Large Fees and How to Get Them: A book for the private use of physicians

by Albert V. Harmon

Jones, the press agent, does not, of course, tell his city editor friend that there’s $25 in for him (Jones) if the story is printed. He’s too smart for that. So far as the city editor knows Jones is simply trying to do him a favor in a news way. The press agent is also smart in another direction—he does not call on the same city editor too often. It might arouse suspicion.

In nearly every city of any size there are a number of newspapers. Jones works them in rotation, so far as Dr. Soakum is concerned. First it is the Morning Howl, then the Daily Screech, next the Evening Whirl, and so on. Between the Dr. Soakum stories Jones works in items about other people, for the modern press agent is an enterprising chap who represents a number of clients all eager for publicity. A good press agent can look after the interests of a physician, a lawyer, an actor, and a promoter at all the same time, and not overwork himself. It’s merely a matter of giving out the right tips in the right way. If the tip looks good the city editor and his staff does the rest.

To preserve his standing with the newspaper fraternity Jones very frequently, if he is a real live, first-class press agent, tips off a bit of actual news, something in which there is no $25 for him, and which makes the city editors rise up and call him blessed. Incidentally it also makes them all the more willing to act upon his next tip, and this is just what Jones wants. He is merely sowing seed for the crop he is to reap in the near future.

And do reputable physicians countenance this sort of thing? you may ask. They certainly do; not all of them, it is true, but a big working majority. The large cities are full of physicians of wealth and fame who have been literally boosted into prominence by the newspapers. Fancy the effect upon the public when it reads of Dr. Soakum being called to attend so distinguished a citizen as the Hon. Million Moneybags, or references to Dr. Killem, “the eminent authority on tuberculosis.” It means a stream of dollars rolling into the pockets of the doctors thus referred to, and puts them in position to name larger fees.

There are times when as a matter of business precaution the press agent resorts to opposite tactics. It would not look well to be lauding Dr. Soakum all the time. So, having previously laid out the program with the former, the press agent hunts up another physician who knows how others are prospering through publicity and is not averse to having some of it for himself. The program is explained to Dr. Squills, and he writes to the newspapers, bringing to their attention some supposedly important medical subject. It may relate to hygiene, bad management of hospitals, unsanitary condition of street cars, the proper means of stopping the spread of tuberculosis, anything to attract public attention.

City editors, unless overcrowded with more important matter—and the press agent generally selects the opportune moment—will print this kind of “stuff” in full. Having printed it about the first thing they will do is to send out reporters to ask the “eminent Dr. Soakum” for his opinion on the subject. This is just what Dr. Squills was induced to break into print for. Dr. Soakum will endorse the latter’s letter, praise it warmly and perhaps bring out some new points which Squills has purposely overlooked. This gives Squills a chance to come back with a statement as to the importance of the suggestions made by Dr. Soakum, and the two old hypocrites thus get a lot more free advertising. All of which means more prominence, more fame, and more money.

Some years ago—about ten at this writing—a new treatment for chronic nervous and mental ailments was introduced. Its sponsors were men of high standing in the profession, instructors in leading medical colleges. That the treatment had great merit is undeniable; many wonderful results were accomplished with it. It also had great money-making possibilities, but the promoters did not know how to develop this feature.

Finally they engaged a press agent—we’ll call him Mr. Johnson, because that is not his name. His terms were $50 a week salary, and a royalty on the business. For three or four days Mr. Johnson did nothing except post himself as to the scientific features of the treatment and he was soon able to talk more glibly and intelligently about it than the physicians in charge. Then one day he said:

“Trot out some of your star cases. I want to look them over.”

Mr. Johnson went over the records carefully and selected one which seemed to give promise of producing a big free advertisement. It was that of a well-known, well-to-do merchant in a neighboring city who a year before had been seized with primary dementia. Homicidal tendencies developed and his family, on the advice of prominent alienists, placed him in a sanitarium, the physicians at which, as well as those called in by the family, pronounced the case absolutely incurable and hopeless.