The Quack Doctor

As a target of drug manufacturers, impotence has stood the test of time.

In the late 19th century, mail order remedies and relatively anonymous purchases from a chemist were ways of avoiding the embarrassment of visiting a doctor – and judging by the amount of spam devoted to the subject today, there is still a lucrative market.

Traditionally reputed as an aphrodisiac, damiana (the shrub Turnera diffusa) attracted the attention of the medical profession and commercial vendors in the US in the 1870s, but it was not always promoted as a cure for sexual problems. Fleckenstein and Meyer of Portland, Oregon, advertised it as a remedy for kidney and bladder disease, while Michel Levy & Co of Los Angeles promised in 1884 that ‘you will never have a sour stomach if you drink Damiana Bitters.’

New York druggist F. B. Crouch, however, was more explicit about the herb’s potential to restore vitality and youthful vigour to those suffering ‘nervous debility’. His brand capitalised on the perceived virility of Mormons, inviting the customer to wonder if this product was the secret to keeping up with all those wives.

The British advertisement above appeared in The Chemist and Druggist (16 Nov 1889), so it’s not aimed at the end user but at pharmacists who might stock the wafers. Discretion, however, was required.

In 1893, John James Blissett Hay of Wellington Street, Covent Garden, was summoned to Bow Street Police Court for exhibiting indecent advertising cards promoting damiana wafers in his shop window. The full product name is not mentioned, but the Mormon Elder brand trademark showed a naked woman – perhaps it was she who offended the sensibilities of a passing policeman. Because Hay took the advertisements down as soon as he was asked to, his fine was ‘only’ 20s.

The picture below was also used on advertising materials, making it clear that the wafers would increase your chances of some action. Bookseller Rick Grunder has a great colour version of this image from a pamphlet so rare that he sold it for $1,750.

Detail from Mormon Elder's Damiana Wafers trade circular, courtesy of the NLM Images from the History of Medicine collection

A trade circular of 1888 described the product’s effect as follows:

Actually creates new Nervous Fluid and Brain Matter by supplying the Blood with VEGETABLE PHOSPHATES, its Electric Life Element, the very core and center of the Brain itself—Restoring the fullest and most Vigorous conditions of Robust Health of Body and Mind, so that all the Duties of Life may be pursued with Confidence and Pleasure, and whilst pleasant to the taste never fails to Purify and Enrich the Blood, and thoroughly invigorate the Brain, Nerves, and Muscles. Its energising effects are shown from the first day of its administration by a remarkable Increase of Nerve and Intellectual Power, with a Feeling of Courage, Strength and Comfort, to which the Patient has long been unaccustomed.

I don’t know the composition of the Mormon Elder’s Damiana Wafers, but other damiana products were not always what they seemed. In 1910, Henry Kaufman of New York was fined $100 for misbranding his Damiana Gin. The product contained strychine and brucine, but the extent of the misbranding was worse than that. Not only was the quantity of damiana negligible, but the product also had the unforgivable quality of not actually being gin.

Source: The North Wales Chronicle 18 April 1868

In a series of letters to the Medical Circular in the 1860s, Francis Burdett Courtenay, under the pseudonym ‘Detector’, exposed the villainous practices of a breed of quacks preying on men who suspected they had spermatorrhea.

Spermatorrhea (an excessive discharge of semen) was a source of such panic in the mid-19^th century that there were even cases of suicide among those who had convinced themselves – or been led to believe – that they were suffering.

In one of the letters (which he collected into a pamphlet called Revelations of Quacks and Quackery in 1865) Courtenay cites the case of an anxious young man who responded to one of Dr Hammond’s advertisements. The reply asked for two guineas for a ‘self-curative’ belt – he sent the money, but the package he received in return contained only ‘some bottles of medicine and a lotion to rub over the penis and testicles.’ Annoyed that he didn’t get the belt, the patient wrote back, asking where it was.

Hammond responded with a missive calculated to scare his patient half to death. He had looked further into the case (even though he had never actually seen the man) and decided ‘a slight disease of the kidneys’, was causing semen to drain away.

This vital waste is not only capable of causing all the symptoms you detail, but such is the sympathy existing between the generative functions and the brain, that should this drain of the most vital of all your secretions be not immediately arrested, your whole system must suffer very serious derangement, whilst the organs of generation themselves will become vitiated and relapse into a state of utter impotency.

This would result in complete loss of erectile function and lead to ‘withering and wasting of the penis’. In case the lad wasn’t already terrified enough, Hammond predicted that his case would end in insanity. Fortunately, he had sought help just in time!

Hammond again recommended the curative belt (which the patient thought he’d already paid for) and sent a bill for a further 2 guineas. The young man paid up, and while it would be easy to laugh at him throwing good money after bad, there’s no law against being inexperienced and scared that there’s something seriously wrong with you.

The belt arrived, and proved to be an ordinary suspensory bandage, with a band that went round the patient’s waist, holding up a circular string of metal pieces through which one had to place the part in question. This would somehow provide

a continuous current of electricity, which is taken up by the whole system, infusing new life and ‘manly vigour’ into the debilitated or relaxed frame, and affords great support and comfort to the testicles and generative organs.

The patient subsequently consulted Courtenay and was reassured that there was nothing wrong with him.

As well as the belts, Hammond sold ‘Restorative Powders’ and ‘Seminal Replenisher’, which were not only supposed to produce top-quality semen, but also restore ‘brain fluid’, whatever that might be.

In 1869, the more famous electric belt manufacturer, Pulvermacher, tried to gain an injunction against Hammond for using the trademarked slogan ‘Electricity is Life’ – and for bringing the whole electric belt business into disrepute – but failed as it proved difficult to find out exactly who Hammond was.

The following advert, placed right underneath a Dr Hammond ad in the Bristol Mercury, appears to promote a competing specialist in electrical medicine. Percy House and 11 Charlotte Street were, however, the same place, and Henry James was either a sidekick of Hammond’s or quite possibly the same guy. Further aliases later joined the team – there were Dr Walter Jenner, Dr Harrison, Mr Raphey and Mr A Barrows, all at slightly different versions of the same address.  Once patients gave up on the useless treatment from one alias, they would receive through the post a pamphlet extolling the superior virtues of another.

Hammond also employed what Courtenay referred to as ‘the hospital dodge’. His earlier ads proclaimed him to be ‘of the Lock Hospital’ and his letterhead described him as ‘F.A.S., F.S.A., M.R.A.S., H.G. St Mary’s, King’s College, The Lock, and St George’s Hospitals, LONDON.’ An impressive list – but F.A.S., F.S.A. and M.R.A.S. didn’t stand for any recognised qualifications, and H.G. simply meant ‘Honorary Governor.’

Any Tom, Dick or Harry could become an honorary governor just by making a charitable subscription to the hospital. Although the Lock cancelled Hammond’s donations when they found out what he was up to, this didn’t stop him continuing to deceive patients by claiming affiliation with these respectable institutions.

THE

Brinkerhoff System
—–OF—–
RECTAL MEDICATION!!

Piles, Fistulal Fissue [sic], Polypsus, Pru-
ritus, and Rectal Ulceration
Permanently and Pain-
lessly Cured.

Rectal Ulceration is the most dangerous of
all Rectal Maladies, owing to its undermining
the system before its victims realize their dan-
ger, this being due to the scarcity of nerves of
sensation in that portion of the rectum mostly
afflicted.
SYMPTOMS OF RECTAL ULCERS
Pain or weakness across lower portion of
back, often referred to kidney troubles, burn
ing in rectum, after, stool, itching about anus
attended with a moisture caused by discharge
from ulcer—constipation, sometimes being at
tended with spells of diarrhoea, finally result
ing in chronic diarrhoea when the case is a
lmost beyond cure, but if not too longstanding is
curable. Much and mattery discharges from the
rectum, soreness through the bowels extending
to stomach causing dyspepsia. In females fre-
quently vaginal and uterine inflammation and
ulceration. Make examination and consultation
free.
Write H. S. KISKADEN, M.D., 253 Wood-
ward Avenue, Detroit, Mich, for 58 page pamphlet
H.S. KISKADDEN, M.D.
Successor to
DRS. KISKADDEN and BRINKERHOFF, will be at
SANDUSKY CITY, West House, Thursday,
April 17, from 8 to 12a.m.
Fremont, Bail House, Thursday, April
17, from 2 to 5p.m.

Source: The Sandusky Daily Register (Sandusky, Ohio) 15 April 1890

………………………………………………………………..

There’s nothing unsurprising about the patentees of medicines or devices being out to make money, but Alexander W. Brinkenhoff was slightly different. His market wasn’t the end-user (as it were) but the people who would administer the treatment. For $200 plus a 10% royalty on fees earned from patients, anyone could buy ‘the Brinkerhoff System’ and set up as a travelling practitioner bringing relief to the suffering sphincters of the 19th-century U.S.

This was not a business opportunity for the squeamish. It didn’t involve selling the punter a useless medicine and then making a run for it before they found out it didn’t work. It was really hands-on stuff.

Although the ad above doesn’t focus on haemorrhoids, they were the System’s main target. The secret pile mixture – of which the franchisees had to buy new supplies when they ran out – comprised carbolic acid, olive oil and chloride of zinc. This wasn’t a soothing ointment for the sufferer to apply in privacy – the pile-doctor administered it by hypodermic needle direct to the seat of the problem. Quantities as follows (a U.S. minim = o.0616 ml):

Largest Piles………………………………………..8 minims
Medium “ ……………………………………..4 to 8 “
Small… “ …………………………………………2 to 3 “
Club-shaped painless piles near orifice….. 2 “

You would not have all your piles seen to at once. One at a time, or perhaps two, was quite enough, with the pile-doctor returning 2-4 weeks later to do the next one – by which time the first should have shrivelled up and fallen out. Brinkerhoff only recommended the injections for internal piles, because treating external ones this way would be far too painful. Some pile-doctors, however, got round this by injecting external piles with cocaine first.

When local pile-doctors advertised, they usually described the treatment as painless (or the less reassuring ‘nearly painless’), but Brinkerhoff’s instructions suggested that if agony did follow, hot sitz baths would be beneficial.

Reputable doctors also purchased the System for use in their practices, but some, like Illinois physician Dr Layton, soon realised they had got a bum deal:

As to its being painless, I can say from positive experience that this is far from being the case, as I have had several of my patients hint at a suit for malpractice on account of such excruciating pain and soreness; so that I even forgot to ask them for my bill.

The rectal ulcers referred to in the above ad required a different treatment – carbolic acid was still involved, but this time it was combined with ferric subsulphate solution, glycerine and witch-hazel. A genuine rectal ulcer was as unpleasant as it sounds, but luckily for the pile-doctors, they could diagnose normal anatomical features as ulcers, thus ensuring that everyone needed the treatment:

They [the itinerant doctors] generally show the patient’s friends the rectal fossa and term it a horrible eating ulcer, that is daily destroying the patient’s vitality, and which will sooner or later cause him to fill a consumptive’s grave.
The Medical Waif, quoted in C.W. Oleson, Secret Nostrums and Systems of Medicine

Apologies if this occasions you an image of all your extended family and neighbours clustering round to discover your hidden depths. They should be able to get a pretty good view, however, because the Brinkerhoff kit included a rectal speculum (pictured below). This invention was well-designed and well-made, and Brinkerhoff specula are still in use.

Carbolic acid was already widely known as a treatment for rectal disorders and the Brinkerhoff System was no worse than other treatments of the time, which included the ‘clamp and cautery’ method. This involved drawing the pile out with forceps, clamping it and then snipping it off with scissors. The stump would be sealed with a cauterising iron ‘so applied as not merely to sear the cut surface, but to thoroughly “cook” the whole projecting stump well up to the clamp.’ As Edmund Andrews acknowledged in his highly informative Rectal and Anal Surgery (1889): ‘the idea of burning the parts with hot irons is horrifying to the imagination of the patient.‘

What was unusual about the Brinkerhoff System was the investment fee and royalties for the privilege of using a method that anyone could put together for a few dollars. Even more unusual is the idea that anyone would fancy this as their next career move.

Source: The General Advertiser, 6 March 1744. Click here for transcript.

I wonder if this advert looks familiar to regular readers. The writing style and capitalisation, and even the medicine’s name, are reminiscent of Mr. Burchell’s Famous Little Sugar Plums, and here again we see a proprietor tempting punters with freebies. Dr Russel of the Green Hatch, Holborn, sought to tap into Burchell’s success by adopting the same tactics, but over the years it isn’t a clear-cut case of him copying his contemporary – they used lots of similar ploys and it’s not always obvious who got there first.

Ads for The Montpellier Little Bolus and Burchell’s ads for his Anodyne Necklace appear in the same papers, sometimes right next to each other. As I mentioned in the Sugar Plums post, Burchell gave away free almanacks – so did Russel, whose publication was called the Thee and Thou Almanack. The adverts say it offered answers to common questions about Quakers:

Why we are called QUAKERS?
Why we’ve Silent Meetings? Why Women Preach as well as Men?
Why we use THEE and THOU? Why we never Put off our Hats?

Russel also resorted to poetry:

This ALMANACK has Nothing Writ twice o’er
What’s in’t, No ALMANACK e’er had Before :
It is quite NEW, Year Thirty-EIGHT its Date is,
‘Twill Nothing Cost, for Thee may’st have it GRATIS,
At the Green Hatch, ‘gainst Gray’s Inn Gate in Holborn,
If to ASK for’t, Thee will not be too Stubborn.

(both bits quoted from the London Daily Advertiser, Feb 4 1737)

My favourite aspect of the ad at the top is that it offers a free dose to anyone whose name appears in the Venereal and Gleet Patient’s Directory.

‘Gleet’ (the word derives from the Middle English for slimy, and is related to the Latin gluten, meaning glue) refers in this context to a mucopurulent discharge from the urethra or vagina as a result of gonorrhoea. It lingered after the acute symptoms had subsided, and although clearly the result of the clap, was viewed as a condition in its own right. It is described as follows by William Buchan:

…when the quantity of running is considerably lessened, without any pain or swelling in the groin or testicle supervening; when the patient is free from involuntary erections; and lastly, when the running becomes pale, whitish, thick, void of ill smell, and tenacious or ropy ; when all or most of these symptoms appear, the gonorrhoea is arrived at its last stage, and we may gradually proceed to treat it as a gleet with astringent and agglutinating medicines.

Such astringent medicines included white vitriol (zinc sulphate) and preparations of lead injected up the affected parts. The great John Hunter wasn’t overly enthusiastic about astringents – he advised that introducing a simple, unmedicated bougie (a slender instrument) into the urethra would be enough to cure most gleets (in men, that is – he dismisses women’s gleets in a couple of paragraphs). The bougie ‘need only be five or six inches long‘ and required ‘a month or six weeks application.’ Hunter also mentions gleets cured by electricity, but does not specify how the cure was carried out.

For people putting up with this nagging condition, and faced with a variety of embarrassing and eye-watering cures, quack pills were worth a try, but the real genius of Russel’s modus operandi lies in the free pamphlet. The mid-18th-century sufferer was not expected to be loyal to a specific doctor and to blindly accept whatever he advised, so the average individual with a gleet might well have done the rounds of several practitioners and nostrum vendors. The idea that somewhere along the way you’d got on a published list of venereal patients was rather alarming.

Whether Russel’s directory contained real names or made-up ones, I don’t know, but once people arrived at the Green Hatch for a furtive shuffle through the pages, they were a captive audience for the Montpellier Little Bolus at 2s. a pop.

Source: The Graphic, Sat 23 August 1879

Laxora was introduced to Britain by its French proprietor, P. Guyot, in 1877, and at once attracted positive attention from the medical press. It sounds a pleasant medicine to take – The Medical Times and Gazette described it thus:

They consist of a core, or centre-part, of compound of manna, cassia-pulp, and other like laxatives, we believe, enclosed in a crystalline chocolate crust; are not at all unpleasant to the taste, and will, we doubt not, be readily taken by children as well as by adults.

Certainly more appealing than the Rectal Dilators or the Aperitive Vase!

In the 18th century, William Buchan (Domestic Medicine), had said that constipation ‘may proceed from drinking rough red wines, or other astringent liquors: too much exercise, especially on horseback,’ but by the mid-19th century many medical writers (particularly in the US) were putting it down to the sufferer not getting into the habit of ‘going to stool’ every day. You had to be regular, and if you weren’t, it was advisable to go anyway, and sit and wait until something happened. Thomas Hawkes Tanner in 1866 estimated that the normal output of a ‘properly fed man’ should be 4 or 5 oz daily. For those with time to kill, Samuel Sheldon Fitch advised:

Let the costive person, exactly at the same time every day, solicit an evacuation, and that most perseveringly for at least one hour, should he not succeed sooner, at the same time leaving off all medicine.

Should the costive person fail at their solicitation, there were numerous remedies to be introduced – by mouth or otherwise. Rhubarb and castor oil were well-known as purgatives, and clysters of castor oil, lukewarm water or, more drastically, tobacco-smoke (as advocated by Thomas Sydenham two centuries earlier) might do the trick. One recipe for a clyster comprised castor oil, turpentine and half a pint of gruel, which I imagine went a long way. If the condition proved stubborn, one US writer said:

When the feces are impacted in the rectum, the assistance of the finger, a scoop, spoon-handle, or some similar instrument, introduced per anum, becomes necessary to break up and discharge the solid mass.

More unusually, an 1854 book by James Smellie described the action of galvanic apparatus as an aid to getting the bowels moving – the positive electrode was to be placed in the lumbar region, the negative to the rectum. With extreme cases, it was necessary to ‘employ the galvanic friction, and sometimes to draw sparks from individual points.’

The emphasis on being regular makes it debatable whether all supposed sufferers really had a problem. ‘Costiveness’ could be diagnosed – and treated quite aggressively – just on the strength of the patient not having defecated for a couple of days, which is hardly a medical emergency.

Ultimately, however, much constipation advice focused on diet, for prevention as well as cure. Strong coffee, too much white bread, especially that contaminated with alum, and the fashionable habit of over-indulging at one late meal rather than eating little and often, were all thought to contribute to the condition. Thankfully for patients daunted by the more drastic remedies, there was the option of beef tea, figs, prunes and tamarinds, molasses, porridge, and plenty of fresh fruit.

This post departs from the usual because it’s not directly related to an advertised remedy, and no one involved is out to make money from selling cures. While I was researching the Sugar Plums for Worms, however, I came across many interesting stories showing the impact of parasites on individuals’ health, and the heroic efforts those individuals made to cure themselves. A mere two cases are given here – there are many more. I was intending to describe a third, but it was one that made even me feel sick.

In early 1757,  (though the case was not published until 1785 in the Medical Transactions of the College of Physicians, London), Daniel Neal, of Doddlestone in Cheshire, was

…attacked with uncommon pains in his stomach, attended with nausea, vomiting, constipation of the bowels, and an almost total loss of sleep and appetite. Under these circumstances he soon became greatly emaciated, and could neither stand nor walk uprightly ; his belly grew small and hard, and so closely contracted, that the sternum covered the navel in such a manner, it could with difficulty be discovered or felt with the finger; his urine was always milky, and soon deposited a thick white sediment; his excrements were very hard and lumpy, resembling those of sheep, only of a brown color, nor had he ever a stool of that kind without some medicine or other to procure it.

He continued in this state for some years, eventually going to hospital in 1761 and spending seven weeks there before giving up and going home. The following Christmas, he was advised by a neighbour to drink salt and water, so he immediately gave it a try, dissolving two pounds of salt  in two quarts of water and downing the lot in under an hour. The effect was rapid – he threw up ‘about half a pint of small worms, part ascarides, and the rest resembling those worms which are called the botts, and frequently met with in the stomach of horses, only much smaller, and about the size of a grain of wheat.’

More worms made their exit in the other direction but the salt affected the patient with ‘a most troublesome dysuria and strangury.’ Thankfully, this soon abated, and the undefeated Mr Neal repeated his adventure, ‘the effects of which were nearly similar to the former, only, that most of the worms were now burst, and came away with a considerable quantity of slime and mucus.’ ..

Five days after his first go at the treatment, Neal was up and about. He soon recovered completely, though he took the precaution of drinking salt water every so often, just in case.

A few years before Neal’s ordeal, in 1750, a ‘Gentleman at Lyons’ wrote to the Gentleman’s Magazine with an account of how he had rid himself of his tapeworm after years of unsuccessful medical treatment that had parted him only from his money, not from his passenger. Having determined that he would rather ‘die by poison, which I might ignorantly swallow in my search for a remedy, than to languish so long in bed,’  the gentleman set about recklessly eating every herb he could find, but nothing worked. At length, he decided drastic measures were called for.

Convinced that tapeworm (then more commonly called flatworms or broadworms) were oblivious to medicines because their heads were safely buried in the intestinal wall, the gentleman fashioned ‘some small hooks of lead, with 3 points, like an harping iron, and fastened them with a piece of thread to a leaden bullet, in order to swallow them.’..This innovative method

…brought away many pieces of these worms, without producing any ill effects, except that when the worms were entangled in the hook, they made such efforts to disengage themselves, as threw me into great agonies.

After moderate success, the gentleman redesigned the hook, attached it to a piece of thread like a fishing line and swallowed it, keeping hold of the end. His witnessing friends had

…such a compassionate sense of my sufferings and danger that, to avoid the pain of attending the issue of so dangerous an experiment, they chose rather to leave me, than to remain near enough to afford me such assistance as I might need.

Unable to pull the hook back up, he swallowed it, and at length it reappeared at the other end of his digestive system accompanied by a worm described – rather traumatisingly – as being 30 ells long with a head like a cat. Further use of the hooks eventually cured him. He concluded his account with:

The author of this letter has much more to add, both concerning the symptoms of this malady and method of cure, but feared to be tedious; he kindly intimates a readiness to satisfy those whose curiosity or distress may make them desirous of further information.

Source: The General Advertiser, 19 Jan 1748

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I mentioned the Purging Sugar Plumbs for Worms early in the life of this blog, but didn’t include much beyond the ad itself, and I hardly had any readers then anyway, so I think it’s worth revisiting – especially as this advert is so delightfully worded and cheerfully revolting.

At some point in the early 1740s, a Mr Burchell took over the ownership of another remedy, the Anodyne Necklace, which had been on sale for decades as a cure for babies’ teething pain. He built up his business on this and the worm remedy, fending off imitators with some innovative advertising methods – not least the eye-catching newspaper ads showing exactly what might be gnawing at your intestines (the inclusion of the insect thing on the right is an inspired bit of added horror).

One of Burchell’s methods was to entice punters to his premises by giving away free almanacks and pamphlets. In 1750 he was quick to exploit the fear caused by the earth tremors that had shaken London, by publishing:

ANOTHER EARTHQUAKE
Much Worse than the Two Last. When, and What Time to be Expected? With a Surer SAFEGUARD, Against it, than Going Out of Town. And, Why the Last Two EARTHQUAKES happened to be in this one particular Jubilee Year, more than in Any other Year?

The Almanack referred to in the ad above is intriguing – what could it contain that other almanacks left out? Although the content changed each year, a 1750 ad goes into more detail:

In the Month of Lent, is a large LIST of Other Fasters from FLESH CONVERSATION as well as FLESH DIET, Such as MISERS, WORN-OUT Sinners, etc.
The Miser’s CHAST, ’cause he won’t PAY a Wh—re
The Worn-Out’s CHAST, ’cause He can Sin NO MORE
And,  All the Other Months, have also their OWN proper TIMELY Observations, Not to be Met With, in Any of the COMMON ALMANACKS, but Only in THIS One, Which Tells What THEY Don’t.

Fun for all the family, by the sounds of it.

Later in the 18th century, the theme of free stuff continued, with Basil Burchell (who I think was the son of the original proprietor, but I’m not sure) issuing coin-like advertising tokens with the sugar plumbs on one side and the Anodyne Necklace on the other (he used the spelling ‘sugar plumbs’ in his ads too). The tokens usually had a hole in them so they could be worn on a ribbon.

Worm medicines were a good bet for a quack, because although intestinal worms were very common, especially in young children, this didn’t make them any nicer to have than they would be nowadays. The symptoms of untreated worm infestations were bad enough, but this was accompanied by the downright horror of being inhabited by living creatures. J Cook, a correspondent to the London Magazine in 1768, gave a description of the main varieties:

There are three sorts of worms which generally infest the human body. The round ones, the broad ones, and ascarides. Sometimes, but seldom, anomalous ones are discharged, viz. horned, hairy, with four feet, with two heads, with three, and some with four forked tails, etc.

The very thought of what might be in there led some people to go to extraordinary lengths to get rid of them, and I will blog about a couple of examples in my next post.

Source: Detroit Medical Journal August 1905

As you can see, this ad is aimed at the medical profession, and the product was accepted by orthodox practitioners of the time – it was the claims made about their efficacy that pushed these items into the nether regions of quackery.

After the 1906 Pure Food and Drug Act, US promoters of medicines had to be very careful what they said in their advertising and packaging, but this did not apply to non-drug medical devices. The dilators, (patented in 1892 by Frank E Young but not widely promoted until the early years of the 20th century), were touted as ‘A Radical Cure’ for piles and constipation, the idea being that well-trained muscles in the area in question would be able to cope with even the most solid of ‘solids’. The newspaper ads of 1907 and 1908 (aimed at ordinary punters rather than doctors) included assertions like: ‘cure even the worst cases’; ‘guaranteed to cure’; ‘positive and lasting cure.’ Had they been talking about a drug, the manufacturers would have been in trouble.

To take advantage of the supposed benefits, here’s what you had to do:

First warm dilator in warm water; then lubricate outside of dilator with Dr Young’s Piloment (or if it is not available, with vaseline) and while in a squatting position—or while lying on the side with knees drawn up—gently insert in the rectum as far as the flange or rim. Hold in place a minute and the anal muscles will hold and retain it. Sit or lie down and allow it to remain for half an hour or an hour to get the best results. Ten minutes will accomplish much. When ready to go on to the next larger size, it is best first to use for a few minutes the same size you have been using, inserting and withdrawing it a few times.

In case you’re wondering, the big ‘un was 4 inches long and an inch in diameter. Although at the time of this ad they were made of rubber, Bakelite was later used, and the design changed so that the flange at the bottom was flat and the dilators could stand upright, as in this photo of the exhibit at Glore’s Psychiatric Museum in St Joseph, Missouri (with thanks to cometstarmoon on flickr for the pic).

It wasn’t until 1938 that the new US Federal Food, Drugs and Cosmetics Act encompassed the sale of medical devices, and once that was in force it didn’t take long for the dilators to fall foul of the courts. In 1940, a shipment of dilators and their lubricant, Piloment, was seized at New York and the US Attorney for the Southern District of NY filed libels against them, alleging that they were misbranded.

The misbranding allegations related to the claims that the dilators would permanently cure constipation and piles, that they had many other benefits including promoting refreshing sleep, and that the instructions advised ‘you need have no fear of using them too much.’

The hearing accepted that ‘it would be dangerous to health when used with the frequency and duration prescribed, recommended, or suggested in the following labeling,’ and the consignment was condemned and destroyed.

Similar products, however, survive to this day – you can buy ones almost identical to the above on Amazon, though I’ll refrain from giving a link as I’m sure if you’re that keen you can find them for yourself.

Source: The Graphic (London) 13 October 1894

I haven’t tried to transcribe this for obvious reasons, but I think it should be clear enough, and you can click to make it bigger. Some of the assertions on the sleeves of those elegant arms sound better than others; ‘touches the spot for hemorrhoids’ doesn’t conjure up a particularly attractive image, but an accurate one nonetheless. For stubborn cases, suppositories were available, and one advert cheerfully announced to the world that Lord Carrick was indebted to Homocea for the cure of his piles.

Homocea and its tagline ‘touches the spot’ became a household name in the last years of the 19th century and it was certainly still around during World War II, if not later. As well as the original ointment, there was a strong form called Exaino or Homocea Fort, and a Homocea Soap. In 1897 the Soap and its related product, the Hair Wash, were highly recommended in The Nursing Record and Hospital World, which said that the soap was ‘very soothing and softening in its action, and is very fragrant and pleasant, moreover, to use.’

The BMA’s More Secret Remedies reported in 1912 that the ointment comprised a large proportion of eucalyptus oil, small amounts of lemon oil and ammonia, beeswax, lard and coconut oil. The 2s. 9d. tin contained 2 ½oz, the cost of ingredients being about 2 ½d.

Homocea Ltd certainly went in for eye-catching advertisements. The one below is from The Graphic in 1895. The lifeless body of the poor faithful little dog, who only moments ago was trotting happily along the path day-dreaming of chasing rabbits, adds a certain level of drama that we could probably have done without.

P.S. I’m scheduling this post to appear on Monday 12 Oct. I’m not actually here as I’m speaking at Chester Literature Festival, so if the post doesn’t come out right, I’ll fix it when I get home on Tuesday.

At first glance I thought this showed pictures of three men, but no – it’s the same fellow, transformed from the seedy old roué on the left into a fine specimen of manly vigour,  ambitious to take on the world and all its laydees.

The perkiness of a chap’s moustache was a good indicator of virility, if patent medicine ads are to be believed (which, quite obviously, they’re not). Other remedies against “nervous debility” also showed the moustache gradually losing its droopiness, allowing one to infer the efficacy of the medicine in other areas.

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AMBITION PILLS
FOR WEAK AND NERVOUS MEN

For a long time we have hesitated to advertise Ambition Pills, fearing that this remedy might be classed with the many fraudulent preparations in the market. A single trial will convince any sufferer that we have A POSITIVE CURE for Impotency, Sleeplessness, Enlarged Veins and Nervous Debility, which include troublesome dreams, evil forebodings, losses, despondency or aversion to society, caused by overwork or other excesses; Especially recommended in cases of long standing and where other remedies have failed. Only reputable druggists can secure agencies. For a short time only, the price will be $1.00 per box or six boxes (with guarantee) for $5.00.—Price will soon be doubled. Circular Free.
Address: Halsid Drug Co., Cleveland, O.
Sold by H. W. Mordhurst, 74 Calhoun Street, Fort Wayne, Ind.

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Source: The Fort Wayne News (Indiana) 15 April 1896