"Pest House" Days
In the Guest Book of the Bygone Isolation Hospital the Reader Finds a Tale of Bespeckled, Swollen Woe
IN THE LONG HISTORY of undergraduate woe—and resiliency—a special chapter is provided by a unique document that rests in the College Archives along with other relics and records of bygone Dartmouth days. It is the Log of Isolation Hospital, or the "Pest House" as it was unpopularly called, and is the only surviving record of those infectious students who, threatening the healthy, were taken away by "Doc" Kingsford to endure the measles, mumps or chicken pox in splendid isolation.
The old frame building behind the power plant, where the ailing longingly hung out of the windows to watch the passers-by, has long since been torn down, but the laments of the inmates who wrote in its "guest book" are still as pitiful, in their longing for freedom, as they were when penned, from 1908, approximately, until the opening of Dick's House in 1927. Poetry, drama, art and graphic prose were required to convey the range of impressions and emotions of these isolated men.
"The view from our windows is something fine," writes S. B. Smith '10, suffering but not enough. "When we are not playing bid whist, the principal occupation is wandering around and counting the bricks on the Power House."
An incarcerated poet with measles at Prom time writes: Little freshie, little soph, Little prof with rusty cough, Little junior drunk and free, 0 don't you wish that you were me? You have funny things to eat, I am fed on proper meat. The girls that pass by all look fine; But where t'Hell do I get mine?
However natural the faces staring from Isolation Hospital may have seemed to their owners, they must have been a shock to anyone going by who chanced to glance up, as the patients were almost always broken out with measles or chicken pox, or swollen by mumps. Those suffering from different diseases were put on separate floors and told to avoid each other. A good deal of rivalry resulted, as the man with mumps felt himself to be superior to and not so repulsive as the patient with measles, and vice versa. Expressing this spirit, a poet writes under the title of "Warning to Neighbors:" Just you wait, you measly chumps, Just you wait till we get sore; And we'll give you guys a dose of mumps Like you never had before.
The idea of the Isolation House Notebooks was devised by Dr. Howard N. Kingsford, then Medical Director, as a form of therapy.
"The boys weren't very sick," he said, "and our main troubles were, first, to get them into Isolation Hospital, and second, to provide some amusement for them. The Medical School students who stayed there were good about playing cribbage and rummy, and the Notebook gave the students something to think about. They had to write in it before we let them out. We also presented each patient, after he wrote in the book, with a P.H.G. Pest House Graduate. Those were strenuous days."
As Dr. Kingsford speaks of them as of the past, there is still active relief in his voice; and during his brief interview, he said more than once, "Dick's House was the best thing that ever happened to Dartmouth College."
For it is plain to see from the records that the students, occupied entirely with cursing and trying to avoid their fates, had little use for the medical point of view. Catching the sick man was a feat that required practice and ingenuity. The janitors in each dormitory were trained to observe and report any student who was speckled, swollen about the jowls, broken out or generally under the weather, and in due course, Dr. Kingsford or a medical student would appear—usually with a conveyance waiting in the street outside, and take the boy away. "Unless," Dr. Kingsford said gloomily, "someone tipped him oil and told him I was coming."
Many of the Pest House entries describe the manner in which the patient was brought to cure.
In the words of W. L. Allen '19 who felt sick enough to give himself up:
"I went to Kingsford's and rang the bell. Mrs. Kingsford says, 'Are you Mr. Allen?' 'Yes,' says I. 'You go right back to your room.' 'But,' says I, 'where is the Doctor?' 'He is out looking for you.' "
An escapist of an extreme type recounts, "Fearing I had the measles, I took the first train home. Ten days later I was back, having given the measles to a brother, two nieces, and seven intimate friends during my absence Doc Kingsford called in a luxurious sleigh and took me for a ride
ending here." Larry Lougee '29 writes under date of April 29, 1926: "At first I decided to go home, but when I overheard some of the boys in the dorm plotting to bring me to the Pest House bodily, I decided I would come here alone, so here I am."
A bringer of chicken pox to the College community, Lee B. Jamison '25 reports: "Doc Kingsford has been very good to me. He was somewhat provoked at first for my having brought the vile disease from Albany to Hanover and chastised me mildly."
Girls are often blamed as the cause of trouble. The Dean o£ Smith once wrote to Dr. Kingsford to inquire whether or not there were any infectious diseases at Dartmouth before she permitted eight Smith girls to come up for Prom. "The day after the girls came," Dr. Kingsford said, "two of them came down with measles—and that started a fine thing here."
A victim wrote: A moral from this Pest-House life More valuable than pearls:
Look twice before you leap, old pal Beware of speckled girls. Meals were brought twice a day from Commons by the medical student who was currently on duty. His coming was anticipated by the marooned inhabitants of Isolation Hospital with the excitement of islanders waiting for the docking of the weekly steamer. On this one important subject all the Pest House scribes are agreed: the food was excellent. Patients could order what they liked—oysters and ice cream being favorite choices.
Staggering under the load of two baskets, held together by rope, and with his pockets bristling and bulging with bananas and oranges, one medical student named Ailing is described by Elmer Curits '10: "On reaching the Pest House he (Ailing) would be so utterly exhausted that throwing himself on McAllister's bed he would fall into a deep and almost endless sleep."
There were a few veiled criticisms of medical students, but the sick, whose appetites never seemed to flag, were so dependent upon the Medics for their meals that derogatory remarks were tactfully followed up with praise. The habits and personalities of the Medics are remarked upon in numerous entries:
"The Medic who has watched over us with tender care .... is engaged in studying for midyear exams and has several human bones lying on the table in front of him, which he tries to fit together like a puzzle picture."
Carleton D. Fletcher '15 writes: "The Med student is so busy with the Medical School and taking after dinner walks with his favorite cigar that I saw but little of him except at meal times."
During bad weather sometimes there were wrecks in transit.... "The Medic slipped on the ice, took a tumble and spilled our pudding." .... "Ted spilt our lunch today—on his bicycle."
One medic named Robie lived in Isolation Hospital with his wife and Mrs. Robie receives much praise:
"Every day we hear Mrs. Robie's musical voice and today we were fortunate enough to see her going uptown with her husband. Robie certainly is a good picker Bill Gordon took a shower tonight." This newsy entry is signed by Roger Littlefield '24.
A TALKING RADIATOR
Most of the complaints about the Pest House had to do with the absence of goodlooking nurses, the mattresses (described variously as filled with straw, sticks or New Hampshire granite), the dripping shower and one unpopular radiator that seemed to have had a disagreeable personality of its own. One writer reports that the radiator said "0 Doctor!" over and over.
One word of advice to newcomers is, "Pull the sharpest sticks from your mattress before getting into bed. Leave the rest. They are useful for scratching."
Dr. Kingford in recalling the days of the Isolation Hospital grouped the patients into two categories—the majority who wanted to get out and those who—usually for academic reasons—wanted to stay in. One boy with mumps who hoped to defer taking an exam had smuggled into him a bottle of "Nature's Bust Developer." "He made his chest awfully sore," Dr. Kingsford said, "awfully sore—but that didn't get him out of the exam."
Another patient hoping to prolong the measles would hit his chest with a hair brush just before Dr. Kingsford's arrival. In all the years of the Isolation Hospital's existence only two boys tried to escape. "And," said Dr. Kingsford with the equability which characterizes him, "I caught them."
The most unpopular disease was mumps. A frequent entry by mumps sufferers is "I wish I was a girl." One of the many poets writes: A big mump, a little mump, And a mump of low degree Before I knew it has struck me down And used me shamefully.
The loneliest entries are those written during Prom, Carnival or vacation time, or those made by the comparatively rare unfortunates who were in the Pest House by themselves. William H. McCarter '19 was one of the latter and turned, as others before him, to poetry: It is said that while Mohammed guarded sheep He formulated a religion deep; And old Moses on the prairie With some forty years to tarry Doped out the Ten Commandments in his sleep.
But I've been here with solitude to hock And not a thing to do but watch the clock And from doctrines far away Were my thoughts, as night from day. They would even give old Nick himself a shock.
Louis V. Wilcox '23 writing of November 1930 also has a lonely vigil: "Yesterday I had to lie here and watch the back of the grandstand and listen to everybody yell I knew it must be good news. It was: Dartmouth 44, Penn 7. Then last night I watched the bonfire out of the other window. A bunch of Frosh came down looking for wood. I suggested they take the Pest House."
HALLGARTEN PRESSED INTO SERVICE
When Topliff was built the old frame Isolation Hospital was torn down and a section of Hallgarten used for the contagious students. Some of the other titles for the Pest House were the "Walled-Off Castoria," "The Touraine," or simply "Hell Gate." In a report in tabloid form, "The Weakley Review, printed in Hell Gate Avenue or Lightning Plant Alley," there are various testimonials: "Before taking your Cure I was a Speckled Monster—Now I am an unspotted skeleton." "The Pest House—Where there is No Work and No Play."
But the main impression the Notebook leaves—quoting a remark often repeated in its pages—is that the "Pest House wasn't as bad as it was cracked up to be." The food was superior, the supervision sound and canny, and the entertainment free. If anyone was to be pitied it might have been Dr. Kingsford, who terminated his recollections of Isolation Hospital days with the same heartfelt words he began them with: "Dick's House was the best thing that ever happened to Dartmouth College!"
THIS DEATHLESS BIT OF ART in the isolation guest book depicts "Saint Kingsford healing the lepers in a Pest House near Lebanon with Holy Water from the Connecticut River."
JACKO ARTIST W. G. SMITH '27 WENT TO TOWN WHEN HE HAD HIS TURN AT THE PEST HOUSE LOG.
