A GENERATION ago those of us who had the advantage of having been brought up in little towns had an occasional source of entertainment that proved quite interesting as a break in the monotony of small town life without the radio or the movies. It gathered a consider-able number of people together and sent most of them home after an hour or two quite satisfied with the interlude. The gathering usually took place, handily enough for all concerned, on a corner of the public square, or somewhere on a vacant lot not far from the center of town.
The first hint of the entertainment in store for the inhabitants that evening came in the afternoon when citizens had their attention called to several Indians in their native garb making their way around town. They were followed—at what was considered a safe distance—by small boys. They were as characteristically glum as Indians were ever supposed to be, but in spite of this the towns-folk with previous experience learned even from this slight hint that we were to have an entertainment that evening.
The mise-en-scene was of the simplest. A large wagon carrying a platform, lighted by old-fashioned torches which threw such a lurid light on everything they were supposed to illuminate and belched so much smoke that they succeeded only in darkening the shadows, served as a stage. On it were musicians with several musical instruments, a snare drum, a bass drum, a violin and a cornet. These instruments made enough of not unpleasant noise to attract the attention of most of the townspeople, and besides, for half an hour or so before the show the musicians "doubled in brass" and paraded through the streets of the town gathering in all who could get away from home.
Most of us knew what the show was to be, for we had seen something like it several times before, but with a change in personnel we were quite willing to see it again because with so little else to do with our time we needed the diversion. With the troupe there were usually a couple of singers who sang some of the old-fashioned songs, especially Stephen Foster's airs and ballads.
The one purpose of the entertainment was to gather and hold the crowd until the real master of the show was ready to make his appearance. Usually he wore what has since come to be called a six-gallon hat, suggestive of the wide open spaces of the West, and ordinarily he had on a bizarrely decorated coat and vest, the latter garment so fancifully embroidered that it was sure to attractfeminine attention particularly, a factor extremely important for the ultimate success of the show.
This picturesque figure proved to be a good talker who took the crowd into his confidence at once and told them of spending years among the western Indians and cultivating the friendship of the medicine men of the various tribes until finally, after no little difficulty, he succeeded in worming from them the medical secrets that had come down by tradition among the tribes for the cure of various diseases. The Indians, he declared, had acquired their precious knowledge as a result of their intimate contact with nature for generations. This revelation of nature's mysteries enabled them to cure many diseases which the ordinary pale-face physician, without the special knowledge of the red-men, could scarcely be expected to treat at all successfully. For American diseases, he proclaimed, there was need of American remedies.
The paleface medicine man, for such he declared he was by adoption into a tribe, was manifestly intent on just one thing, and that was the alleviation of the suffering of mankind and the relief of disease. Because of his long intimacy with the Indians he had succeeded in compounding a medicine that contained practically all the precious medical secrets gathered by the Indians for hundreds of years. As could be readily under-stood, this medicine was almost an infallible remedy for ills and ails of all kinds. He assured his audience, who followed him with great intentness, that it was a wonderful cure for nearly every disease under the sun and a few others besides. The virtue of this composition was simply astounding. It was good for "the hair, teeth, and stomach," eminently curative for colds in the winter time, and for summer catarrh as well as asthma, and above all good for indigestion, or as they called it at that time, "dyspepsy." It was simply an invaluable remedy to have around the house because it prevented as well as cured disease. Above all, it was good for children—given in smaller doses of course—and it kept many a house-hold, wise enough to have it on hand, from suffering from diseases rife in other families because they did not know this precious secret for the prevention of all sorts of affections.
This touch about the children stirred mothers' hearts and loosened pocketbooks. Of course there could be no doubt about the Indian origin of the remedy. Did he not have two real Indians with him? Was not that of itself sufficient demonstration of his close relations with the Indians and of the opportunities that he had so well taken advantage of to secure the precious materials of which the medicine was composed? Being of plant origin, it could do no harm. What was the use of mentioning the fact that many of the most poisonous drugs which physicians prescribe on occasion are of plant origin?
At first, in spite of his persuasive speech, there was little haste and no urgency to come forward and pay fifty cents for a bottle of this great Indian remedy. Fifty cents had much larger purchasing power in those days than in ours. Village folk hesitated before squandering fifty cents unless they were confident of getting their money's worth. Several men of the troupe had been judiciously planted among the crowd, and they pushed their way forward and asked questions as to their symptoms. They were assured that this was just the remedy for them, and after half a dozen had come forward and planked down their half dollars the townsfolk were willing to buy. The result was a brisk sale.
That was the way they did things in small towns before the days of the radio. We may well pity the poor small-town folk who had to depend on meager means of entertainment and were glad to have them provided even in such primitive fashion. Most of us would have a feeling of congratulation that things were quite different in our time because of the inevitable progress that mankind has made during this last precious generation of ours. Instead of the amateur musicians and the crowd joining in with the old songs, we have Metropolitan Opera singers, famous sopranos and tenors, baritones and bassos of distinction, with an orchestra that is the last word in support of singers and chorus. How great has been the advance in culture since the primitive days of the Indian medicine man and his wandering band of musicians. It must not be forgotten, however, that it was the sale of medicine that "made the ghost walk" regularly for the entertainers. It is still the ballyhoo for medicines of one kind oranother that serves to support a number of programs sent out over the air as entertainment.
We are still told in alluring terms how much good this and that medicine may be for all sorts of affections. To have the opportunity to listen to worth-while musical programs, we have to stultify ourselves and practically deny all modern medical progress. To have the privilege of listening to these distinguished singers and musicians we must swallow the insult to our intelligence, together with some of the medicine. The advertising toll provides the funds that pay for these musical presentations just exactly as it did in the little towns of long ago.
A book was written some years ago on "The Funny Things That Cure People," which would have provided a number of suggestions for radio program editors. The book has the story of any number of remedies that worked cures in hundreds and even thousands of cases though they had no genuine physical effect of any kind on human tissues. People were told that the remedies recommended would cure them, and that was enough by the influence of suggestion to have a number of people proceed to get well.
M. Coue, the little druggist from Nancy in France, would have made a wonderful radio announcer. He gave no medicine, but thousands of people went to him every year and somewhat more than half of them were cured or greatly benefited. The one thing he insisted on their doing was to repeat twenty times in the morning when they woke up, "Every day in every way I am feeling better and better." That would not be expected to cure anybody but it literally cured them by the thousands. A great French physician once said that half the people who walk into a doctor's office need to have their minds soothed rather than their bodies treated. Yet for the sake of suggestible people, all the rest of us ought not to be compelled to listen to suggestion poured out over the air for the benefit of the "patent medicine" concerns, as they used to be called.
