Moose County Legends

The pioneer doctor carried his drugstore in his shoulder bag or in the saddlebags on his horse. There were powders for colds and fevers and rheumatism. There were potions in corked bottles for use as tonics or as remedies for croup or snakebite. His miracle drugs were rhubarb powder, quinine flakes, digitalis, arnica, capsicum, nux vomica, and the like, many of which had been used in healing for cen-

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Short & Tall Tales turies. The backwoods physician also carried a pair of

“twisters” for pulling teeth.

He might put arnica lotion on a wound while fighting off the flies and perform surgery by candlelight in a cabin that was as dark in daytime as it was at night. Then he probably prescribed rest and a diet of gruel for the patient, before riding back to town on his horse. If it was still daylight, he let the horse find its way home while he himself rocked in the saddle and caught up with his reading of the latest medical journals.

For his labor the pioneer doctor was often paid in eggs and homemade butter, or a scrawny hen. Later, a patient might take a bushel of apples to the doctor’s house or a piece of fresh pork when the pig was slaughtered. Another would offer to plow his field or chop a cord of wood in return for medical care.

Why did these physicians brave the wilderness a hundred years ago? Many were young men with the ink barely dry on their diplomas. They came from medical schools in Detroit, Toronto, Cincinnati, and Louisville, sailing up the lake in a schooner that was destined to pick up a load of lumber. Pioneering was the spirit of the times, and the wilderness was an adventure for young doctors, as well as an opportunity to use their new skills and knowledge. No doubt they were gratified, also, by the instant acclaim and hospitality accorded a new physician in a frontier town. His presence relieved some of the terror of pioneer life.

Not every medical adventurer was willing to tolerate 쑽쑽쑽

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Lilian Jackson Braun the hardships. He left after a year or two, and another fresh graduate took his place, arriving from the metropolis in a frock coat and top hat, befitting the dignity of the profession. He soon exchanged that garb for a rough cloak and frontier hat, with high boots and a stout stick for tramping through woods and bogs.

Some doctors elected to stay in Moose County. The population of the area was increasing, the lumbering towns were thriving, and roads progressed from muddy ruts to decent dirt. The physician now used a cart or a horse and buggy for house calls, and a sleigh in winter. Saddlebags were replaced by the modern badge of the profession: the little black bag, in which babies were said to be delivered.

The general practitioner’s office was in his front parlor.

Counting office hours and house calls, he worked a twelve-hour day—more if there was an emergency in the middle of the night. Yet his patients did not always take his advice—

as in the case of vaccination for the dreaded smallpox. In some towns not a single student answered the school bell on V-Day. Families clung to their old remedies: goose-grease plasters, onion poultices, catnip tea, beefsteak broth, and the trusted bottle of whiskey reserved for medicinal purposes.

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4.

Hilda the Clipper

She Put Fear into the Male

Population of One Small Town

Brrr happens to be the coldest town in MooseCounty. Is it a coincidence that it also has thelargest number of “characters”? HotelkeeperGary Pratt tells about Hilda, and I believeevery word!

—JMQ

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My grandfather used to tell about this eccentric old woman in Brrr who had everybody terrorized. This was about seventy years ago, you understand. She always walked around town with a pair of hedge clippers, pointing them at people and going click-click with the blades. Behind her back they laughed and called her Hilda the Clipper, but the same people were very nervous when she was around.

The thing of it was, nobody knew if she was just an oddball or was really smart enough to beat the system. In stores she picked up anything she wanted without paying a cent. She broke all the town ordinances and got away with it. Once in a while a cop or the sheriff would question her from a safe distance, and she said she was taking her hedge clippers to be sharpened. She didn’t have a hedge. She lived in a tar-paper shack with a mangy dog. No electricity, no running water. My grandfather had a farmhouse across 쑽쑽쑽

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