My Road To Rotary

Chapter 26

Dr. George

WHILE MY LIFE in our valley was devoted mainly to grand adventure and mischief, I did have serious moments at times. It was difficult for me to determine what was right and what was wrong; some things that seemed to impress folks as sinful, did not impress me that way at all. I had my own theories of right and wrong which probably would have shocked the minister had he learned of them.

I am sure I would not have been left in such a quandary if the folks of Wallingford had been divided into two camps; the good and the bad. If all of the good folks had been church members and none of the bad folks had been church members, the solution of the problem would not have been so difficult, but, so far as I could see, the situation was badly mixed.

On one hand there was old Mrs. Page, a saint outright. It was her lot to suffer cursing and other forms of persecution by her husband, the profane and irascible Captain Page, beyond what would seem to be the limit of human endurance. Manifestly, she was sustained by a sublime faith. I frequently saw her bent figure passing our house on her way to church. A smile which was beatific lighted her pinched and blanched face. If she could have been taken as truly representative of church members and the old Captain taken as truly representative of pagans, the solution of the problem would have been easy. Eve7 sensible and well-intentioned person in Wallingford would have joined the church.

Unfortunately for me in my troubles, those two were not truly representative in their respective classes. There was a heap of good and considerable bad both within and without the membership of our Wallingford churches.

While Judge Hutton's faith had never, to my knowledge, been subjected to any such day in and day out strain as old Mrs. Page's faith was, he seemed to have a sustaining philosophy which served him well during the emergencies of life. The Judge was one of a considerable number of good folks in Wallingford who supported the church but never became members. None seemed to care to discuss their reasons for not entering the fellowship of the church and I surmise that it would have been difficult to get them into an argument on that subject

As Fay Stafford and I grew older, we were frequently called upon to act as pallbearers at the funerals of infants and young children, the prevalent idea being that it was appropriate that the young bury the young. Possibly the grief of bereaved parents was softened somewhat by the presence of children.

We boys took the task seriously, and in one case we showed our appreciation of the kindness of Mr. John D. Miller, a bereaved father, who had lent us books to read and who always greeted us with hearty and familiar salutations, by cutting evergreen twigs and branches from the mountain frees and lining the sides and bottom of the dark grave so that it would not look so cold, cruel and forbidding when the body of his only son was let down to its final resting place in the frozen soil of the village cemetery.

One after the other, I fell victim to the ailments of childhood, mumps, measles and scarlet fever. We had three old doctors in the village, although one younger man could have taken care of all the cases. New England doctors belonged to one or the other of two schools. They were either allopaths who prescribed big doses or homeopaths who prescribed small doses.

To the "Homeops" the "Allopaths" were queer; to the "Allopaths" the "Homeops" were ridiculous. To administer a dose of medicine so small that it could be lifted on the point of a penknife, was the practice of sorcery in the eyes of "Allopaths." Once having selected one's school of medicine, it was customary to stick to it, come weal, come woe. It was much like joining the church. "Once a Baptist, always a Baptist" was frequently said, and, with equal truth, it might be said, "Once an Allopath, always an Allopath."

We were definitely and incurably allopath, and fortunately we had an allopath doctor right In the family, Dr. George Fox of Rutland. Dr. George was the husband of Aunt Mellie, my father's sister. Uncle George was called Doctor George to distinguish him from his brother, Dr. Bill, who lived and practiced in Wallingford. Dr. John, who died before my time, was the father of Doctors Bill and George, and faithful old family doctors they all were. Dr. John was a son of William Fox, a farmer who moved to Wallingford from Dorset.

William bought a farm bordering upon a lovely sheet of water. Neither of the parties to the transaction cared much about this sheet of water but it was eventually acquired by William, the purchase price being a barrel of gin and for many years it was known as Fox Pond. Lovers of the present Elfin Lake will be ready to conclude that the purchase price was not excessive.

Doctors Bill and John did not monopolize all of the practice in Wallingford. Dr. Hitt and Dr. Noble had their shares. Dr. Bill, Dr. Hitt and Dr. Noble, each weighed well over two hundred pounds and their buck-boards were bent nearly double at times bouncing over country roads.

We enjoyed a special feeling of security in having a good doctor in the family. I was taken severely ill one night. Suddenly the room I was in began to whirl around me. The next thing I knew was that I found myself tucked into an improvised bed in the sitting room, not far from the coal-burning stove. Uncle George was sitting by my side and looking anxiously into my eyes. He had driven his well known and faithful Billy over the snow covered road to minister to my need. Uncle George and Billy were a faithful team and their beneficent influence extended over the whole countryside. I am sure that Billy sensed his responsibility, as he was always ready to have his harness put on either night or day and to struggle through drifts of snow during the fiercest of New England storms.

Uncle George's practice grew and it soon became necessary to get another horse to help Billy out and it was then that Fanny came. It took Billy some time to reconcile himself to the presence of Fanny but they eventually became good friends and he always whinnied her a welcome when he heard her coming into the driveway. In the heyday of his practice, Uncle George kept a hostler to take care of the horses and to accompany him on night drives, but that did not continue long.

To sick folks it was like receiving a bill of health to see bay Billy or brown Fanny turn into their yards with grey beaded Doctor George holding the lines. Calls on members of our family were, of course, without charge but that meant nothing to Uncle George. Some uncles with children of their own to make provision for, might have viewed with disfavor my intrusion into the home of their well-to-do father-in-law, but not so Uncle George. Never once did he either directly or indirectly manifest disapproval of my addition to grandfather's family.

Under Uncle George's skillful and devoted attention, I was soon on my feet. Successive ailments brought me down considerably as I had never been a robust child, but the perfect regulation of affairs in my adopted home, went far toward making amends for a rather poor start in life.

I was destined to learn more of Billy in later years. While visiting in Rutland once in the winter, I had an experience I shall never forget. It lingers in my memory because of the opportunity afforded me of observing the good understanding between Uncle George and Billy and Uncle George's dependence on Billy to carry him through.

Uncle George received a telephone call from a patient in Menden who was desperately ill. The call was received rather late In the evening. While he was getting ready, he noted my interest and to my joy, said, "Would you like to come along, Paul?"

The night was cold and dark so I was provided with every safeguard to make certain that I would not contract a cold. The fall of snow was light at first but increased rapidly as we proceeded on our journey. The hot soapstones at our feet were comforting and we wrapped the buffalo robes tightly about us. As we approached the mountains the storm increased and it was difficult to see far ahead. Billy was going along without urging and he needed none; he had a job to do and he set about doing it. Not until we actually got into the mountain road did the storm assume menacing proportions. I was sure that Uncle George was worried although he tried not to betray it. We could see nothing of the country road after we had turned from the highway; whether we were in it or out of it was a matter of conjecture. Billy stopped of his own accord to regain his wind and Uncle George stepped out of the sleigh, waded through the snow to Billy's head and slipped the check rein off to allow him the full use of all his forces. Billy seemed to appreciate Uncle George's thoughtfulness and when Uncle George patted his neck, he turned his head and affectionately snuggled his muzzle under Uncle George's arm. How we got to a point where we could see the bright lights of the house, I do not know but when we finally did get there, we were met by a man with a lantern who directed our course to a protected shed where Billy was blanketed and fed.

After Uncle George had performed his professional duties and spoken words of encouragement to both man and wife, we backed Billy out of the shed and started our trip back home. When the time seemed suitable, I inquired of Uncle George how he had managed to find his way along the country road, and he answered, "I didn't find it, Paul. I couldn't see a thing no more than you could. That was one of the times when I have to leave everything to Billy. I have put him into a good many tight places but he has never yet failed to pull me through. Billy is all heart. That's why I chose him for this job. He is not so strong as Fanny but he throws everything he has into his work. Yes, Billy is all heart.” After that night what could I do but give Billy a place in my affections second only to our Buttercup.