The Anatomy of Deception - Lawrence Goldstone [39]
Once we had been served our brandies, it did not take the elder Benedict ten minutes to come to the point. “So, Osler,” he said, “have you decided for certain to leave us? Or might we be permitted to use our powers of persuasion to keep you in our wonderful city?”
This degree of bluntness would disconcert most, but the Professor was at home with direct conversation.
“I am flattered that you think enough of my abilities to want me to remain,” Dr. Osler said. “Whatever decision I make will not be easy or without regret. My associations here have been the most rewarding of my life. But the Johns Hopkins Hospital and eventually the medical school will be unique. The position offered me might easily be described as once in a lifetime.”
“We intend extensive improvements and expansion of the facilities here,” said Albert Benedict with a nod toward Schoonmaker. “If you remain, your degree of authority will be every bit as great as in Baltimore, perhaps even more so.”
“And in a city with far greater resources,” added Jonas Lachtmann.
“Will there be women in the student body in Baltimore?” interjected Elias Schoonmaker, and the room fell silent.
“Definitely so,” the Professor replied easily. “There will soon be any number of women doctors in America, Mr. Schoonmaker. We must give them the best training available.”
Schoonmaker was about to retort, “Not here,” when Mr. Benedict spoke over him. “A progressive notion, Dr. Osler. Quite in tune with the times.”
“Is it equally progressive to employ drug addicts?” Schoonmaker asked sourly. “It sounds to me that the Baltimore hospital will have no moral standards whatever, Dr. Osler.”
It was Agnew who responded. “Dr. Halsted has been cured, Mr. Schoonmaker. He is no longer dependent on drugs and will not be in the future. And let us not forget that he became addicted only because he insisted on experimenting on himself rather than on a patient. Local anesthesia will be a great boon to doctors and patients alike. Halsted was experimenting with a new drug called cocaine, an extract of the coca plant, to find the proper dosage.”
“He had no way of anticipating the effect,” the Professor added. “Coca leaves have been used for centuries as a medicinal agent, but it has only been in the last decade that we have succeeded in extracting the active agent. The drug continues to exhibit enormous promise. When Dr. Halsted discovered he had become addicted, he immediately checked himself into a hospital. As to his current condition, he has been living with Welch in Baltimore, and Welch has assured me that he has remained in perfect health.”
“That’s curious,” said Mitchell, frowning. “I saw him here in Philadelphia not two weeks ago.”
“Impossible,” replied the Professor.
“No. Not impossible at all. He was right on Market Street. We spoke briefly, and he told me that he had been doing some private consultations.”
“Ah, that explains it then, eh?” The Professor smiled. “I was under the impression that he had already joined the Hopkins staff full-time.”
“Drug addicts are never cured,” Schoonmaker insisted. “We don’t need men like that. We have many fine surgeons on staff already.”
“Like Wilberforce Burleigh?” The words were out of my mouth before I knew it.
“Dr. Burleigh is an exemplary surgeon, young man,” Schoonmaker shot back. “He once performed eighteen successful operations in a single day. He also happens to be one of my closest friends.”
The Lord must truly be merciful because, at that moment, there was a knock at the door, which then instantly flew open to reveal Abigail Benedict in the doorway. She was wearing a wrap, bright red with long tassels, a blaze of color against the black dress. “If you don’t mind, gentlemen, I’d like a walk in the garden. I’m going to borrow Dr. Carroll.”
No one objected, least of all me.
Miss Benedict led me through the halls out into a garden at the back of the house. It was thickly set with shrubbery and ornamental trees, pathways meandering through, all surrounded by a high brick wall. The air smelled of pine. A strong late-winter