-century it was remarked that a person traveling from St. Louis to El Paso would traverse 1300 miles without passing a single hospital.  And this was only one of numerous such stretches in the country.  The first railroad to respond to this glaring need was the Central Pacific Railroad which opened its own hospital in Sacramento in 1869.  Other railroads quickly followed suit, establishing their own hospitals along well traveled routes.

Dr. C.W.P. Brock, President of the National Association of Railway Surgeons, was quoted as saying: Mr. Greeley’s advice to the young man to “go west” may be followed with great benefit by railway surgeons from the older sections of our country; and when they have seen the superb hospitals and the practical workings of the system they will say, as the Queen of Sheba said after seeing the splendors of King Solomon, “that the half had not been told.”

On a more practical front, another surgeon was heard to estimate that “the daily cost per patient at a railway hospital runs from 40 to 60 cents, compared to $1.00 to $1.50 at a city or contract hospital.”

Train doctors for the most part were  very progressive in the medical field.  They endorsed the emphasis on sterilization and overall cleanliness in patient care well before such thinking was met with universal acceptance.  They were also progressive in their attitude toward embracing women into their profession.

In addition to surgery dealing with railroad-related injuries and general trauma care, railway surgeons also took on the role of an overall health care provider.  They treated a wide range of illnesses, performed routine checkups, delivered babies and advised on safety, health and sanitation issues.

Alas, the train doctors are no more.  There were a number of factors that contributed to the eventual demise of the once highly effective and indispensable system.  Key among them was the change in government regulations and the explosion of medical advances in the 1950s.  The last of the railroad hospitals were sold or closed in the 1970s and the remaining train doctors retired, joined other practices or set up private practices of their own.

But these dedicated men and women left an enduring legacy. Their trade journal, The Railway Surgeon, though it reinvented itself a number of times, remains in print today under the name Occupational Health and Safety

The modern day specialty of occupational medicine can trace its roots to these surgeons.  They also helped to shape modern medical practice, especially in the area of trauma study and care.  They were pioneers in front line field care, in the stabilization and transport of the seriously injured, in overall trauma care and in the development and use of the modern day first aid kit.

All but forgotten by the vagaries of our national memory, train doctors nevertheless played a major, but largely unsung, role in making the settlement of the western frontier a safer proposition for all who travelled through or eventually settled in the surrounding areas.

Thanks for your patience in allowing me to reprise an older post. As a reward I’d like to offer a chaoice of any book from my backlist to on (or more!) of the people who leave a comment here.