Adding Insult to Injury
When the Council on Pharmacy and Chemistry began its work of independent and scientific investigation of proprietary preparations, some of the questions asked were:
“What guarantee has the medical profession that the formulas of these proprietary medicines are not changed at the will of the manufacturers? How can the physician who confidingly prescribes them for his patients know that the preparation which he orders to-day is the same as that which was furnished him last year, or which may be given him next year, under the same name?”
At once a wail, as of injured innocence, went up from countless venders of proprietary medicines, who replied with one voice:
“The honor and reputation of the proprietors and manufacturers is sufficient guarantee of the stability and permanence of these preparations.”
So vehement were their protestations and so well simulated were their declarations of Pecksniffian virtue that many physicians were deceived thereby. Many medical journals (whose views were, perhaps, slightly biased by the consideration of fat advertising contracts) also were apparently convinced. But the fact was overlooked that guarantees based on honor are of value only in proportion to the amount and quality of honor possessed by the guarantors.
The enactment of the national Food and Drugs Act is bringing many things to light. Some of them are interesting, some would be amusing were they not so utterly despicable. Among other things, it has furnished a demonstration of the value of the “honorable assurances” of nostrum venders.
The nostrum Antikamnia has pointed out many a moral in the campaign in the last two years. It was hardly to be hoped that it would deliberately furnish a demonstration of the utter lack of honesty on the part of a certain class of proprietary manufacturers. Yet, relying apparently on the ignorance of the public and the long-continued lethargy of the medical profession, its promoters have, in the last few weeks, unwittingly convicted and stultified themselves. When the pure food law went into effect, the proprietors of this mixture found themselves in a sad dilemma; if they labeled their mixture in accordance with the provisions of the law they would have to admit that it contained acetanilid and that the charges against them were true. Failing to comply with the law, they must go out of business. The latter alternative was not to be thought of. The profits gained by selling, with the aid of careless or ignorant physicians, a five- or ten-cent mixture for $1 were too great to be surrendered without a struggle. The same brilliant intellect, perhaps, that first saw the commercial possibilities in the business said: “Change the formula. Phenacetin is about as cheap as acetanilid; the patent has just expired and consequently we can get it at a low price. Let us substitute phenacetin for acetanilid.”
As a result the profession is treated to an edifying exhibition of virtue triumphant, a wolf so completely covered by the harmless coat of a sheep that he flatters himself that his wolfish nature is completely concealed. No longer are skulls and skeletons sent out in calendar form as grinning advance agents to be displayed in every doctor’s office, but instead a beautiful domestic scene, showing a convalescent child nestling in the arms of its mother. The familiar “AK,” however, as usual, is in the lower right-hand corner. And what a change in labels! No longer is Antikamnia a chemical entity, but the label now openly but ingenuously declares that “Antikamnia tablets in this original package contain 350 grains of acetphenetidin, U. S. P., per ounce. Guaranteed under the Food and Drugs Act, June 30, 1906. Serial No. 10.” While, below, as an entirely unnecessary display of conformity to the Pure Food Act, appears this statement:
The Antikamnia tablets in this original ounce package contain no acetanilid, antifebrin, antipyrin, alcohol, morphin, opium, codein, heroin, cocain, alpha- or beta-eucain, arsenic, strychnin, chloroform, cannabis indica or chloral hydrate.