Transcript: Arthur E. Strauss, 1959

[After the brief introduction, the interview commences with Strauss responding to what seems to be an unrecorded question]

Barrett L. Taussig:  Dr. Arthur E. Strauss discourses with Drs. Gerhard Gruenfeld and Barrett Taussig on September 18, 1959.

H. W. Loeb the man and H. W. Loeb the teacher, the builder and the thinker.  The one [article] by [William E.] Sauer is a less comprehensive description of the development, partly, of the otolaryngological department of St. Louis University and Hanau Loeb’s part in the advancement of St. Louis University Medical School.  Hanau Loeb was one of the—  I’m sure that if you’ve gone into this at all [that] know much of this that I’m telling you now.  He was one of the originators of the old Marion-Sims or Beaumont Medical School – I don’t remember which.  He was the original secretary of that medical school, when it was founded, and the professor of otolaryngology.

Gerhard E. Gruenfeld:  Do you know the year?

It’s here, somewhere.  It can easily be obtained because that will all be in the archives of St. Louis University.  There were the old Beaumont Medical School and the Marion-Sims Medical School that united to form the medical department of St. Louis University Medical School.  When that union took place, Hanau W. Loeb was made the secretary of the St. Louis University medical faculty and the professor– I’m not sure it was full professor, but I know during the period he was there he became full professor, whether he was originally or not, I don’t know – but professor and head of the Department of Otolaryngology.

Subsequently – again, I can’t tell you the year, but I think it was possibly about thirteen or fifteen years before he died and he died in 1927, so that would have made it about nineteen hundred and thirteen to fifteen – he was made dean of St. Louis University Medical School.  It was beginning with his deanship that St. Louis University Medical School developed into a high-class, well-recognized, high-type medical school, with the further developments and spread of the various departments in the school and the obtaining of funds for the school.

I’m not sure of this fact, but this too can be easily checked.  It was some time around that period when he was dean of St. Louis University Medical School, when a Mr. Campbell of St. Louis, a very wealthy man, left a large part of his estate to St. Louis University Medical School, after certain immediate heirs and their children were deceased.  Then the bulk of the estate was to go to St. Louis University Medical School.  And H. W. Loeb was made one of the executors of that estate.  For years, the talk whenever there was a question of the further development of St. Louis University, everybody spoke in terms of “When they get the Campbell estate they can just go to town.”  Whether or not the Campbell estate of thirty years ago or thereabouts is such that it would be a large sum now, or seem as large a sum now as it did then I don’t know.

GEG:  Is that the Campbell family where the famous Campbell House?

I don’t know.

BLT:  On Locust Street?

On Locust Street – on Thirteenth, Fourteenth, Fifteenth Street and Locust – somewhere around there.  I can’t answer that; I think [it is] most likely, though.

During the time that H. W. Loeb was dean of the medical school it had new buildings added to the school, it developed new departments and it obtained a great number of new teachers.  And when H. W. Loeb was dean, Alphonse Schwitalla was secretary of the medical school.  And Schwitalla learned a good deal of his administrative ability through H. W. Loeb and became dean following H. W. Loeb’s death.

As far as the Jewish Hospital itself was concerned—  Mind you, my recollections of this were my recollections as a younger man.  He died in 1927.  I came back to St. Louis in 1919 to start the practice of medicine.  So my personal knowledge about these things lies in that era of approximately eight years.  I not only knew of H. W. Loeb, but he was our family otolaryngologist.  No, no, that’s wrong – he wasn’t.  Max Goldstein was our otolaryngologist.  But I knew him through social contacts.

When I came back, it was when H. W. Loeb was the dominant figure at the Jewish Hospital.

GEG:  He followed Tuholske.

I think he followed Dr. Tuholske.

GEG:  Herman.

Herman Tuholske.  As the early members of the staff, in those days, when they became head – chief of staff – they remained chief of staff practically until they died.  Herman Tuholske was chief of staff and chief surgeon and Hanau Loeb was chief of the otolaryngology department and chief of staff for a great many years.  And [he was] a man who not only was chief of staff in title, but he was a man of great will; he was a man of tremendous force.  And he was a man of great insight – not only insight in the development of St. Louis University Medical School but insight into the future and the development of the Jewish Hospital.  It was [through] the combination of H. W. Loeb and Aaron Waldheim, who was president of the board of the hospital, that the concept of a new Jewish Hospital was formed and developed and perfected.

H. W. Loeb was one of the first patients in the new hospital.  He was transferred from the old hospital on Delmar.  With the opening of the new hospital, he was still a sick patient.  In nineteen hundred and – he died in ’57 so it must have been about, [no] ’27 – it must have been about 1925 (four or five) that he first had a coronary thrombosis.  I remember, at that time, your dad, Albert Taussig – I think was head of the medical department.  He was H. W.’s physician and with him, because at that time Albert Taussig and Llewellyn Sale were associates in practice, the two of them took care of H. W. Loeb during his acute illness.  I was a relatively newcomer, but because I had had special cardiological training and because I was in charge of the heart station at the Jewish Hospital, they asked me in frequently to confer with them and spoke about electrocardiograms that we took and also in reference to his general therapy.

BLT:  That was in 1925?

It was either 1924 or 1925, I don’t recall exactly.

GEG:  It would be interesting for the record if you’d tell us right now, so we’d know it fully, where did you get this specialized training that was used?

Where did I get my specialized training?  I’ll tell you – that’s a very interesting story, too, but I didn’t think you wanted to know anything about me.  I graduated Harvard Medical School and I had a straight medical internship at the Massachusetts General Hospital.  It was the custom then – I think it’s been changed now – that the interns or as they were called then, the house pupils, not interns, not that, [but] house pupils.

BLT:  I’ve never heard that before.

That was our official name.

BLT:  Was that English?  It must not be specific for us—

I don’t know and I don’t know any other hospital that uses that terminology.  But I’m almost sure that on my certificate, when I finished, it designates me as having been house pupil.  I know that was the accurate designation.

BLT:  One year?

It was a sixteen-month service, straight medicine.  And during that period of straight medicine we advanced every three months – going from what was designated by ourselves, the house pupils, as sub-sub-pup, sub-pup, pup, then junior, then senior.  As junior we practically performed the duties of an assistant resident, and as senior practically the duties of a resident.  But we were still house pupils; we weren’t designated as residents or assistant residents.  We were house pupils during that entire period of time.

During that time, Paul [Dudley] White was just beginning his work with electrocardiograms.  He had been over and studied with Thomas Lewis – then Dr. Thomas Lewis, subsequently Sir Thomas Lewis.  But he had some special studies and he had set up in the small room, but not too small because the electrocardiograms of those days were huge things and required a space of anywhere from fifteen to twenty feet just for the machine to take the pictures.  They had a huge – [weighing] hundreds of pounds – electromagnet.  They had a carbon arc lamp as a source of the light.  They had to filter out some of the heat of the lamp through a copper sulfate solution to take off some of the heat and perhaps take off some of the diffractions of the light.  Then among the various things was a very long, drawn quartz silver-plated string.  The pictures, the original pictures, were taken on glass plates.  That was before the days of the common use of photographic film.  They were taken on glass plates.

The longest electrocardiograms we could take were approximately six inches because that was the size of the plate.  We took three leads, the conventional three leads, and the plate descended, or ascended – I’ve forgotten which it was.  And the speed was controlled by a heavy cylinder with a small aperture at the bottom of the cylinder and descended through a solution of oil.  As it descended it pulled the plate up gradually at a speed which was measured.  The time markings were on a glass in front of the glass plate.  Two-thirds of the plate were blocked off while the first lead was being taken.  And then the external thirds were blocked off while the second lead was being taken.  And the other two-thirds to the left were then blocked off to take the third lead.

Then, we took this glass photographic plate and had to develop it.  We had to dry that and then we could look at that plate and interpret it.  But what we usually did was then make a print on bromide paper and put that print in the records.  We kept part of it – we usually made two prints, one for the heart station and one for the records.

Well, anyway, to get back to H. W. Loeb—

BLT:  Wait a minute—

I only got part way, didn’t I?

GEG:  That was your “pupilship.”

That was the beginning of my interest in cardiology.  I went down with Paul White whenever I had the opportunity to do so.  And, when I finished my house pupilship at the Massachusetts General Hospital, I learned in devious ways that there was a residency in cardiology available under Professor James D. Heard, (spells) H-e-a-r-d, at the St. Francis Hospital in Pittsburgh.  Dr. Heard was professor of medicine of the University of Pittsburgh in those days.

And incidentally – and I’m going to digress just a minute – while I was on my vacation this last August (the latter part of August), I visited Pittsburgh and I went to see Dr. Heard.  Mind you, this was back in 1916 and ’17 that I was there.

BLT:  Before the war.

Before the war.  He was professor of medicine then and head of the Department of Medicine.  He is still living, still practicing, and still rather hale and hearty.  I went to his office and I had a very delightful visit with him.  Not only did I have a delightful visit with him, but I saw in the same office building – a small professional building – my immediate predecessor as resident in cardiology at the St. Francis Hospital.  He arranged for Dr. Heard to see me – I was only going to be Pittsburgh a relatively little time.  The previous day there ,I had gone over to St. Francis Hospital as one goes back to their old homes to see what they look like.  It’s expanded tremendously, but I still remembered many aspects of it.  There I went up to see the doctor – my immediate predecessor was Dr. Alex Colwell, (spells) C-o-l-w-e-double l, and his predecessor, Dr. Colwell’s predecessor, was a Dr. Andrew D’Zmura, (spells), capital D-capital Z-m-u-r-a.  I saw him at St. Francis Hospital when I was there.  He’s a man of seventy-two, and frankly looks younger than any of us now.  And he’s seventy-two.

Even more interesting for me, solely for me, as a coincidence, was that on this trip – I was driving and was going in various scenic and historical areas.  I drove by the Greenbrier Hotel in White Sulphur Springs, Virginia [ed. note: Strauss may have meant West Virginia].  And I was eating breakfast there and as I was eating breakfast a man passed me.  I was watching people as they went by – I was by myself.  I looked up and I saw this fellow and I called to him – I recognized him.  I said, “Oh, Ernie (?).”  He was my successor as resident in cardiology at the St. Francis Hospital.  So it was—

BLT:  Pure coincidence.

Pure coincidence that I saw him.  I’d seen him a number of times since I left there, but I hadn’t seen Dr. Heard since.  I’d seen Dr. D’Zmura once or twice since; I don’t think I’ve seen Dr. Colwell until this time.  That’s 1917 to 1959 – is forty-two years, which is a span of years.  We’re all living and active and alert.  That’s quite a coincidence.

GEG:  There’s no coronaries.

No coronaries yet.

GEG:  The residency was tinkering with the electrocardiogram?

The residency in cardiology was taking all the electrocardiograms in the St. Francis Hospital, whenever they were indicated, studying the literature, writing – my first two or three papers I think were written at that time (I know they were) – and that was essentially the picture.  While I was resident in cardiology at the St. Francis Hospital, I was also the Mellon Fellow in Medicine at the University of Pittsburgh Medical School.

BLT:  What was the function?

The function was merely that students came over to St. Francis Hospital [and] I had some status as one of their instructors, although I didn’t have the title of Instructor – I was resident over there but I was a Fellow—

GEG:  But you still taught only cardiology?

Only cardiology.  Only cardiology.  Strictly cardiology.  That residency and fellowship were for one year.  But before that year was up the United States declared war on Germany and I wrote home and I told my family that I was going to apply for a commission in the Army.  I got an answer that the decision was up to me entirely and so I applied for a commission and upon receipt of the commission I went to see Dr. Heard and I told him that I had received a commission in the Army and might be called at any time and I would like to resign before the termination of my residency and fellowship so that I could have at least a very short time at home with my family before going into the service.

BLT:  Were you a St. Louisan?

I was a St. Louisan; born and bred here. (Interjects) This isn’t my—

BLT:  It’s interesting, though.

Memorializing.

BLT:  Perhaps we’ll use this fifty years from now.  Who knows?

Who knows? (Laughs) Dr. Heard could understand the situation and he accepted my resignation, as did the University.  I came back home and when I came back home – and this was in following up in my cardiological training – when I came back home I didn’t know just when I’d be called, so I went over to Washington University Medical School.  Incidentally I had been an observer for two summers during my time in medical school at the clinic at Washington University, just being anxious to learn as much as I could.

GEG:  This was already here on Kingshighway?

No.

GEG:  Not yet.

No, it wasn’t yet on Kingshighway.  It was down on Jefferson Avenue – Jefferson and Lucas.

GEG:  Seventeen?  Nineteen seventeen?

Nineteen thirteen.  Nineteen twelve, nineteen thirteen.  It moved out in its present area in nineteen fourteen.

GEG:  Fourteen.  But I mean when you came home—

When I came home it was here on Kingshighway.   But I mean my observing – [it] was with Dr. Jesse Myer and with Dr. Sidney Schwab.  I observed in the medical clinic.  I observed in the neurology clinic, with Dr. [Russell D.] Carman, who was then in charge of radiology and subsequently went to Mayo’s.

GEG:  That came later on.

He was tops.  Anyway, when I came home I went over to the medical school and I saw the then-dean of the medical school, who was Dr. G. Canby Robinson.  I told him what my status was and what my training had been.  Dr. George Dock was professor of medicine and I asked him if I could do any work over there until I was called.  I didn’t want any official position that I couldn’t leave at any time.  He said, “Yes, you can come in as a volunteer assistant and work in the clinic.”  Which I did.

After I was working there for a very short time, Canby Robinson came to me one day and said, “Strauss, how’d you like to go into the cardiovascular service of the Army?”  I said, “It would be wonderful, but I don’t know whether my training is sufficient for that.”  He said, “No, you’ve had as much training as anybody.”  In those days they weren’t having three and four-year residencies and the like.  He said, “I’d like to put your name in for the cardiovascular service.”  He was one of the advisers for the surgeon general.  I said, “All right, I’d appreciate it very much if you did.”

He did, and eventually, after a period of several weeks – a little bit longer – I got my orders.  My first orders were to go to the Rockefeller Institute in New York for a refresher course in cardiology under Dr.—  His name will come to me.  He was one of the—

GEG:  Maybe we will turn off [the tape recorder] while we are thinking.

BLT:  No, it’s not necessary.

That name will come to me.

BLT:  Will I have heard of it?

Yes.  Yes.  You’ll know the name.  He was the top investigator – cardiovascular investigator – at the Rockefeller Institute in those days.  The name slips me.  I hope it will come back.

This refresher course was a course primarily in use of the polygraph.  Not the electrocardiograph, because the electrocardiograph was not a portable instrument in those days.  And the polygraph was the only—

BLT:  My father [Albert Taussig] was a great user of the polygraph.

He certainly was.  I remember very well many of our discussions together.

This course was given to a chosen group who had had some previous training in cardiology and who were going to be sent in various areas in the cardiovascular service.  This course, I think, was either two, three or four week’s duration.  I’ve forgotten.  And there I had very close association with this head of the cardiovascular department of Rockefeller Institute.  What a shame that I can’t think of his name right now.

Following that, my original orders had said [that] after this course at Rockefeller Institute you will go to Camp Meade, Maryland, as assistant to the chief of medicine at the base hospital in charge of the cardiovascular service.  Here I was, a young punk.  Young, and certainly relatively inexperienced, but I’d had training which, for those days was good, not really outstanding, and which not too many people had had in those days.  Cardiology as a sub-specialty or as a specialty was in its infancy.

GEG:  The whole electrocardiogram is only since 1910.

Yes.  The electrocardiogram and the electrocardiograph we had at the Jewish Hospital was the only one in St. Louis outside of one they had in the Department of Physiology at Washington University Medical School.  It was the second one.

So, I repaired to Camp Meade.  And at Camp Meade—  Do you want this detail?

BLT:  Yes.

GEG:  Absolutely.

This isn’t one of these things like “This is Your Life” that you had me come out to talk about H. W. and you’re getting me to talk about myself?

When I got to Camp Meade they were just beginning to build the base hospital, so I was assigned to other duties.  Among my other duties was [as] a member of a team of three.  One of them was the former professor – was the professor, then-professor – of medicine in charge of heart work at the University of Maryland.  The other was a youngish man, but perhaps then ten years older than I, who had had a lot of training in cardiovascular disease at the University of Maryland and at Johns Hopkins Medical School and hospital.  The three of us formed a cardiovascular team that reviewed every case that was suspected or designated as having cardiovascular disease.  They came before the three of us for a decision as to whether or not they would be retained in the service or whether they would be discharged.

We had a very good time together, because we saw a great many cases that we thought were purely functional murmurs and insignificant arrhythmias that the company surgeons wanted to discharge from the Army.  We kept a great many in.

BLT:  Did you know as much about functional murmurs then as one does now?

Yes.  We knew a good deal about functional murmurs then.  We knew so much about it that we then had a directive that a systolic murmur, unless it was accompanied by a diastolic or presystolic murmur, or by an auricular fibrillation, auricular flutter or some profound disturbance in arrhythmia, unless there was an accompanying provable enlargement of the heart, was to be accepted in the service.  So you see, we knew a good deal about functional murmurs then.  As a matter of fact, the tables [have] turned back a little bit since then.

This team had a great deal of experience; actually, I think I still have some of my records of Camp Meade from those days.  We kept this up for some time and even when I was at the base hospital I not only had charge of the cardiovascular work, I not only was assistant to the chief of medicine, who was a former professor of medicine at Ann Arbor.  I don’t know if names bother you in remembering them or not, but they certainly do me – I can’t think of his name right now.  The name of the man at Rockefeller has come back:  Alfred E. Cohn, (spells) C-o-h-e-n, (corrects spelling) C-o-h-n, Alfred E. Cohn, who was tops – the very tops – in cardiovascular work.  He was subsequently head of the—

GEG:  I know why you didn’t remember the name.  You are _____(?)

(Laughs) Perhaps so.  Subsequently in my service in the Army he was in charge of the cardiovascular service in the surgeon general’s office.  I had to make periodic reports to him, both from this country and from abroad.  Do you mind these interruptions as I talk about these things?

GEG:  No.  This is probably just as interesting as when we come back to the main theme.

It may be interesting but certainly not productive.

GEG:  I think it will be very productive.  I think if we had a library of the personal recollections of our staff members, it would be much nicer than anything which—

I think it would be, too.  I think it would be a delightful thing to have.  Especially inasmuch as it can be taped and listened to and made a permanent record.  I don’t think there’s any question about it.  Anyway, I worked around Camp Meade.  In addition to my other duties I had to take my regular duty as officer of the day and I was also in charge of the infectious disease division.  There was plenty of infectious diseases; there were epidemics of all kinds and I learned far more of contagious disease in my few months at Camp Meade than I ever learned in medical school [or] in hospital.

BLT:  Probably even diseases you don’t see very often now.

Even so.  We had meningitis epidemics and we had a lot of scarlet fever.  We had a lot of measles, we had a lot of mumps, we had chicken pox.  We had all the children’s diseases in adults – the country people who hadn’t been exposed.

Eventually, I was getting anxious and in great contrast to the feelings in the Second World War where people weren’t very anxious to get in the midst of things, I was – and not only I personally, but most of the men – were anxious to get into more active duty in the war.  So I went to Washington, D.C.  And Major Seelig was then in the surgeon general’s office, and I went to see Major Seelig and I asked him if there was any possibility that I could apply for overseas service – I’d like to have it, and so forth and so on.

Well, to shorten the discussion a little bit.  Eventually, I got an order that came at the same time as [the order for] one of the other two men who was on this team of three, this cardiovascular team.  That we were to be assigned to the military heart hospital in England, attached to the British Army, but remain as members of the American Army.  But attached to the British Army.  We were to observe, study, and try and perfect ourselves in the techniques of army cardiovascular disorders.  There our chief functions were classification and reclassification of men in the British Army – no American troops – men in the British Army.  This [hospital] was an old army barracks that had been converted into the military heart hospital at Colchester in England.  The head of the hospital then was Thomas Lewis and a great many prominent American cardiologists had been sent over there for the same purposes that I had been sent there.  Sam [Samuel Albert] Levine, Frank [Norman] Wilson, Harold E. B. Pardee.

BLT:  Big names.

William St. Lawrence (?), who later became a pediatric cardiologist.  Jameson (?), B. S. Oppenheimer, [Marcus A.] Rothschild of New York, who was associated with Oppenheimer.  These are all names in cardiac literature around those days.  And I, I counted myself, of course, extremely fortunate to be thrown with that group – in contact with them.

And then, not only that, but the English cardiologist, Sir [Thomas] Clifford Albutt, would come down periodically as a consultant.

BLT:  Allbet?

Allbutt.  Yes.

BLT:  Allbutt.

(spells) A-l-b-u-double t [ed. note: correct spelling is A-l-l-b-u-t-t].  He was then Sir Clifford Allbutt.  I had an opportunity [along] with this man who went abroad with me and who was assigned to the same station, the military heart hospital – that was N. Worth Brown.  We first went to London for four days and during the time we were in London, N. Worth Brown [who] had previously worked with McKenzie, and he wanted to see him.  He asked me if I wanted to go with him – a nice invitation.  So we went up to Sir James McKenzie’s office and when N. Worth Brown’s name went in he told his secretary, “Sure, bring him in and bring Lt. Strauss in.”  We went into his office and just as though he had nothing to do, he had us sit down and we discussed everything – a very, very interesting old man.

BLT:  You’ve met the real greats, haven’t you?

I had breaks – I had most fortunate breaks in this thing.  To me it was an opportunity which I could never have gotten any other way, of meeting with and working with all these men that were the tops.

We talked with Sir James McKenzie and we discussed many, many things.  I’ve never met a more gracious person than he was.  Then we went over to Colchester.  I was assigned to one of the wards and Worth Brown – [correcting himself] two of the wards – and Worth Brown was assigned to others and all these other men that were there.

GEG:  Did you do actual work or only observe the—

No.  We were in charge, we were in charge.

GEG:  Processing English soldiers.

Processing the English soldiers.  We had classifications of exercises and we watched when the drill sergeants put these men through these exercises.  We went out on the parade ground or on the area where he was putting them through their exercises and watched their reactions – took their pulses, their respiration and so forth and so on.  [We] saw their reactions and classified them on that basis.  We were right in the midst of it.

There was a great deal of D.A.H.  There were two designations – D.A.H. and V.D.H.  Valvular Disease of the Heart and Disordered Action of the Heart.  The Disordered Action of the Heart was the English designation of [Jacob Mendes] Da Costa’s original Soldier’s Heart and of the United States’ subsequent neuro-circulatory asthenia.  Our job first in the wards, if they had V.D.H. – valvular disease of the heart – and if they’d come back decompensated, was to try to re-establish compensation and see how adequate the compensation was.  And also test them out to see whether or not they could go back either to front-line duty or to rear guard duty or to home base duty – or be discharged from the army.  That designation was – I mean the recommendation was ours, which went to the board at the hospital who then decided on it.

All of us had dinner together every evening.  We often had breakfast together, but Sir Thomas Lewis, or Dr. Thomas Lewis at that time, didn’t often eat breakfast with us because he was usually out in the fields with Frank Wilson.  You know the name Frank Wilson?

BLT:  Is he the Wilson of the central lead?

Yes.  That’s the Wilson – whom I knew originally here at Washington University.  Because he was working here – in heart work – at Washington University Medical School before I was called into service.  So I got an opportunity to get to know him quite well here.  When I was in London, Wilson was connected with the liaison office there between the – medical office – between the British and the American and I saw a good deal of him in London.  Then he went up to Colchester, and I started to say [that] he and Lewis were great bird watchers.  They took pictures of birds in their natural habitat, hatching their young, feeding their young and so forth.  They’d stay for hours at dawn behind bushes with their cameras to take pictures.  Both of them were intensely interested in it.  We saw a lot of—

GEG:  Wilson was an American?

Wilson was an American.  Formerly the professor of medicine in charge of cardiovascular work at the University of Michigan Medical School in Ann Arbor.  And incidentally, another former St. Louisan whom I knew at Washington University and [who] went up with Wilson was Paul [Shirmer] Barker, who is now professor of medicine and in charge of cardiovascular work at Ann Arbor.

Well, to get back to England.  Just as an aside – it was a peace-military area so that they had an officer’s club there – not in the hospital, but in the town.  I had entree to the officer’s club.  They had wonderful tennis courts there.  When I was sent over there I didn’t take tennis racquets or tennis shoes or anything of the sort.  But when I saw that everybody stopped work at four o’clock and went to the club for tea and to watch bowling or to play tennis, I bought myself a tennis racquet over in Colchester and I bought myself these flannel slacks – white slacks – and tennis shoes and frequently played tennis after tea.  I met a great many of the local inhabitants of Colchester, which incidentally was one of the old Roman towns and still had some of the Roman ruins in that town.

Am I too expansive?

GEG:  No, no.

You asked for it.

Well, I was in Colchester for four months and I used to occasionally, when Sir Clifford Allbutt would come down, I would walk on the commons with him.  Sir Clifford Allbutt was rather hard of hearing at that time.

BLT:  He was a pretty old man at that time.

He was up in years – I would say in the late 70s, probably.  We used to walk on the commons and I enjoyed his company.  He’d come and visit the wards as a consultant.  He’d say, to me or to all the others as he went by, “Do you have anything interesting?”  Well, things that were interesting to us weren’t necessarily interesting to him, but he would listen.  But I got quite a kick out of the fact that when he would listen – I knew he was quite hard of hearing because I had to talk so loudly to him away from the wards.  When he would listen I’d often find that his stethoscope was not flat on the chest, but with a lot of air space.  And when I’d describe a murmur to him he would say, “Oh, yes.  Oh, yes.”  But I was quite sure that with his stethoscope like that he wasn’t hearing the murmur.  (Laughs) Because of that experience I always am very meticulous when anybody is watching me that I put my stethoscope flat on the chest.

BLT:  You don’t hear anything if it’s not flat on the chest.

No, you don’t.  That’s right.  Anyway, that was a very wonderful opportunity to be with all the top notchers and to be able to get this additional experience in cardiovascular training.  Also, it gave me an opportunity on weekends to take a trip up to Cambridge, and to Oxford and to Canterbury and surrounding areas.  I finally got my orders to go over to France.  I had planned on going up to Scotland the weekend in which I got my orders to go to France.  So I postponed my trip to Scotland until—

GEG:  The Kaiser was in Holland.

No.  Until four years ago, when I went to Scotland.

My orders to France were to go to the medical center at Vittel in charge of cardiovascular—

BLT:  How do you spell—

(spells) V-i-double t-e-l.  Vittel was a very famous watering resort – very famous baths in the eastern part of France, not far from Nancy and Neufchâteau.  My orders were to be in charge of cardiovascular service in this medical center where they had converted all these huge hotels of this resort, as they did the hotels down in Miami, into hospitals.  And I would go from hospital to hospital to consult in reference to the cardiovascular and the cardio-respiratory illnesses.  A lot of our work there was gas – men who had been gassed.  I was in that center for a period, I would say, roughly two to four months – I could tell you more exactly if I took out my army record book, which I still have.

Then, I was transferred to the Mesves – (spells) M-e-s-v-e-s – convalescent camp.  (Spells) M-e-s-v-e-s, the Mesves convalescent camp was established – a huge establishment with hospitals, convalescent hospitals, and so forth.  It took over farms adjacent to a little town called Mesves.  The town was so small that it was officially known for mailing purposes and in the designation on the maps [as] Mesves-par-Bulcy-sur-Loire.  It was Mesves, near Bulcy, which was a little larger town, (spells) B-u-l-c-y, sur (spells) s-u-r, Loire.

GEG:  Is it near Tours, or someplace?

Yes.  That was very close to Tours.  Yes, very close to Tours.  The Loire passes by Tours.  Tours is on the Loire.  Anyway, I went there and this convalescent camp was the most terrific mud hole I’ve ever seen in my life.  We’d go through mud that deep – up to our ankles.

There we set into operation a classification and rehabilitation unit very much like the English [center] at Colchester.  We had – I was one of several officers there.  There was an orthopedist who was in charge of the orthopedic rehabilitation.  I was in charge of the cardiovascular rehabilitation.  We had a physical therapist who helped in the physical therapy rehabilitation.  That’s when I lost my big chance because I had the opportunity then, if I’d had the mind and the foresight and the ability, to do what Howard Rusk did in the Second World War.  He saw the possibilities of it and he developed it.  I was in the same position – perhaps even better trained for it.  In fact in nineteen hundred and—  Well, then it was probably nineteen – well, the latter part of 1917 or early 1918.  But I just did my job.  I made report for the surgeon general through Dr. Alfred E. Cohn, who as I said was _____ (?) people in charge of the cardiovascular services.  Somewhere among my papers I have copies of that report, which I haven’t seen lately.  I don’t know just where they are.

GEG:  This was done without electrocardiogram at that time?

They had an electrocardiogram at Colchester.  They didn’t have it elsewhere.

BLT:  Not in France.

But even though we had had special training in the polygraph, we very, very, very rarely used the polygraph in these investigations.  It was excellent training for one to have because they learned the physiology much better – of the action – with the polygraph than they do with the electrocardiogram.

BLT:  Yeah, yeah.

So, through the war, during my service abroad which was just a little over one year, I was in the cardiovascular service throughout.  I was then sent back to the United States.  I thought I’d had more actual active service than most people and I thought I’d get out.  But instead of getting out I was first sent to a camp up in New Jersey and then sent to Jefferson Barracks in St. Louis.  At Jefferson Barracks in St. Louis, I was made medical officer for one of the wards at Jefferson Barracks until I was discharged from the Army in July of 1918.

GEG:  What rank did you have?

Captain.  I was promoted to captain when I was still in France.  But because I was moving here, there and elsewhere, it didn’t reach me until after I got back here to Jefferson Barracks.

GEG:  After discharge from the Army—?

After discharge from the Army, I came back to St. Louis and I immediately went back to Washington University and saw Dr. [Canby] Robinson again and told him what my experiences had been and asked him if there was anyplace where I could work at the School.  And so he assigned me to the medical clinic and shortly thereafter he asked me if I’d like to develop a heart clinic, as a special clinic in the Washington University clinic groups.  So, with G. Canby Robinson, myself, I set up a cardiac clinic.  I was put in charge of the cardiac clinic and I was in charge of the cardiac clinic for years and years and years.

At the same time when I came back, Dr. Albert Taussig, who was then head of the Department of Medicine—  I just started to say that when I came back, I went over from the army, I went over to Washington University.  I’m repeating it to you here because it will interest you.  I went over to Washington University and saw Dr. G. Canby Robinson, who was dean, and asked him if there was anyplace [that] I could work in the in the university.  He told me he’d assign me to the clinic.

And I started off as voluntary assistant in the clinic, and after a few years I was made instructor.  And then Canby Robinson asked me if I’d like to start a heart clinic over there.  And I did like to, and so I started the heart clinic and was in charge of the heart clinic for a great, great many years over there.  And then, at the Jewish Hospital, your father [Albert Taussig] was then chief of medicine and I went to see him.  Incidentally, I had luncheon one day – if I’m not mistaken at the Columbian Club – with your dad and Llewellyn Sale.  They discussed all my activities and what they had been – my training and background.  They broached the subject as to whether or not I’d like to come in the office with them.  I gave it some thought but I finally decided I’d try to go on my own.  So I thanked them for their very, very flattering offer but decided to go on my own – this was when I first came back.  Your dad, knowing my training in electrocardiography, asked me if I would like to take charge of the electrocardiographic department at the Jewish Hospital.

GEG:  Did it exist already?

Yes.

GEG:  They did have the machine?

They had the machine already.  They had it for about – well, I would say several months.  I can’t tell you exactly how long.  It had been in charge of a doctor who had moved out of the city and went down to Arizona.  I can’t think of his name right now, either.

BLT:  But he had run electrocardiograms.

He had run the electrocardiograms.  But they had taken very few electrocardiograms at that time, very few.  I set the department up.  They gave me a helper, a young girl – Alberta Hayes.  Do you remember Alberta Hayes?

BLT:  Sure I remember her – straight hair.

Straight hair.

BLT:  Blonde.

Rosy-cheeked girl with a wonderful personality.

GEG:  She had blue eyes like porcelain dishes.

That’s right.

BLT:  And big hips.

Very.  She kept my records at the heart station and she developed the things and so forth.  In those days the electrocardiograms went bad very easily.

BLT:  You mean the photographic film?

Not the photographic film.  The string – the instrument itself—

BLT:  Broke.

Broke.  I’d spend hours putting in a new string, which you couldn’t see with the naked eye, you had to have reflected light to see the string.  Then, after you got it in you had to center it and had to center your light and then you had to do all sorts of manipulations.  It literally took us hours – it took me hours – and I was the only one in St. Louis, outside of the technician at Washington University, who knew anything about the electrocardiographic machine.  I’d worked with a similar machine in Pittsburgh during my entire year and I had to put in strings and center [them] and to repair the whole thing.  There were no repair people around to do it.

BLT:  Even in 1934 when I was at Peter Bent Brigham they had these great big machines with the string going down.

That’s right.  That’s right.  That was it.  In 1924 to ’26 when they were developing the plans for the new Jewish Hospital – which we went into in 1926 – they asked me to develop plans so that we could take electrocardiograms, if need be, in the rooms.  There was no such thing thought of as a portable electrocardiogram.  So I, with the architects and engineers and the builders, arranged for separate wires – three wires – in an insulated pipe to go from the heart station – central – to each of the main wards.  And they had the four large wards – medical wards and surgical wards, up and downstairs, men and women – and to have two outlets in each of the corridors in the halls.  The reason I could set that thing up – and we now come back to H. W. Loeb – during his acute coronary he was too sick to be brought down to the heart station.  We strung wires from his room outside the window along the back – the entire width of the hospital from the east wing to the west wing – through a basement window in the west wing.  [We] went through one of the corridors to the heart station.  We had somebody on the telephone upstairs.

BLT:  This was in the old hospital?

This was in the old hospital.  We had somebody on the telephone upstairs.  I was downstairs; I’d tell Alberta, Alberta Hayes, to attach the electrodes and tell me when they were attached – to telephone me.  She would telephone me [and] I’d take the first lead.  I’d telephone her back, “I’ve taken the first lead” and I’d then take the second and then the third.  In that way we got the first portable electrocardiograms, as far as I know, in St. Louis.

GEG:  Unbelievable that the electric energy was enough to overcome the travel through so much wire.

Even small currents travel quickly and well through adequate conduction.  The question was merely how much interference came from other electrical apparatus and wires and so on and so on.  But that was a very interesting aspect of Hanau W. Loeb’s illness.  I think it was the first – let’s call it the first “distant electrocardiogram” that I know of.  Then, as I say, I developed this for the new hospital because we thought we had to have it.  We transferred our old machine over to the new hospital.  But it had improved to some degree so that we did not have to have an electric arc lamp.  They had a powerful enough electric light bulb so that we could get adequate illumination – so that we could shorten the space necessary.  Then, later on came the smaller, stationary electrocardiographic machines and then subsequently, the semi-portables that you had to have on a cart – [they] were relatively heavy and then the lighter-weight portables.  But many, many times I took electrocardiograms from any room in the hospital and from the operating room and from any of the wards.

BLT:  Through the outlets.

Through the outlets.  Have you ever seen the outlets?

BLT:  I saw one of the outlets.

I’ll show them to you – remind me when I’m on the floor.  They’re still there.  I think the wiring has been withdrawn but they’re still there.  They had a special plug that you could only put it in one way so you’re sure you had the wires – so you had the right-arm wire and the right-arm electrode properly connected and so forth and so on.  We had long wires through the hallways from the plugs into the patient’s room.

Well, that brings us pretty much [to a conclusion] as far as your asking me about what was my training and my background and so forth and so on.  Now let’s get back to H. W. Loeb.

Let’s talk for a minute about his illness.  He was a very forcible character.  What he wanted to do, he wanted to do – he wouldn’t broach much interference.  [A] very likable person.

BLT:  He was a likable person.

Yes, but one of the reasons he was so effective was because he had excellent foresight and because he insisted that things be done when he thought they could be done.  I said that your dad and Llewellyn Sale and I – all of us helped take care of him.  He was so sick for a long time that each one of us took turns and slept in a room across from his in the hospital every night during his critical illness.  Your dad one night, Llewellyn one night, and I one night.

BLT:  What would you do during those nights?

We’d go in periodically to see him.  The nurse – if there was any question at all would come and get us, awaken us.  We’d put our robe on and we’d go in; whether it was a question of some form of stimulation.  In those days we thought we could do a whole lot with camphor and with caffeine and with all those things that weren’t very effectual.  But we thought they were.  When to give more or less sedative, when to give narcotics or whatnot.  He was terribly sick, and terribly sick, for a long time.  He had many complications: heart block, paroxysmal tachycardias, extrasystoles galore; if I’m not mistaken, shifting pacemaker – but I’m not whether sure that he actually had that.  I know he had—

BLT:  You had quinidine of course, then.

We had quinidine.  Yes, we had quinidine.  And then, Hanau Loeb came out of his critical illness, got well enough to go back to limited practice and to his work as dean of the medical school.  But he remained a sick man.  Then he decompensated and had to come back into the hospital and he was transferred from the old Jewish Hospital to the new Jewish Hospital, being one of the first patients.  I mean he was the transfer on opening of the new Jewish Hospital.  Now I’m not sure whether—  I think the hospital opened in 1926.

GEG:  I think May ’26.

I think he recovered from that sufficient to leave the hospital and then subsequently came back and died in the hospital.

BLT:  In heart failure?

If I remember correctly, but I’m not positive.  I believe it was in heart failure, almost certainly in heart failure.  Well, now [I’ll tell about] some of my relations with H. W. outside of his illness.

As chief of staff he was rather dictatorial, he was rather insistent of his ways, of doing things his way.  He was never mean or nasty or bellicose, as far as I can remember.  But he was tsaristic.  He was tsaristic as a doctor to the same degree as Aaron Waldheim was tsaristic as president of the board.  He, too, was insistent upon his way of doing things.  And I happen to know about that because I took care of Aaron Waldheim from the time I got back to St. Louis until he died.  So I got to know him rather well.  He and H. W. Loeb, both of them men of vision, both of them had been eminently successful – Aaron Waldheim as a businessman, Hanau Loeb as a practitioner of medicine, as a specialist.  Hanau Loeb became president of the Academy – what is it called, the American Academy of Otolaryngology?

BLT:  Otology, Rhinology and Otolaryngology.

I think yes, I think that was probably the official title.  Hanau W. Loeb was chairman of the division of otolaryngology or oto-rhinolaryngology of the American Medical Association.  He was secretary of that section and chairman of that section.  He was chairman of—  Well he was well up in the—  During the time of the war, he wrote a handbook on otolaryngology for the army.  I think he was a colonel, if I’m not mistaken.  I’m not sure of the rank.  He was quite insistent upon his point of view and he usually had a point of view.  But he would always listen to the other person; but he felt that he knew the situation and that his way was the best way of handling it.

As you probably know, he had two physician brothers.  One – Clarence Loeb who was an ophthalmologist and who practiced in Chicago and who was well up in his field; and Virgil Loeb who got his degree in medicine before he went in to dental – perhaps you might call it—

BLT:  Oral surgery.

Yes, before he went into oral surgery.  It wasn’t oral surgery as we understand oral surgery today, but it was the earlier developments of oral surgery.

BLT:  Stomatology, he called it.

Stomatology – yes.  He had another brother who was a very successful merchant in St. Louis.  That was Alex Loeb, (spells) A-l-e-x.

BLT:  Haas and Marx.

Of Marx and Haas, a clothing company – that’s right.

Hanau Loeb was a very intimate friend of Max Myer.  I think that they both had families that came from Columbia, Missouri.  While I don’t think they were related, I think there were very close associations through family ties.  Max Myer, who was also very insistent upon his ways, was likewise an extremely capable surgeon.

Well, I think I’ll take a breather for a minute if—

BLT:  Sure.

If you’ll turn it off for a moment.

[Break in interview.]

Take this Annals here and look on page three – Annals, look on page three – and read that out loud.  I think there you can get some excellent ideas – the Harrison’s.

BLT:  The Harrison article.

Read it out loud.  Have you read it?

BLT:  I haven’t read it, but I have it—

It won’t take but a few minutes.

BLT:  You mean the whole thing?

Yes.  It will only take a few minutes – it’s five pages [long].

BLT:  Why don’t you read it?

Well, here’s to H. W.’s memory.  (Drinks) Did you know Leon Harrison?

GEG:  Yes.

Did you?

BLT:  No.

You must be quite a youngster, Barrett.

BLT:  He’s not a doctor, is he?

No.  He was a rabbi of Temple Israel – one of the outstanding, well the outstanding rabbi of St. Louis and one of the outstanding orators of the country.  (Reads) “H. W., Hanau W. Loeb, A Tribute.”  I’m not sure that it’s [pronounced] Han-no or Hay-no.  I always called him Hay-no W. Loeb.

GEG:  The German would be Han-no.

Han-no.  The “W” stands for Wolf, (spells) W-o-l-f.  “By Dr. Leon Harrison.”  I think his doctor was a doctor of divinity.

Here it is:  “It is difficult to draw a pen picture of a man as many-sided as my lifelong friend, Dr. Hanau W. Loeb.”

BLT:  Do you have enough light there?

It’s all right.  I don’t need any more.  (Reads) “No set list of virtues possessed by such a man presents him to view any more than an actual photograph of his physical semblance could reveal his mental grasp, his driving power, his enduring human qualities.  I may begin by saying that no man known to me in this great city has left such an impact on its collective life as Dr. Loeb.  No one man has in so many ways built up the institutional life of this community.  He organized a great hospital service, developed a remarkable professional career, edited famous medical journals and was the executive and creative head of an important medical school.

“He composed standard works in his field of medicine.  He was honored by the government for his brilliant medical services during the war and in the (quote) ‘war without discharge’ (end of quote) between life and death, between poverty and disease, Dr. Loeb was a gallant combatant offering up time, effort and patient research in abundant measure to those that could give in return nothing but a word of thanks, a warm handclasp or the tears that dim the eyes of those too moved to find words of gratitude.

“To this high cause of humanity above all, Dr. Loeb finally sacrificed his splendid life.  But for such a man as he did not as men think die in a moment of a sudden seizure.  Nay, he died inch by inch, year by year, burning up his marvelous vitality in a strenuous manifold career of public and humanitarian service to this city to which I do not know a parallel.”

Incidentally, it always surprises me when I see, for instance, “Hanau W. Loeb, born in 1966 [ed. note: Strauss means 1866] and died in 1927.”  That’s sixty-one years.  And during the fifteen [years] – during all the years I knew him, and especially his latter years – to me he was always an old man.  Now I’m seventy, or will be in two months.

GEG:  I think our physique has changed.

Huh?

GEG:  Definitely, I think our physique has changed.

Well, there’s no question about that.  It has.

GEG:  Our adrenals function differently.

Well, I don’t know what it is.  I suppose to you younger fellows I’m an old man – you think of me as an old man.

BLT:  No.  You’re ageless as far as I can tell.  You’re ageless.  You look as young now as you did twenty years ago.

There’s something wrong with your “forgettery.”

BLT:  Maybe so, but you look the same.

That’s the thing that surprises me when I think of a man like that.

BLT:  They were always very _____ (?).  Hairy – is that right?  They must have had different adrenals.

That could be what it is.  But at sixty-one or sixty-two or sixty-three, it’s inconceivable.  Well, we’ll get back to this.

GEG:  I see the reactions when I think back on my childhood of my parents and their generation and how much older they looked than I do now – [as I] have reached them or surpassed them in age.

When I was getting out these books – while they were looking them up for me – they have a cabinet now with some pictures of some of the early heads of the departments of the early schools before they united as Washington University.  Pictures of men – of course, they’re most of them bearded and mustached – which makes a difference in appearance of age.  But they give the dates of their birth and their death.  And many of them died in [their] fifties or early sixties.  And as I look at the pictures, they look like real, real old men. (Laughs)

GEG:  Encrusted.

Not quite.  But real old men.

[Interruption in tape.  Interview resumes with Strauss reading from the Harrison tribute to H. W. Loeb.]

(Reading) “So this young man did the work of half a dozen men.  Even between his treatments of patients in his office he stole moments for the dictation of his medical works.  He was an author, an editor, a great practitioner of medicine, a professor and teacher of his specialty, the organizer and executive of a great school of medicine and the chief of staff of a wonderful metropolitan hospital.  He was all that and more.  He assisted vigorously every great philanthropic cause in the city of St. Louis.  He delighted in social life and injected into every friendly gathering the same enthusiasm, the same geniality, the same sheer joy of living.  And yet, he never seemed tired.  He was unhurried, apparently free from care; the constant solicitude within was never evidenced in a frowning brow, in physical irritability, or in apparent fatigue.  He was made seemingly to carry great and varied burdens easily and to esteem them privileges.  He could forget all his responsibilities in a jiffy and join in a game of cards or his favorite recreation of golf with the abandon of a schoolboy.”

I might mention that he was a very, very avid card player.  He loved cards.

BLT:  There’s a certain difference between a bridge player and a poker player.

I think bridge, but he may well have played poker, too.  I think bridge.  I’m almost sure.  Irene can tell you about that, I’m sure.

(Resumes reading) “And, with all his countless preoccupations, he always had time, much time, for his friends.  Dr. Loeb had a genius for friendship.  Years ago, when the cares of life were not as insistent with the present writer, and with Dr. Loeb, it was my privilege and joy to be his constant companion.  We were inseparable friends.  We met at luncheon every day with Dr. Jacob Friedman of blessed memory . . .”

Interjection: Jacob Friedman was the head of medicine at the Jewish Hospital in his early days.  He was more a general practitioner than he was a specialist.

(Resumes reading) “. . . and frequently with that brilliant editor, William Marion Reedy . . .” (Interjects) I know that he was very well-acquainted, very close to Marion Reedy, who was the editor of the Mirror, which in St. Louis was a social, semi-political paper, but not with a political, fixed affiliation.  Reedy has been recognized over the years as an outstanding editor during his lifetime.

(Resumes reading) “. . . and the late George Tansey.  And jest and repartee and words of wit and wisdom were tossed from man to man so that many a little informal luncheon of this kind was a veritable symposium.  And where Dr. Loeb sat was the head of the table.  Almost imperceptibly, he guided conversation.  He drew this man out and then the other.  His delightful geniality and social charm seemed to cement the company together.  And many a worthy project in the interest of some struggling student, some forlorn hope of some much-needed philanthropy sprang from these pleasant lunches.  It was Dr. Loeb’s personal magnetism, his compelling enthusiasm that drew people to him and made it easy for them to follow him in any good cause.  He didn’t have to explain or argue or persuade, though he could do all of these things convincingly well.  He just had to lead and men followed him as we follow those whom we heartily like without question, without a moment’s doubt.

“These lovable qualities in Dr. Loeb, that many people liked him so much, explain a great deal of his leadership in addition, of course, to his fine intellectual and moral qualities.  Where other men had brains and character, yet they could not begin to command any such following or to rivet friends to themselves as staunchly and steadfastly as Hanau Loeb.  I remember when Israel Zangwill, the brilliant Jewish novelist of England visited St. Louis.  Dr. Loeb and I went down to meet him on his arrival and both of us being at the young, hero-worshipping age were constantly in the company of this sparkling mind that gave forth epigrams and witticisms with as little effort as average men make in emitting wearisome commonplaces.  Dr. Loeb worshipped intellect and he arranged many luncheons and entertainments for Zangwill during his sojourn here.  And he drew him out during the social hour that followed the demitasse, when men lean their elbows on the table, pull their chairs a little closer together, mellowed by food and wine and social contact, and are eager to hear what tidings this messenger of the Muses brings from far-off lands.

“And never will I forget one such occasion when a company of kindred spirits were gathered with Israel Zangwill and Dr. Loeb at the Noonday Club.  Around the mahogany, William Marion Reedy was there, Fred Lehmann, then the solicitor-general of the United States, Isaac Lionberger, an undersecretary in the cabinet, and Mr. Ben Altheimer, the giver of the feast.  For many hours we sat there when the luncheon was over, until almost evening, and never did I hear such wonderful talk, flavored with added salt, playful, sparkling, with sudden sallies of wit, and deepening into serious comments on society and literature.  It reminded one of the famous symposium at which Plato was a guest in old Athens, and his teacher Socrates and their boon companions, when wit flashed and humor smiled and mellow wisdom followed abundantly.

“On this occasion, as on many similar ones, I well remember the roguish smile of Dr. Loeb, his provocative remarks that drew fire all around the merry circle, and the evident appreciation and sympathetic spirit that made this company of congenial spirits address their many sallies, almost involuntarily, to him.  I like to remember my old friend and companion in such scenes as this, and the qualities that made him beloved there and everywhere may I not say, were legitimately his.  They came to him from the dear devoted mother and splendid old father, with a beautiful head like Pasteur’s, in the old family home in Columbia, Missouri.  Many a glad and many a sad day we shared together there.  And Dr. Loeb’s pride and joy it was, to see the fine fruits of his brotherly solicitude in the remarkable career and professional distinction of his brother, Dean Isadore Loeb . . .” (Interjects) Whom I forgot to mention – he was really tops of all.

BLT:  He had four brothers, then?

Yeah.  (Continues reading) “. . . Dean Isadore Loeb and in the fine manhood and medical eminence of his brothers, Clarence and Virgil.”

(Interjects)  Now wait a minute.  I’m almost sure that Alex was also a – I’m sure that Alex was a brother of Hanau.

GEG:  Who was Alex?

Alex was—

BLT:  He was the businessman.

Alex Loeb – he was with Marx and Haas.

GEG:  Yes.  That was the brother.  Now I can confirm.

Dean Isadore Loeb was really one of the top men.

GEG:  Yes, he played a big role here at Washington University, at the Hilltop [campus], then he went to Harvard.

(Resumes reading) “Indeed, I can still see him, in happy mood at the wedding of his dearly beloved sister, when the table rocked with merriment and from the beaming countenance of Hanau shone forth the happiness that sprang from all the joyful family years of auld lang syne.  I would like to say much of the unstinted generosity of my old friend.  Of how lavish he was with his resources, even when they were scanty, to those he loved and for the great things that he cared for.  But no man ever allowed less to be known of his private benefactions than Dr. Loeb.  I know, however, how great his sacrifices were when inspired by affection and a sense of duty.  Even to the day when he had but little, he would divide his last dollar with one in need who appealed to his generous heart.

“But I would rather remember what a man was than what he did.  A virile, expansive personality like Dr. Loeb’s was never fully expressed in the achievements of his life.  He was a big-hearted, affectionate, lovable man.  And wherever he lived and moved, he sounded a note of sanity, of sweet reasonableness, of a happy nature that smiled its way through life.  I can see him at home with his lovely and devoted wife, playing on the floor with his baby girl.  I can imagine myself once more climbing the Alpine passes with him and with Dr. Max Myer and Judge Irwin Barr (?) in our early salad days, swinging along from dawn until dusk, up hill and down dale, all of us happy as the day was long.  And always Dr. Loeb breathed his own gay, whimsical spirit into all of the little company.

“I can see him when the strong machinery of his body, alas, suddenly broke down.  And after many weeks of pain and danger he could once more be seen for a little while by a few old friends.  He knew his own condition; he was aware of the fact that he had reached the end of his tether.  But he looked steadily into the darkness unafraid.  He never flinched, never weeping.  His body was broken but his spirit remained indomitable.  ‘I’m satisfied, Doctor,’ he said to me.  ‘Indeed, I am thankful for sixty good years of happiness and usefulness.’

“He realized that he had lived, and lived abundantly.  He had worked, and worked fruitfully.  He had built, not for a day, but for all time.  If his time was up, and he felt that it was, he was content to go, for his work was done and well done.  He had fought the good fight, he had borne the burden in the heat of the day and though the shadows gathered around him sooner than he had hoped, yet he knew at that awful, gripping moment, that life is measured less by its length than by its contents.”

(Interjects) His mentioning this brings back to mind more definitely the feeling I had that Hanau had so much to do with the construction and the planning of the new hospital, was so anxious to see it completed and occupied before he died – that brings it back more definitely to me.

(Resumes reading) “And so he waited for his earthly end, only postponed for a few short months, without fear.  He lived to see the dedication of the new Jewish Hospital for which he had toiled and striven greatly.  He lived to speak a few moving words on the happy day when its hospital doors were flung open to receive the stricken, the sick and the helpless.  Although a Jew, and a faithful Jew, loyal in every instinct of his being to his people and his faith as well as to the whole-hearted brotherhood of man, a novena, a nine-day devotional service, was held for him by the Catholic Church and prayers for his restoration to health and life were fervently uttered in his behalf by the Catholic sisters that he had befriended and whose poor he had tended and cared for.  For this man had served them all, Catholic and Protestant, as well as the needy of his own race and people.  He knew no barriers of race or creed.  He gave abundantly of his prodigious energies and his unusual talents for the services of humanity.

“Such a man needs no memorial stone on whose cold surface his virtues shall be carved.  For his works are his living memorial.  The great hospital that he toiled for shall perpetuate his name in the loving and grateful memory of countless men and women.  The famous school of medicine to which he gave up his manhood’s span of life will long recall his creative genius.  Many hearts will bless him; many lives that he brightened and cheered.  I am but one of a great multitude who tenderly remember this true and faithful friend of long ago.  It is needless to praise when a true description is so high a eulogy.  Deep in our hearts we will carry the precious memory of this high-minded gentlemen; the sacred memory of one who greatly helped and nobly served his fellow men.”

Beautifully written, isn’t it?

BLT:  Very beautifully written.

Beautifully written.  The language, the thought, the structure, the whole business is really just beautiful.  And I think it’s very factual, I think it’s very true.

Here, in Sauer – that’s William E. Sauer’s.  [Ed. note: Dr. Strauss refers to another biography of Dr. Loeb.]  You know him?

BLT:  Yes.

This is just a part of it.  (Reads) “He moved to St. Louis in 1890, where with a number of colleagues he organized the Marion-Sims Medical College.”  (Interjects) The Marion-Sims is [the one] he organized.

“He continued with this school as head of the department of otolaryngology and secretary of the faculty until its consolidation with the Beaumont Medical College.  He served as secretary of the faculty of the combined schools until they were taken over as the Medical Department of St. Louis University.  In 1913 he was made dean of the faculty of the School of Medicine of St. Louis University.”  (Interjects) And so on and so on.

(Reading) “In 1905 Dr. Loeb was made president of the American Academy of Ophthalmology and Otolaryngology.”

(Interjects)  In those days eye and ear were together – eye, ear, nose and throat.

(Reads from article) “In 1917 [he was] chairman of the section of Otolaryngology of the AMA; in 1924, chairman of the American Laryngological, Otological and Rhinological Society; fellow of the American Laryngological Association, American Otological [Association], American College of Surgeons.  Dr. Loeb in the World War [was] appointed major.”  (Interjects) It was 1917.

(Reads from article) “Wrote a handbook on military surgery – eye, ear, nose and throat; became a colonel in the Medical Reserve Corps at the close of the war; editor of the Annals of Otology, Rhinology, and Laryngology; one of the organizers of the American Board of Otolaryngology [and] was secretary until his death.”  (Interjects) _______ (?) organization until his death.  (Reads) “His name appears in Who’s Who in America.”

Those are the factual things and then other things are in there.  I haven’t read these others.  I merely got them out of the index and I picked them up.  If you’ll promise that you’ll keep these inviolate and return them to me not later than the tenth of October.  Here, I have the pages out of these things.

BLT:  I may have seen many of these because I’ve gone through his entire bibliography.

Well, it may well be.

GEG:  Would you [speak] a little bit on Virgil Loeb?

Yes, but not so enthusiastically as Hanau.  Virgil was an entirely different individual.  He was quite a different character.

GEG:  A much quieter man.

Huh?

GEG:  Much quieter.

More quiet?

BLT:  Yeah.

More quiet, but not with the sensibilities, not with the graces, not with the ability, not with any of the higher things.  Virgil is a friend of mine over many years, but Virgil was not—  Virgil was more or less of a sorehead.

GEG:  Really?

I think Virgil was a disappointed man.  I think Virgil saw the position that was attained by H. W., was attained by Clarence, attained by Isadore, attained by Alex outside of medicine.  And Virgil never reached the point where he was recognized as a top man.

BLT:  Of course he was recognized, though, as one of the leading stomatologists of St. Louis, wasn’t he?

He was one of the few.  He was one of the few.  But he never had a real professional standing.

BLT:  Of course he didn’t publish the extremely numerous articles that—

That makes a difference between things.  A person who doesn’t publish things never becomes the tops outside of a small, limited area that think highly of him, but never nationally, or certainly never internationally, or maybe never even statewide unless he publishes.  Or unless he goes into medical politics in some way.  But Virgil could never understand that he had to give more of himself.  Virgil was not an unselfish person.  I hate to talk like this, but these were my reactions to Virgil.

GEG:  I was always charmed by him.  I thought he was such a gentleman.

He was a gentleman.

BLT:  Very much so, I think.

Yes, he was a gentleman.  But he was a very selfish gentleman – that’s my own opinion.  I, with Llewellyn, took care of Virgil over the years, so I knew Virgil when he was sick and I knew him when he was well.  He never was what I would call tops.

BLT:  Everybody can’t be tops.

No, I know that.  I know that.

GEG:  Apparently he has quite a number of very dedicated pupils, who are very grateful to him.  But I heard—

BLT:  Jerry Grosby wrote a very nice—

GEG:  Ruth _____ (?) – she had promised to write something too.  He was very enthusiastic that he would have an opportunity to write something on him.

BLT:  But Arthur, you can’t give any more personal recollections of—

H. W.

BLT:  H. W.?

I’m trying to think.

BLT:  Did he have a sense of humor?

Yes.  He had an excellent sense of humor and he was a good—

BLT:  In those pictures, he looks pretty grim.

No, he was a good companion.  He wasn’t always a serious-minded person.  He was serious-minded when the occasion demanded it.  When he was out of the necessity of being serious, when he was in a group playing cards or when he was with a group at a social gathering he was very easy-going and light hearted.  But I can’t give you any definite anecdotal pictures or intimate reactions that I may have seen.  I think that Llewellyn Sale – if he’d be of a mind to do so – could give you some because I think Llewellyn knew him quite intimately and over a long period of time.  That’s why I think it’s awfully important if one wants to develop an historical picture of the hospital that steps should be taken before intimates of a person all go by the way.

Do you remember some years ago I talked to you about getting a picture to your dad, Albert Taussig, because I felt – this was while I was secretary of the staff – I felt that we should have pictures of the men who were presidents of the hospital?  I though that we should have pictures of the men who were heads or chairmen of their departments for posterity, whether or not they were placed on view, or whether they weren’t.  But my attempt to do something there was blocked pretty much by almost everybody.

GEG:  This is not an irretrievable loss because the Medical Society has a collection of very good photographs of all the members.  Was it the hundredth or the fiftieth anniversary [when] everyone had to be photographed?  Do you remember that?

Yes, but these were pictures that might have been taken during the time when they were chief of staff, or around that time – not when they were much younger or not when they were much older.

GEG:  Yes, I think this would be a very good idea.

BLT:  Of course my father hated to have pictures taken and he thought it was all a lot of foolishness.

GEG:  He was probably basically correct because I feel that we are living in an era in which historical contemplation, a little bit of it, plagues us because our life is so crowded with later developments that we just outrace it.

I told you about this cabinet with these pictures of these men in it.  To me, that’s a very stimulating thing to see.  I would think differently than many people, but to me it means something to see the pictures of the men that were heads of these [departments] – professor of gynecology and obstetrics.

GEG:  Yes.  You still belong to that generation which has a certain veneration for the teacher.  That doesn’t exist anymore.

Well, maybe you’re right.  I got the greatest kick in the world out of seeing my old teacher, Dr. Heard, that I told you about.  To me, the whole trip was climaxed by my three-quarters of an hour with him.  I went through Gettysburg and historical things.  I went through Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello and James Monroe’s Ashlawn and the University of Virginia and the Washington and Lee Universities and all this sort of stuff.  And yet, this personalizing of the visit with him was the highlight of my trip.  I saw beautiful scenery in the Smokies and the Shenandoah Valley and the Skyline Drive and the Blue Ridge Parkway and all of those things.

GEG:  I don’t know [if] our present generation still has such interests.  I think we are living right now in such a dynamic era that just reading a newspaper every day—  The Journal of the American Medical Association is bombarding you with so many developments of burning interest and great importance that the indulgence of the past is almost a luxury that you cannot afford.

I think an indulgence of the past – because I think that we can learn from history – is worthwhile.

GEG:  Can we still?

Yes.  I think we can still learn from history.  I think so.  An interesting thing here – going through the cumulative indexes – you probably noticed it too, if you were leafing through it.  From thin volumes like that – for a whole year – the literature.  Three or four, six volumes like that – why, it’s overwhelming.

GEG:  You know what the surgeon-general’s catalog gives – how many numbers they list a year?  Over a hundred thousand it was, four years ago.  It was a hundred thousand per year _____ (?) their listing of publications on medicine.

BLT:  A lot of this veneration of the teachers in the past generation is because there wasn’t so much specialization, there weren’t so many teachers, don’t you think?  In other words, Allbutt, [or] whoever you might say – they taught the course of medicine.

Yes.  Sure.

BLT:  Now we have the hematology, we have the cardiologists and we have so many [others].  We don’t have the close personal relationship to a man who teaches the broad spectrum of medicine.  Don’t you think that’s one reason?

Yes, I think probably so.  And incidentally, [while] just talking the name of this man that I told you was at Camp Meade has come back to me.  That was B. Foster.  That was B. Foster.  I could no more think of it than the man in the moon, but I was trying to get it out – at Camp Meade.

Yes.  I think you’re right about that, Barrett.  There are too many splinters and because of the splinters we don’t see the structure, the grain of the board.  Maybe because I’m so old – but I still like tradition.  I still like to feel that our forebears were, in large part, responsible for us and for some of the things we did.  Now we may have gone off and bypassed and the like.  I think the opportunities that we were given by our forebears.  I think the precepts, I think the examples – the life and actions of those who we saw before, of [the] previous generation or perhaps the previous two generations if we were fortunate enough to live with some of the second generation back.  These should mean something.  If they don’t, I still think they should.  I realize that today people have no more respect in many instances for their parents or their relatives or their teachers or their benefactors or anything else.  Something that—  They should _____ (?) that.  I don’t think so.  I think they _____ (?) themselves.

GEG:  The mannerisms, too.  The mannerisms of the day – it’s expressed _____ (?) – how little they think of respect for an older person.  For instance, I shudder when I see an intern go into the room and call a patient in his sixties or seventies of age by the first name.

I have the same reaction.

GEG:  Well, we expressed that he couldn’t do that.  I can’t do it.  Everyone but Arthur – he can’t do it either.

I still am a traditionalist.

BLT:  I think it’s a shame, too, that people who have known the great men – you knew McKenzie, you met him, and Allbutt.  My father took a course under Paul Ehrlich, knew [Rudolf] Virchow, took a lecture under Virchow.  For years I tried to persuade him to write his memoirs of those days and he never did it.  Just think how wonderful it would have been to have an essay on his early days in training in Germany.

Sure it would.  Sure it would.

BLT:  It’s gone, it’s lost.

I may have told you this before.  The two people who had a great deal to do with my life, outside of my family – one of them was Jesse Myer, Max Myer’s brother.  Did you ever know Jesse?  I don’t think you did.

GEG:  No.  No.

Jesse Myer is responsible for my being in medicine.  I was a good student – not a brilliant student – I was a good student in school.  I was a decent – I’m going to be immodest – I was a decent fellow.  My father lost his business when I was in high school and lost all his wherewithal and we had nothing.  Jesse Myer was our family physician as an internist.  He was our family physician.  Jesse Myer went to my uncle, who was a wealthy man – Emil Strauss.  And completely unbeknownst to me, or anybody else, he told my uncle that – I got this subsequent to its happening – he thought my uncle ought to send me to college.  He said that I had enough stuff to justify going to college.  Jesse knew my parents couldn’t do it.  In those days you couldn’t get scholarships – you might get some but they weren’t freely available as they are now.

I never planned on going to college so I went to high school, the general course, no college course or college preparation or anything.  Two months before I was to graduate from high school my uncle called me down to his office and—

BLT:  Your uncle was a businessman?

My uncle was a businessman.  [He] said to me, “Arthur, would you like to go to college?”  I said, “Of course I would, but I can’t.”  He said, “Well, I’ll send you through college and I’ll send you through any professional school you want to go to.  What would you like to do?”  I said, “I don’t know.”  I’d never thought of going to college – I knew I couldn’t.  I’d never thought of going into any profession because I knew I couldn’t.”  But I said, “If there was anything, it would be medicine.”  Why medicine?  Well, I think I was a hero worshipper, perhaps of Jesse Myer.

In the psychology course that I had in college, we had to write a paper, the title of which was “My Psychogenesis” – the development of one’s own psyche.  The whole class had to write a paper on it – “My Psychogenesis.”  In that paper I tried to develop how – this wasn’t as far as medical school but I was planning on going to medical school – I was in college, taking psychology among other things.  I said perhaps my thinking of medicine developed through the subconscious because when I was three years old I put on glasses – I had to wear glasses.  I said I had such a serious look that everybody began to call me “Doc.”  I said, perhaps that went a little deeper.

And then I told—  Well, to make a long story short, my uncle did put me through college; gave me my choice – wherever I wanted to go.  I asked for advice and took it.  I asked for advice from Jesse Myer, Major Seelig, [and] others.  The consensus was Harvard, if I could do it.

BLT:  You went to Harvard College and—

Harvard College and Medical School.  I had a hell of a time because I wasn’t prepared to go to college.  I hadn’t gone to a private school.  I’d taken a general course, and I did the most unheard of thing.  I graduated from high school in January nineteen hundred and eight and from January to June nineteen hundred and eight I went back to high school and took a postgraduate high school course, if you can imagine such a thing.

BLT:  I didn’t know you could—

I don’t know if it had ever been done before.  But I needed much more – I needed much more—

GEG:  Wait a minute.  You could get in, but it was hard to keep—

I couldn’t get in.

GEG:  You couldn’t get in.  They wouldn’t let you in.

BLT:  With the preparation you had.

I couldn’t take the examinations because I didn’t have enough subjects.  I’d never had Latin or Greek.  In those days there wasn’t a college board examination, a general examination.  You had to take separate subjects.  I actually took seventeen examinations to get into college.  And I took botany.

BLT:  You took Latin and Greek in that six months?

No, I didn’t take Latin and Greek.  But because I didn’t have Latin and Greek, which counted – elementary Latin counted for four points, advanced Latin for two points, elementary Greek, four points, advanced Greek, two points.  Instead of that, I had to take botany, which was a half a point, and physiology, which was one point, and English, which was two points, and elementary chemistry, which was one or two points, and advanced chemistry, which was one or two points, and mathematics, and elementary German and advanced German, and elementary French, and physics.  And mathematics – elementary and advance mathematics.  I didn’t have the subjects; I didn’t have nearly enough to take the examinations.  I couldn’t take the examinations without having had some study of them.

So in those six months, that one school term from January to June, I retook botany and physiology, which I’d had when I was a freshman in high school.  I took an extra year of French, an extra year of mathematics, an extra year – or some advanced mathematics.  I can’t tell you how many subjects I took.

GEG:  In order to get credits?

Not to get credits – in order to be able to take an examination.

GEG:  They gave you an entrance examination.

I had to take examinations.  I took seventeen examinations.  Even in June I hadn’t taken all the examinations because I had to do some reviews during the summer in order to feel that I was prepared to take examinations.  I went to Cambridge in September, not at all assured that I would get into college.  I had my room assigned and everything else, but they were unfurnished.  I wouldn’t furnish them until I’d taken my examinations, about four more, to make sure [that] I got in.

It’s just an interesting thing [about] what happened.  I said Jesse Myer was one and the other one is your dad [Albert Taussig], who I’ve always looked upon as the best internist that I’ve ever known in St. Louis, and the best basically grounded doctor that I’ve known.  That was just my own personal feeling for him.  I got a great, great satisfaction whenever I could be with him in the hospital; whenever I could be associated with him in anything.  We once, in the early days of lupus, before we knew what lupus was, we worked together a little bit.  I was honored when he’d ask me to see a patient with him, as he did occasionally.  Those are the two men that stand out in the medical field – I mean in the St. Louis area – that I had [the] most regard for.

They say that one of the signs of age is reminiscence.  I must admit I get a lot of pleasure out of reminiscing, the same as I get a lot of pleasure out of reviewing my various trips that I’ve taken.

GEG:  Don’t accuse yourself of age, because this is not a characteristic of your chronological age but your cultural age.  You belong to a different culture which is almost obliterated today, where you identify a career with a personality.  Today, it’s itemized – it doesn’t relate to people any more, you know.  Now just you itemize.  No single person is the dispenser of the knowledge.

I guess you’re right.

GEG:  The other phase is that the children are brought up entirely different, you know.  This permissive education – they give free expression, no restraint, you see, no authority imposed.  That might have something to do with it, too, that there isn’t this halo around the person who is really superior to you, both in knowledge and in age.

There certainly is no halo.  (Laughs)  Anything but.  Don’t you feel it?

GEG:  I cannot, for instance, walk into the elevator with you out there or [Jerome E.] Cook or [Llewellyn] Sale, in front of them, you know, but every intern will just march right in there and let you stand outside.

I don’t insist upon that sort of deference – I push them in ahead of me.

GEG:  You don’t insist on [deference].

That doesn’t mean a thing to me.

GEG:  To me it’s so natural, you know – these gestures—

The thing that hurts me is when the house staff discontinues visiting men’s orders on their own.  That gets my goat.  That does get my goat.

BLT:  I certainly think that Barnes Hospital is far worse in that respect than Jewish Hospital.

Oh, much.

GEG:  Really?

Oh, yes.  Much.

GEG:  You mean the house staff is so overbearing?

BLT:  Oh, much more.  I’m very fond of the Jewish Hospital house staff, but I just get like this at Barnes Hospital.

GEG:  Is that right?  I though it couldn’t get any—

You’re dirt, brushed aside at Barnes Hospital.

BLT:  The private physician is the least important personality in a patient’s care.

That’s right.  That is true – it’s very disturbing.

BLT:  I’ve gotten so, Arthur, that if I can possibly avoid it, I send the patient to Jewish Hospital and not to Barnes.

GEG:  That’s the first time [I’ve heard] that.  I remember Jerry [I. Jerome] Flance telling us how glorious it is to send a patient to Barnes Hospital – you send the patient in, you come there two hours later, everything is done.

That is true.  That is true.

BLT:  The wrong things are done.

A great many things are done that never should have been done.

BLT:  And it costs the patient a fortune.

A hell of a lot.  They’re doing it more and more at the Jewish Hospital.

BLT:  But not so much.  Let’s put it this way: If you want to send a patient into a hospital and sort of relax and not pay much attention and not have to use your brains, send them to Barnes – you’ll have your thinking done for you.

Well, you’ll have thinking done – not your thinking.

BLT:  No, but the thinking will be done and the patient will get a workup.

That’s right.  That is true.  You get a workup and a working over. (Laughs)

BLT:  And how.  And if you aren’t careful the patient will have an EEG before you know [it].  Just because the patient has a little peculiarity.

That’s absolutely the truth, Barrett.

GEG:  The private physician is actually superfluous there, if everything is done.

The private physician is superfluous except for his patient – if the patient likes his private physician.  I’ve got a patient who’s currently at Barnes – had a mitralvalvotomy [done by] Tom Burford.  She’s doing beautifully.  Tom comes in every day with his surgical staff and sometimes I come in before they do and sometimes I come in afterwards.  I go over to see her.  This woman welcomes me with open arms because I’m her doctor – because I’m interested in her.  I evidence interest in her; I take enough time to talk with her and to joke with her a little bit.  And nothing  the others, not—  It’s completely impersonal.  My visit to her is worth more, since everything is going smoothly, than all the staff put together.  I don’t want to be immodest when I say that – that’s fact.  You see the same thing.  She begs me to come over; I tell her, “It isn’t necessary to see you every day.”  “Oh, yes it is.  You must see me.”

For medical purposes I rarely leave orders.  I occasionally called up Tom Burford and I said “Tom, don’t you think we ought to have a white count?  Her fever’s running, I think, a little longer than it should.  Don’t you think we ought to have a urine examination made?”  It hasn’t been done; the routine is done.

GEG:  You know, this was not the attitude of the house staff as I remember it.  We were in mortal fear of our visiting men.  We were of deference to them in 1927, ’29.

That’s right.  That’s right.

GEG:  We didn’t know this attitude at all.

You didn’t fear them but you respected them and you felt that they had superior knowledge and you were glad to listen to them.

GEG:  There was a certain way of how to discuss things in their presence.

You were glad to discuss things with them.  You didn’t know everything in the world.

BLT:  It’s very different now.

It is that.  Well, I guess it’s time to go – I don’t know of anything else.  It seems to me instead of giving a discussion of Hanau W. Loeb, I won’t say “memorialized” but I mortified Arthur E. Strauss.

BLT:  Well, you can’t think of anything else to say about Hanau, can you?

Other things may come to me, but at the moment I can’t.  I think you could get—

GEG:  Write something that will be interesting to the young men who had no idea how things were at that time.

Well, I think you could get something of his – and I think you should get something – of his development from the training which happened in those days of his era, where a man didn’t start out as a specialist.  He started out as a general practitioner and then he developed an interest and then he studied his specialty and got the knowledge which was then extant.  And then, through trial and error more than anything else, developed himself into a capable, efficient and progressive specialist.

BLT:  As far as I could find from reading his early articles, he became a specialist almost as soon as he finished medical school.  He wrote two non-ENT articles in [18]86, I think, or [18]88.  Everything from that time on was on the ear, nose and throat.  So he must have become a specialist very early.

That may be – I thought he had been in general medicine before he went into otolaryngology.

BLT:  It may have been [for] a year or two, but that’s all.

I think Max Goldstein was in general practice before he went into otolaryngology.

BLT:  When did Hanau graduate?  He wrote his first article on ENT in 1891.

GEG:  He was born [in 18]66.

One article said ’65; most of them said ’66.  Sixty-six.  In those days they had no—

GEG:  Twenty-five years old.

In those days most of them didn’t go to college first.  Most of them had a two or a three-year medical training; it was not a four-year course.

GEG:  Could he obtain this special knowledge in St. Louis or did he go to New York?  We don’t know.

BLT:  I guess his daughter will bring that out in her [account].

I think she will.  I think maybe you can get it in there.  Or you can get that through St. Louis University.  They must have his curriculum vitae.

BLT:  I have it from the Who’s Who in Medicine.

Well, that’s something.  Is it Who’s Who in Medicine or is it also Who’s Who?

BLT:  I looked up in Medicine.

That’s a very liberal Who’s Who.  (Laughs) Aren’t you in it?

BLT:  Me?  No.  I don’t know why I should be in it.

Well, I am.  I don’t see why you shouldn’t be.

BLT:  I think there’s a pretty good reason.

Well, I don’t think that’s any particular privilege or—

BLT:  I don’t know about that, but I presume that they have as much data in that as they do in the Who’s Who.  I can look up in the Who’s Who.

I think they probably have, at that.  I thought Who’s Who in Medicine was a very widespread – I mean a very inclusive—  I thought that really because of the fact I’d been in it for a great many years.

BLT:  Gerhard, a little more?

GEG:  No, thanks.

BLT:  Arthur, a touch [more]?

No.  No more.  Thanks.  If you want me to possibly expand upon anything that Irene Loeb Cohn may write, I can get it for you.

[Interview ends abruptly]