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: