Almost every small town in the West had its town “Doc”, a country doctor who visited the sick in their homes, traveling miles by horse and buggy. He was a respected leader in the community to whom folks went not only for their pains and aches, but also for advice on family matters. Doc Harms, who came to Galt in 1898, was Galt’s town doctor, and he served the Community in that capacity for 50 years. During that time, he delivered 350 babies. His daughter, Beatrice Harms, wrote the following description of her father, the “Town’s Doc”.
Respect was strong in the men’s voices as they spoke to the “Doc”. As his daughter, I sensed this respect. Proudly I took Daddy’s hand as we walked to the Post-Office together. Years later, that Post-Office flag hung half-mast at his death. A town had lost it’s doctor, but not before the Chamber of Commerce had given him a deserved letter of commendation.
A small town physician guided Daddy, as a young fellow, into a medical career. In gratitude, more remuneration as a surgeon was given up for service to humanity—often given without pay and at any hour of the day or night. Nor did transportation difficulty restrict getting to a patient. First starting out with a winded racehorse, it was later replaced by Franklin-Ethen one of the first Model “T” Fords in the town. Like Dexter the horse, the Model “T” got there—chuck-holed country roads and all! Once there, it stayed until the patient was better or even a birth had taken place.
Even a small town ”Doc” could find drama in his day! A man—a family friend took chloroform. It was serious whether intentional or otherwise. He lay stretched out under our trees on a hot summer evening. Daddy worked over him. His wife sobbed “Don, speak to me!” Then she pleaded with my father: “Don’t let him die, Doctor, please!” Daddy didn’t.
In those days, morphine addicts would go from place to place begging doctors for dope. Denied, even the most emaciated body could get super-natural strength. One fellow evicted from the office and almost forcing his way into the car where I was waiting hopped a freight and beat us to the next large town where we were going. We saw him first and dodged before he saw us. I was scared for Daddy and myself.
Daddy had a surgeon’s hands. At over 70 years of age he did a ‘Stitches Require’ repair job on an auto accident victim. Those hands could, by feel, set a broken limb perfectly. This, then without benefit of x-ray! There were many fractures from cranking cars.
Maternity cases were successful in spite of rural conditions. Almost no prenatal care was provided. Rarely did the mother-to-be consult the doctor until time for the delivery. Daddy’s record was unblighted except for one where he was not consulted in time to save baby and patient. At that, he did save one twin.
Diagnosis was made, generally correctly and without benefit of hospital tests and laboratory equipment. We can marvel how they did it but they did! One woman was spared unneccessary wrong surgery by turning to my father for a correct diagnosis. It proved to be a dead fetus instead of cancer as she was told it was. It was a late-in-life pregnancy so she hadn’t considered that a possible cause for trouble. Caught in time, she was saved and became Daddy’s patient for years after in gratitude. Her older boys kept their mother which they would have lost.
On the humorous side was the almost unbelievable advantage taken of the agreeable doctor. One fellow living way out in the country came after my father late at night. Daddy quietly got out of bed and ready to go, on arrival at the home, asking “Who’s sick?” The admission was made that he had only wanted transportation home. Once a frightened, newly-married woman, formerly lived in a city, phoned and bade the doctor come out. Her request was merely to see how long it would take for him to get there if needed!
Because my brother and I were often taken on my father’s country calls, we certainly had more father than a city specialist’s children. We could stop by his office for a ‘Between-Patients’ visit. Sprees to a nearby city were rare and often understandably cancelled. Yet they did happen—for treasured fun!
The country was bettered, not only by the physician’s services but by his activities in community organizations. Daddy found time and felt it a duty, to take office in Lodges, The Chamber of Commerce, and even became High School Trustee. His name, his handwriting, is on my High School Diploma—a treasured signature!
The Galt Area Historical Society offers a book of our local history called Tapestry. Click here for more information.
Last edited 27 February, 2005
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