Life Unveiled, by a Child of the Drumlins — Chapter 8 Part I - The Medic
THE “MEDIC”
Belle and I decided to go to a coeducational school to study medicine, and settled upon Boston University.
I was a happy girl that summer, getting ready and picturing the future.
Associating Boston with Emerson, Holmes, Longfellow, and Whittier, I loved it before going there.
Belle, who had studied guide-books and maps, was glib in her knowledge of the city; she knew just where the railway station was, and the college, and how to get from one to the other.
Her confidence impressed me, for maps and topography were ever a vexation to my spirit; her assurance impressed our parents also, and it was decided to let us make the journey alone.
Our family physician, who had written to the Dean, had received an assuring letter: we were to go directly to the College and matriculate, and there obtain addresses for boarding-places.
In later years I have realized what misgivings our parents must have had in letting us start out alone, mere schoolgirls who had never been more than thirty miles from home, green village girls, unused to city ways--ignorant of the world, of life, of themselves.
The last picture I have of my grandfather, is the one as he rode into our door-yard the October afternoon of the evening I was to start for Boston.
Sitting his horse firmly and proudly (he was then eighty-five) he brought me a fine full ear of yellow corn for a “keepsake.
” I have often wondered what made him bring that particular thing.
Was it that he knew the sight of it when far from home would be so dear, serving to bring back Grandma’s kitchen and the overhanging ears suspended by their turned-back husks?
Or was it that he recollected what a fascination the full golden ears had had for me when I had played around the corn-house years before in the October weather?
I never knew.
I think I did not then question why.
But that long yellow ear of corn which he brought to me on the eve of my first leaving home was a precious gift, inexplicably precious as I try to explain it now.
I clung to him with unwonted tenderness as I bade him good-bye, and through my tears watched him slowly ride away.
The night we left home, just before I started for the train, my class-mate, Walter, came to the door and asked for me.
I wondered why he had not gone ahead to the station with the other young people.
Drawing me out on the “stoop”, in the darkness he quickly kissed me, wrung my hand, and with a choked “good-bye” ran down the steps.
Astounded as I was, and with my strict ideas about such things, still I did not resent that kiss.
And as Father and I drove to the station in the darkness, leaving Mother alone at home, to weep, I was sure (though she had kept up till the good-byes were over) Walter’s kiss was a welcome diversion, a partial relief to the pang of leaving home and parting with Mother.
At the station the young people were gathered, chatting gaily, but Sister was unusually quiet.
They loaded us down with fruit and flowers and absurd advice--a merry noisy party as the train came thundering in; merry and noisy except for the few who were pale and silent with something wretchedly painful tugging at our hearts and rising in our throats.
Hurried kisses and hearty handclasps to the girls and boys, and then--my sister!
We had not thought it would be so hard.
It was like tearing one’s body apart.
Never till that moment had we realized what we were to each other.
We had never been separated more than a week in our lives, and here was this train ready to bear me away from home, away from my precious sister, into a life in which she was to have no part!
The agony as they separated us (for we clung in desperation as the men shouted “All aboard!
”) was the most cruel thing that had then come into my life.
When at Syracuse, after putting us on the sleeper, Father left us, another pang was added; the last link was snapped.
I can see him now trying to look cheerful as he waved to us from the platform; and I trying to keep the tears back till the train should bear us from his sight.
Never a word of all the anxiety and misgiving he and Mother must have felt!
The train moved off bearing the two girls with aching throats and tear-stained faces--two girls who had never left the home shelter, bearing them rapidly away in the darkness to the unknown city to begin the study of medicine.
Soon reacting from the sadness of parting, after the lumps had left our throats, we became excited, even gay.
Everyone had advised us what to do on a sleeper; had warned us about thieves; told us of queer amusing things which happened to inexperienced travellers, and we were fairly spoiling for an adventure of some sort.
But as our fellow-passengers seemed strangely indifferent to us, we began to feel it was going to be quite uneventful.
Still, though detecting no one who looked like a thief or a cut-throat, we hid our purses and watches with care, and I kept my hat-pin within easy reach, in case any one should molest us.
We found some difficulty in fastening the curtains of our bed; there were great gaps between the fastenings; men passing down the narrow aisles would drag the curtains aside.
It was a novel and not at all reassuring experience--we girls cooped up on that narrow bed, undressing in the dark stuffy place, right in the sound of men’s voices, with men continually passing.
It seemed then, and to this day it seems, a kind of indelicate thing to disrobe in the proximity of a carful of strange men, with only insecure draperies to insure privacy.
In our apprehension and unsophistication, we thought this continued brushing aside of our curtains must be done intentionally.
Not then realizing how narrow the aisles were, or that it was not the same person going by repeatedly, we grew angry: “If I hear him coming again I shall grab the curtains together and hold them, so he can’t brush them aside,” I said resolutely to Belle.
The steps soon came again, the curtains began moving.
I made a desperate grab to hold them together, but, oh horrors!
what happened!
“What’s wanted?
” I heard in calm, clear, gentlemanly tones, and then learned that I had also grabbed the coat of a passer-by!
Chagrined, I stammered, “I--I--thought----,” and suddenly realizing my mistake, felt the impossibility of explaining my awkward blunder--the man had doubtless inadvertently brushed past, as had the others, in the narrow aisle.
His innocent coat-tail released, he passed on.
Wondering in shame what he must have thought of us, we suddenly awakened to the realization that no one was inclined to molest us; that our school fellows had been telling us “yarns”; and we had better lie down and try to sleep.
So, using the hat-pin to fasten the refractory draperies, we lay down to sleep, though fitfully, the long night through.
As we breakfasted from our lunch-boxes in the morning, we felt years older; how long it seemed since we had left the little village amid the drumlins!
We were in a new world.
It was raining when we reached Boston, which did not add to our light-heartedness.
How queer to see so many strange faces; everyone so busy, so intent upon his own concerns, oblivious to the forlorn girls transplanted to the strange city--everyone but the horrid, importunate cab-drivers who leaned out from their stalls, and beckoned and called to us, bewildering us so that we were a long time in settling upon one who looked less villainous than the rest.
We drove directly to the College to matriculate.
The unwonted scenes, the poor sleep, the irregular meals, and the rain, all contributed to our gloom; but the Dean’s letters--we had a friend at court!
How forlorn we must have looked, and pitiably young and inexperienced for such an undertaking!
The janitor eyed us curiously, and to our request to see the Dean said he was not there then, but that Dr. Caroline Matson was the one to call for--“She sees the new students.
” She came into the room.
Shall I ever forget the chill and depression she brought with her?
A short, stout, middle-aged woman with light brown hair, a turned-up nose, a pink and white complexion, spectacles, and penetrating steel-blue eyes.
She looked us up and down and through and through.
I never felt so utterly small and insignificant.
I think she said “Humph!
” when, in desperation at her scrutiny, I faltered, “We’ve come to study medicine.
” I tried to add that we wanted to see the Dean; that he had written us; was expecting us; but she interrupted me.
The Dean was not to be seen then; we were to register, fill out certain blanks, answer the questions, and then write an essay of a given number of words setting forth our reasons for studying medicine, _if we had any_; or write on any topic we chose.
Then she left us.
Glancing furtively at each other, we each read the dismay that neither dared express.
I think we felt her ears were as sharp as her eyes and that she would hear the lightest whisper.
We almost feared she could hear our thoughts.
For an hour or more we wrote on the questions and the essay.
Then she came and told us we were to meet others of the Faculty to be examined orally in Latin translation, physics, and chemistry.
What a blow!
Coming from New York state where the all-powerful Regents reigned, we had supposed that our Regents’ certificates and our academic diplomas would exempt us from all examinations.
“We don’t have to be examined,” we ejaculated in unison.
“You don’t?
Are you college graduates?
” (Sarcastically) “No, but we have our Regents’ Certificates and pass-cards.
” “Regents’ certificates?
--what are they?
” Had the bottom fallen out of everything?
The Regents, THE REGENTS--that tyrant for which we had toiled so long, whose coveted seal we had on our precious diplomas!
_And she doesn’t even know what the Regents is!
_ We learned several lessons that bitter hour.
Our explanations, though lame, must have been intelligible, for, moderating a little, she explained that they had no such system in Massachusetts, and that it would be necessary to qualify in certain studies since we were not graduates of a college; but that as we were so recently out of school (and this seemed reprehensible on our part), we would probably have no difficulty.
Then she examined our papers.
Those cold eyes passed rapidly up and down; once in a while she would look up, sometimes ask a question, then read on.
She could not have been conscious of the torture she inflicted, or she would surely have been easier on those sleepy, hungry, homesick girls, so completely at her mercy.
Now as I dimly recall what my essay was, I wonder that her sarcasm and harshness were so moderate.
I remember I quoted from “Lucile” about the mission of woman being “to help and to heal the sick world that leans on her.
” She grunted when she put my paper down, and I breathed freer.
Then, taking up Belle’s, she gave an angry snort--something had acted like a red rag to a bull: “Minnie Isabel Washburn!
Is that your name?
” “Ye-es, ma’am,” Belle timidly confessed.
“Were you christened that?
” (Glaring at her) “I wasn’t christened, I was baptized,” Belle corrected boldly, the Baptist in her rampant--her religion was something for which she could show courage even in this encounter.
“Well, it won’t be tolerated here.
When _will_ mothers learn to give their children sensible names?
Doctor _Minnie_ Washburn!
How will that sound?
” and she almost annihilated us in scorn.
Belle was speechless, Belle the assured one, to whom I had looked for leadership and help in all these new experiences; Belle of the boasted self-confidence, of the undaunted courage!
It was a strange sight to see her cowed, but that woman’s face and voice were enough to intimidate any one.
Without thinking, surprised and scared at my own voice, but goaded to it by the pain she was inflicting, I ventured: “I don’t suppose Belle’s mother knew she was going to be a doctor when she gave her that name.
” My!
how she turned and glared at me!
Our eyes were about on a level.
I don’t know whether I flinched or not; I have a recollection of a superhuman effort to glare back, but dare say I weakened.
I remember her look seemed to say: “You little upstart!
who asked you to speak?
” Then she announced: “Well, it can’t go down ‘Minnie’--that’s settled.
You will have to drop that and just keep the ‘Isabel.
’” “But I can’t drop it (Belle was almost crying)--it was my grandmother’s name; I’ll have to write home and ask my father first.
” “No time for that--the way you register to-day, that way your diploma has to read.
We will have to see the Dean about this; but you may as well understand we will have no ‘_i-e_’ names here; we graduate women, not babies.
I’ll see the Dean.
” Out she went.
Belle and I looked at each other hopelessly.
“If _that_ is what women doctors are like, I don’t want to be one,” each of us thought, and knew the other’s thought.
Disheartened, disillusioned, tired, sleepy, hungry, far from home, our Regents’ certificates counting for nothing, this great unfriendly building, the dull sky, and we not knowing where we were going to stay that night--all this and more we felt as we looked at each other and tried to keep back the tears.
And then SHE came back and told us to go across the hall to the Dean.
We saw the sign “Faculty Room,” and went in.
Rising to greet us, coming with both hands extended, his ruddy face and smiling eyes beaming a welcome, a short, stout, gray-haired man waddled toward us, enveloping us in his benevolent presence.
It was a wonder we did not throw ourselves into his arms.
Taking us by the hand he beamed and we basked in the sunshine of his fatherly welcome.
Many a time in the years that have passed I have wished I could tell him what he was to us girls that day.
I think I did essay it once, three years later, when I came to see much of him.
I have always loved him for that welcome.
He is gone now.
A remarkable man, overflowing with energy and tact, a champion of Homœopathy in its early days in Boston--the University, in fact, Homœopathy in general owes more to him, probably, than to any other man in New England.
We came in time to hear him criticized by certain students; sometimes heard it said that he carried his politic measures to the point of insincerity; but I never had the slightest reason for changing the feelings toward him which were born that day.
Though subsequently seeing some of his limitations, I admired his exceptional gifts--his indomitable energy, and his wonderful executive ability, while his warmheartedness won my lasting regard.
I did change my opinion of Dr. Caroline Matson, but of that later.
How tactfully the Dean went to work to soothe Belle, and yet bring about the proper registering of a name that would be dignified and in good taste as a physician!
“‘Minnie’--let us see--that is your first name?
I suppose you are fond of it, but it doesn’t sound just right for a physician, does it?
” Under his kindly glance Belle explained that she had never used that name, that she had always been called “Isabel” or “Belle,” but that as the paper asked for her full name, she had given it.
“Quite right, quite right; well now, if that is not the name you are accustomed to, why not drop it?
Anyhow, your name is a long one, ‘Isabel Washburn,’ what a fine-sounding name!
‘Dr. Isabel Washburn’--I like that.
” “So do I,” said Belle, getting confidential, “but I can’t drop ‘Minnie,’ because it is my grandmother’s name; my father, I’m sure, would object.
” This gave him pause, but he was equal to the occasion: “Of course, of course you can’t drop your grandmother’s name-ah, but-ah--why, it is all as clear as can be now--‘Minnie’ is only the nickname for ‘Mary’--your grandmother’s name was Mary, even if they called her familiarly ‘Minnie’; and all you need to do is to use your grandmother’s real name instead of her nickname.
” And he beamed on her benevolently.
Belle hesitated, but his charm of manner won the day.
The alteration was made, the obnoxious “Minnie” gave place to “Mary,” and we were smilingly turned over to other members of the Faculty, who questioned us on chemistry and botany, in which, I believe, we did fairly well.
We read the easy Latin at sight, conjugated a few verbs (I remember how they tried to conceal their smiles at our faulty pronunciation--we knew it was faulty, for we had shifted from the Roman to the English method, and our hybrid pronunciation was enough to excite mirth).
When it came to physics, always a difficult study for me, we floundered and failed ignominiously.
I’m sure I did the worse, for Belle could reason out such things pretty well, while I never could.
We were “conditioned” in physics, and in a month’s time were to be examined again.
Although they were very kind, we felt disgraced.
Realizing that we had failed in one study, and probably had been leniently passed in others, we felt ourselves the ignorant, homeless creatures that we were.
They told us to come the next day at ten for the opening lecture.
