CHAPTER IV

=LAWFUL TO ADVERTISE=

Just who put forth the dictum that it is unlawful, unprofessional, unethical, for a physician to advertise is unknown. It was probably some old codger of antiquarian ideas. At any rate the rule—and it is a rule—is so old it reeks with decay. But, among progressive physicians, it is fast coming to be recognized as a rule which is “more honored in the breach than in the observance.”

Other professional men who were once held in bonds of the same nature are breaking away. We find in the public press the cards of attorneys, architects and civil engineers, all callings which are legitimately dignified with the name of “professions.” No exception is taken to these men making their talents known, although at one time—and it is only a few years ago—they were held in ethical bonds just as strong and binding as those with which the medical practitioner is now enchained.

But time changes all things. It has changed to a degree the code of ethics which formerly obtained in the professions of law, architecture, and civil engineering, and it is slowly, but surely, changing that of medicine. True the wording of the various codes remain the same, but there is a growing tendency to wink at, to overlook evasions.

It has become a matter of convenience to the public to know where to find a competent lawyer, or architect, or civil engineer. Hence the appearance of their business cards in newspapers. On the same grounds publicity by physicians is justifiable. It is more than justifiable. Mankind can, in a pinch, get along without attorneys or architects or engineers. That is to say it is rarely imperative their services should be requisitioned in a hurry. The trial of a law case, the plans for a building, or the construction of a bridge can generally be put off for a few days at least without serious injury or inconvenience to any body.

When a doctor is needed he is generally needed badly. It may not always be an emergency case, but almost invariably when the services of a physician are required, even in chronic ailments, delay only aggravates the patient’s condition.

If a medical man has, by special study, equipped himself to handle a certain class of diseases more intelligently and satisfactorily than the general practitioner it becomes his duty to let the public know about it. If we accept the dictum of the censors of medical propriety as they present it—that the obligation taken by the physician binds him to serve the public to the best of his ability—then surely we can not get away from the proposition that men of unusual ability are in duty bound to make the public acquainted with that ability. The successful physician does not live up to his obligation if he “hides his light under a bushel.”

Medical societies, the watchdogs of ethics, do not accept this doctrine. Not only this; they try to drive out of practice, to brand with infamy, to make an outcast and wanderer of the man who indulges in it. The “it” in this instance refers to publicity fairly bought and honestly paid for over the newspaper counter. But they do not always succeed.

For years Dr. McCoy had been a surgeon at Bellevue hospital, New York, a man of rare skill and of high standing in his profession. He was a member of various medical societies, respected and honored. After a long, weary experience he made up his mind that he was entitled to a better financial reward than it was possible for him to obtain in hospital or private practice. He came to Chicago, obtained a certificate from the State authorities, and began advertising in the daily newspapers as a specialist. His medical brethren were horrified. Remonstrance being of no avail, they promptly ousted Dr. McCoy from membership in the professional societies.

Not content with this they went further and filed complaint with the state authorities with the purpose of having his certificate, or license to practice, revoked. That they would have succeeded in this if Dr. McCoy had not taken the matter into the courts, is a certainty, as the members of the State Board of Health who would pass upon the question were all physicians and prominent in the societies which were seeking to deprive McCoy of his certificate.

A long, hard-fought battle in the courts was won by McCoy. In handing down its verdict the final court said in effect:

“We fail to see wherein this appellant has committed any offense against the laws of the State. If he was competent to practice medicine at the time he received his license he is competent to practice now. Nothing that has been alleged against him has affected in any way his ability, fitness, or competency as a medical practitioner. Neither has he committed any penal offense. True he has advertised, but advertising is not a felony; not even a misdemeanor.

“The fact that the medical societies to which he belonged have revoked his membership has no bearing on the case. These societies have no official powers so far as the State is concerned. They may very properly say who may, or who may not, hold membership with them, but they have no authority to say who may, or who may not practice medicine. Societies of this kind are purely social and professional; they are not endowed with executive, administrative, or legislative power to act for the State.”

This finding established in a forceful, indisputable manner the legal right of a physician to advertise his skill as a healer of mankind without affecting his ability. It was not to the liking of the sticklers for ethics who control the medical organizations. They would have the young medics believe—and up to the time the McCoy case was decided they had succeeded—that they were all powerful; that their word was law, not only as regards membership in the societies, but also as to who might, or might not, practice medicine. They succeeded because they controlled the State Board of Health. But the ruling of the court put an end to this impudent assumption of authority. It laid down and made clear the important fact that, in passing upon the competency of applicants for licenses, medical ability and good moral character were the sole and only points to be considered.

There is advertising and advertising, one kind respectable and dignified; the other outrageously bad. The author would not for a moment countenance the use of flamboyant “ads” like those with which the “weak men” and other quacks bombard the public through the daily press. Such advertising as a general thing is positively indecent and dishonest. The men who place it and the newspaper publishers who print it should be prosecuted into the penitentiary. It is a queer thing that so-called high-class newspapers which decline to accept lottery and get-rich-quick “ads” on the ground of morality (we’ll say nothing of their illegality) will openly solicit and publish the disgusting business advertisements of medical charlatans and fakirs.

No man who respects himself or his profession will “guarantee a cure or money refunded,” no matter how apparently simple or mild the ailment he undertakes to treat may be. Neither will he offer to take cases on the “no money until you are cured” plan. These are methods which belong exclusively in the realm of quackdom. They deceive only the ignorant, and are used with success only among that class of people. But baits of this kind stare one in the face from nearly every Sunday newspaper, and from many fences.

Then there is the fakir who calls upon you in loud type to “See Old Doctor Squeeze-em. He’ll do you good!” It’s a safe bet he will “do” you good if he ever gets you into his clutches; “do” you so good that you will be lucky to have carfare left to get home with.

These are not the methods employed by smart men who, through publicity, obtain a good practice, and put themselves in position to command large fees; men to whom patients will pay $100 for an hour’s consultation and advice without hesitation, while they would begrudge $5 to a physician of equally as much or more medical skill, but not so well versed in the art of self publicity.

How do these men get before the public? They pave the way according to well-laid plans. Their every move is part of a previously laid-out program. We are writing now of those who have not progressed to the stage of employing regular press agents, or have not become well-known enough to warrant regular advertising. They join some fashionable church and mix in its affairs; take prominent part in the sociables and other doings, and when the ladies come around with a grab bag, or “take a chance on a nice piano,” dig down deep into their jeans. They may have to get along on short rations for a day or two, but the money has been invested to better advantage than if it were expended for pork and beans. A short course of this kind gets all the women talking about what a charming man Dr. Swell is, and so liberal. Pretty soon they begin to boost him into prominence by insisting upon his taking charge of some of their social affairs, and then his name gets into the papers. This is the beginning. The oftener he is mentioned the more impressed the newspaper men become with the belief that he must be a man of importance, and the first thing Dr. Swell knows he is getting the most valuable kind of publicity by the column.

And the male part of the community? Well, it’s just as easy to “con” them as it is the women. Dr. Swell joins lodge after lodge, society after society, just as fast as he can raise money for the dues. He attends the sessions faithfully, and, so far as outward appearances go, takes a deep interest in the proceedings. He has a good word, and a warm, hearty hand shake for all the brothers. While modest, he always manages to have a word to say “right out in meeting” at the proper time, even if it is no more than to voice approval of something that has been done. Then, in time, it comes quite natural for the presiding Squeejicks, or whatever his title may be, to frequently say, “We would like to hear from Dr. Swell on this matter.”

Dr. Swell is coming on. If he keeps his head down to a normal size, treats everybody courteously, and goes along making friends at every opportunity, the first thing he knows is that he is nominated for the office of Worthy High Jinks. Of course he protests that there are others better fitted, etc., but he doesn’t mean it. He is elected, and again there is legitimate excuse for getting more publicity. All the papers announce that:

“At its annual meeting last night Cockalorum Lodge No. 37840, O.B.O.A.B., elected Dr. What A. Swell as Worthy High Jinks. Under his regime Cockalorum Lodge will make many advancements during the coming year. When Dr. Swell was asked to outline his program last night he said:”

And here follows a lengthy interview which Dr. Swell, knowing he was sure to be elected, had prepared in advance. From then on it is easy sailing—if he is a smart man. He manages to keep Cockalorum Lodge doing something all the time; not that he is so desperately in love with the lodge, but because it means more and more publicity to Dr. Swell. As with Cockalorum, so with the other lodges, or churches, or societies to which he may belong.

From being at first a mere atom of news, Dr. Swell finally becomes an actual necessity to the newspaper fraternity. Its members have acquired the habit of turning to him involuntarily whenever a news problem presents itself. If the cable brings information that Emperor William has a sore throat reporters besiege Dr. Swell. He talks learnedly (or he should) of the nature of the trouble, and outlines the proper course of treatment, etc. Again it is heralded to the community that:

“On being asked concerning the nature of Emperor William’s ailment, Dr. Swell, the eminent authority on diseases of the throat, said——”

Is Dr. Swell coming on? Not at all. He has arrived—landed on both feet as it were. He is There and It. From then on it is only a matter of taking advantage of his opportunities. He may remove to a larger city where the services of a shrewd press agent will be necessary to secure the desired publicity, or he may stay in the smaller place where he has gotten a good start, and keep up the good work by a judicious distribution of coin among the newspaper boys. Not as a bribe, dear me no. That would be too raw. It would give the doctor dead away, and kill the game.

There are physicians in every large city who seem to be vital to the existence of the prominent newspapers. “See Dr. Blank,” is the order that goes forth from the city editors on every possible occasion, important or unimportant. Let the government chemist declare that ice cream is impure and deleterious to health, and a hundred Dr. Blanks in as many different cities will be interviewed at length and their views, often worthless, spread before the public adorned with glaring headlines.

Let the Ahkoond of Swat sneeze and at once we are regaled with the views of the favored doctors as to the evils of hay fever and the best means of counteracting them.

It is a poor schemer of a physician who can not in some manner, through lodge, society, or other connections, make the acquaintance of at least one city editor and, without obtrusion, make himself so valuable to the scribe that he becomes, as it were, an unsalaried member of the staff, ready at all times to help his dear friend the city editor out whenever the latter wants anything in the line of medical information.

Blame these doctors? Not at all. On the other hand I feel like patting them on the back and saying: “Go it, boys. I admire your fine work. You’ve got Bunko Bill beaten to a frazzle.”

There is one doctor now famous because he is quoted almost daily in the newspapers, who ten years ago was in hard luck financially. One day he was introduced, or rather introduced himself, to a city editor by calling at the latter’s office on an apparently innocuous errand. It happened just at the time (accidentally, of course) when public interest was aroused over the prevalence of infantile paralysis. After the doctor had concluded the business on which he called, the editor, finding him an intelligent, well-informed man, asked his opinion on the medical sensation of the day. This was the doctor’s opportunity, and he took full advantage of it.

“That is an important matter,” he replied, “and no professional man should discuss it hurriedly or carelessly. I have some pressing calls to make (this was a whopper) and haven’t the time to spare just now, but I’ll be delighted to give you my views within a few hours.”

This was acceptable, so the doctor went to a friend’s library, read up on the subject as thoroughly as he could in such a short time, and a few hours later was back in the editorial sanctum. Here he talked so well that the editor said:

“By Jove, doctor. That’s the kind of stuff I want. Can’t you write it out for me? I’m afraid to trust a reporter, as there would be a risk of getting it muddled. I’ll give you a good stenographer to dictate to.”

Barkis, which in this case was the doctor, was willing. He dictated the matter, and the next morning was paraded on the first page in big type as “the eminent Dr. ——”

His fortune dated from that day. Patients came in by the score. His newspaper friend had occasion to call on him frequently for information on current medical topics, and he was in print so much that his name was on everybody’s tongue. That was fame, and a kind of fame that brought wealth.

This particular medic had the gift of a real bunko artist. He knew how to keep the good thing moving, and to “con” the city editor who thought he was above being caught.

“Really, my dear Mr. ——,” the doctor would say when asked by phone for a statement, “really I’m too busy to do the subject justice, but I can’t refuse you. Send a stenographer over and I’ll dictate something. By the way, the _World_ and the _Express_ both wanted something but I had to turn them down.”

Did the city editor appreciate this favoritism? He certainly did, and saw to it that the doctor got all there was coming in the way of double leads, scare heads, and top of column positions.