Part 13

Trusting that you will be able to understand that we are acting according to our best and sincerest judgment, I remain, yours very truly, "The Golden Rule Company, "George W. Coleman, Business Manager" Running through half a dozen recent issues of the _Christian Endeavor World_, I find nineteen medical advertisements of, at best, dubious nature. Assuming that the business management of the _Christian Endeavor World_ represents normal intelligence, I would like to ask whether it accepts the statement that a pair of "magic foot drafts" applied to the bottom of the feet will cure any and every kind of rheumatism in any part of the body? Further, if the advertising department is genuinely interested in declining "fraudulent or misleading" copy, I would call their attention to the ridiculous claims of Dr. Shoop's medicines, which "cure" almost every disease; to two hair removers, one an "Indian Secret," the other an "accidental discovery," both either fakes or dangerous; to the lying claims of Hall's Catarrh Cure, that it is "a positive cure for catarrh" in all its stages to "Syrup of Figs," which is not a fig syrup, but a preparation of senna; to Dr. Kilmer's Swamp Root, of which the principal medicinal constituent is alcohol; and, finally, to Dr. Bye's Oil Cure for cancer, a particularly cruel swindle on unfortunates suffering from an incurable malady. All of these, with other matter, which for the sake of decency I do not care to detail in these columns, appear in recent issues of the _Christian Endeavor World_, and are respectfully submitted to its management and its readers. Quackery and Religion. The Baptist Watchman of Oct. 12, 1905, prints an editorial defending the principle of patent medicines. It would be interesting to know whether the back page of the number has any connection with the editorial. This page is given up to an illustrated advertisement of Vito-Ore, one of the boldest fakes in the whole Frauds' Gallery. Vitæ-Ore claims to be a mineral mined from "an extinct mineral spring," and to contain free iron, free sulphur and free magnesium. It contains no free iron, no free sulphur, and no free magnesium. It announces itself as "a certain and never-failing cure" for rheumatism and Bright's disease, dropsy, blood poisoning, nervous prostration and general debility, among other maladies. Whether it is, as asserted, mined from an extinct spring or bucketed from a sewer has no bearing on its utterly fraudulent character. There is no "certain and never-failing cure" for the diseases in its list, and when the _Baptist Watchman_ sells itself to such an exploitation it becomes partner to a swindle not only on the pockets of its readers, but on their health as well. In the same issue I find "Piso's Cure for Consumption," "Bye's Cancer Cure," "Mrs. M. Summer's Female Remedy," "Winslow's Soothing Syrup," and "Juven Pills," somewhat disguised here, but in other mediums openly a sexual weakness "remedy." A correspondent sends me clippings from _The Christian Century_, leading off with an interesting editorial entitled "Our Advertisers," from which I quote in part: "We take pleasure in calling the attention of our readers to the high grade of advertising which _The Christian Century_ commands. We shall continue to advertise only such companies as we know to be thoroughly reliable. During the past year we have refused thousands of dollars' {060}worth of advertising which other religious journals are running, but which is rated 'objectionable' by the better class of periodicals. Compare our advertising columns with the columns of any other purely religious journal, and let us know what you think of the character of our advertising patrons." Whether the opinion of a non-subscriber will interest _The Christian Century_ I have no means of knowing, but I will venture it. My opinion is that a considerable proportion of its advertisements are such as any right-minded and intelligent publisher should be ashamed to print, and that if its readers accept its endorsement of the advertising columns they will have a very heavy indictment to bring against it. Three "cancer cures," a dangerous "heart cure," a charlatan eye doctor, Piso's Consumption Cure, Dr. Shoop's Rheumatism Cure and Liquozone make up a pretty fair "Frauds' Gallery" for the delectation of _The Christian Century's_ readers. [IMAGE ==>] {060} As a convincing argument, many nostrums guarantee, not a cure, as they would have the public believe, but a reimbursement if the medicine is unsatisfactory. Liquozone does this, and faithfully carries out its agreement. Electro-gen, a new "germicide," which has stolen Liquozone's advertising scheme almost word for word, also promises this. Dr. Shoop's agreement {061}is so worded that the unsatisfied customer is likely to have considerable trouble in getting his money back. Other concerns send their "remedies" free on trial, among these being the ludicrous "magic foot drafts" referred to above. At first thought it would seem that only a cure would bring profit to the makers. But the fact is that most diseases tend to cure themselves by natural means, and the delighted and deluded patient, ascribing the relief to the "remedy," which really has nothing to do with it, sends on his grateful dollar. Where the money is already paid, most people are too inert to undertake the effort of getting it back. It is the easy American way of accepting a swindle as a sort of joke, which makes for the nostrum readers ready profits. Safe Rewards. Then there is the "reward for proof" that the proprietary will not perform the wonders advertised. The Liquozone Company offer $1,000, I believe, for any germ that Liquozone will not kill. This is a pretty safe offer, because there are no restrictions as to the manner in which the unfortunate germ might be maltreated. If the matter came to an issue, the defendants might put their bacillus in the Liquozone bottle and freeze him solid. If that didn't end him, they could boil the ice and save their money, as thus far no germ has been discovered which can survive the process of being made into soup. Nearly all of the Hall Catarrh Cure advertisements offer a reward of $100 for any case of catarrh which the nostrum fails to cure. It isn't enough, though one hundred times that amount might be worth while; for who doubts that Mr. F. J. Cheney, inventor of the "red clause," would fight for his cure through every court, exhausting the prospective $100 reward of his opponent in the first round? How hollow the "guarantee" pretence is, is shown by a clever scheme devised by Radam, the quack, years ago, when Shreveport was stricken with yellow fever. Knowing that his offer could not be accepted, he proposed to the United States Government that he should eradicate the epidemic by destroying all the germs with Radam's Microbe Killer, offering to deposit $10,000 as a guarantee. Of course, the Government declined on the ground that it had no power to accept such an offer. Meantime, Radam got a lot of free advertising, and his fortune was made. No little stress is laid on "personal advice" by the patent-medicine companies. This may be, according to the statements of the firm, from their physician or from some special expert. As a matter of fact, it is almost invariably furnished by a $10-a-week typewriter, following out one of a number of "form" letters prepared in bulk for the "personal-inquiry" dupes. Such is the Lydia E. Pinkham method. The Pinkham Company writes me that it is entirely innocent of any intent to deceive people into believing that Lydia E. Pinkham is still alive, and that it has published in several cases statements regarding her demise. It is true that a number of years ago a newspaper forced the Pinkham concern into a defensive admission of Lydia E. Pinkham's death, but since then the main purpose of the Pinkham advertising has been to befool the feminine public into believing that their letters go to a woman--who died nearly twenty years ago of one of the diseases, it is said, which her remedy claims to cure. The Immortal Mrs. Pinkham. True, the newspaper appeal is always "Write to Mrs. Pinkham," and this is technically a saving clause, as there is a Mrs. Pinkham, widow of the son of Lydia E. Pinkham. What sense of shame she might be supposed to suffer in the perpetration of an obvious and public fraud is presumably {062}salved by the large profits of the business. The great majority of the gulls who "write to Mrs. Pinkham" suppose themselves to be addressing Lydia E. Pinkham, and their letters are not even answered by the present proprietor of the name, but by a corps of hurried clerks and typewriters. You get the same result when you write to Dr. Hartman, of Peruna, for personal guidance. Dr. Hartman himself told me that he took no active part now in the conduct of the Peruna Company. If he sees the letters addressed to him at all, it is by chance. "Dr. Kilmer," of Swamp-Root fame, wants you to write to him about your kidneys. There is no Dr. Kilmer in the Swamp-Root concern, and has not been for many years. Dr. T. A. Slocum, who writes you so earnestly and piously about taking care of your consumption in time, is a myth. The whole "personal medical advice" business is managed by rote, and the letter that you get "special to your case" has been printed and signed before your inquiry ever reached the shark who gets your money. An increasingly common pitfall is the letter in the newspapers from some sufferer who has been saved from disease and wants you to write and get the prescription free. A conspicuous instance of this is "A Notre Dame Lady's Appeal" to sufferers from rheumatism and also from female trouble. "Mrs. Summers," of Notre Dame, Ill., whose picture in the papers represents a fat Sister of Charity, with the wan, uneasy expression of one who feels that her dinner isn't digesting properly, may be a real lady, but I suspect she wears a full beard and talks in a bass voice, because my letter of inquiry to her was answered by the patent medicine firm of Vanderhoof & Co., who inclosed some sample tablets and wanted to sell me more. There are many others of this class. It is safe to assume that every advertising altruist who pretends to give out free prescriptions is really a quack medicine firm in disguise. One more instance of bad faith to which the nostrum patron renders himself liable: It is asserted that these letters of inquiry in the patent medicine field are regarded as private. "All correspondence held strictly private and sacredly confidential," advertises Dr. R. V. Pierce, of the Golden Medical Discovery, etc. A Chicago firm of letter brokers offers to send me 50,000 Dr. Pierce order blanks at $2 a thousand for thirty days; or I can get terms on Ozomulsion, Theodore Noel (Vitæ-Ore), Dr. Stevens' Nervous Debility Cure, Cactus Cure, women's regulators, etc. With advertisements in the medical journals the public is concerned only indirectly, it is true, but none the less vitally. Only doctors read these exploitations, but if they accept certain of them and treat their patients on the strength of the mendacious statements it is at the peril of the patients. Take, for instance, the Antikamnia advertising which appears in most of the high-class medical journals, and which includes the following statements: "Do not depress the heart. Do not produce habit. Are accurate--safe--sure." These three lines, reproduced as they occur in the medical journals, contain five distinct and separate lies--a triumph of condensed mendacity unequaled, so far as I know, in the "cure all" class. For an instructive parallel here are two claims made by Duffy's Malt Whiskey, one taken from a medical journal,