SMALLPOX PESTILENCE
Not Hitherto Published—1947.
By John T. Bristow
Don’t be frightened. On paper, smallpox is not contagious. That is, usually it isn’t. But I shall cite one case where it might have been. Had you been living here in Wetmore fifty years ago, it would have been about a hundred to one chance that you would have backed away from the mere mention of smallpox.
Some five hundred others did just that.
It was my first and only experience with the loathsome disease. Also it was the first — and last — case of smallpox the town ever had. There were among us, however, several sorry looking walking testimonials of what that pestilence could do to one’s face. Elva Kenoyer, in her twenties, unattached and so remaining to the end, was horribly pitted. E. S. Frager, the furniture dealer, got his pits elsewhere. Eli Swerdfeger, a retired farmer, had ’ em all over his face, and deep too. And though he was at that time making his living by doing odd jobs about town, he wouldn’t for love or money attend me. Said he had his family to consider.
And Eugene Dorcas, living in the country at the time — later in Wetmore—had smallpox so badly that the soles of his feet had come off like a rattlesnake sheds its skin. But, at that, he had nothing on me.
Dr. J. W. Graham, the old family physician, was called in—and, as a mark of courtesy to me, or perhaps more correctly as a beginning for launching his son just out of medical school on a like career, brought Dr. Guy S. Graham along with him. And, in a manner, it was Guy’s first professional case. They found that I was running a temperature of 105, and mighty sick, but no signs or even thought of smallpox—yet. The young doctor remained with me after the old doctor had gone to the drugstore to get a prescription filled. He sat on the edge of my bed, just visiting.
At that time, there was a lot of smallpox in Kansas City, and I had been there about ten days before with a mixed carload of hogs and cattle — owned in partnership with my brother Theodore—from my Bancroft farm. Also, I had occupied a seat in the railroad coach coming home, with George Fundis. He spoke of the prevalence of smallpox in Kansas City, and his fear of contracting it—and then proceeded to have his attack almost at once on getting back to his home in Centralia. He might have been a carrier. George was a stockbuyer—but before this time, he owned and operated a general store at Ontario.
On the following morning after the Drs. Graham had visited me, I noticed red spots deep under the skin in the palms of my hands. They worried me. I sent word to Dr. J. W. Graham appraising him of my fears, and asked him to not come back. And the young doctor rushed out immediately and buried his clothes. However, the old doctor was not frightened — so he said. But he called up the County Health Officer and scared the “puddin’ ” out of him.