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The unnecessary death, by incompetence, of a president
DANIEL F. HARRINGTON
‘But what think ye of Christ?” shouted the insane man during a dull sermon at a church in Washington, D.C. President James Garfield noted the man’s outburst — and the terrible sermon — in his diary. What he didn’t know was that the man had been stalking him for weeks, and one month later, on July 2, 1881, would shoot him as he boarded a train.
Robert Todd Lincoln was traveling with the president and comforted him as he lay on the station’s filthy floor. The wound wasn’t fatal — the missile eluded Garfield’s vital organs, entering the left side of his back and coming to rest in fatty tissue on the right side. Like other Civil War veterans, he could have lived for years with the ball inside him. Instead, what Robert Lincoln did next probably did more to kill Garfield than the hidden bullet: Lincoln summoned Doctor D. R. Bliss to the scene.
Bliss was destined for infamy. His parents actually named him “Doctor” at birth. He had a checkered past, a thirst for fame, and a commanding presence. He was also at Abraham Lincoln’s side when he died. When Bliss arrived at the Washington station he found several doctors huddled about Garfield, some probing the bullet wound with their fingers and likely introducing infection. Bliss probed the wound, too.
They should have known better. It had been 16 years since British surgeon Joseph Lister pioneered antiseptic surgery, but many American doctors scoffed at the concept of invisible germs
.
They then decided to move Garfield to a stifling upper room in the White House and care for him there. Bliss curtly dismissed all physicians save for two handpicked surgeons and set about micromanaging the situation.
It was a living hell for Garfield. Bliss forbade him visitors and even conversation — fearing it would disturb the bullet inside him. He plied him daily with a mix of rum, wine and morphine, followed by unusually rich foods, causing Garfield to frequently vomit. The president was conscious, polite and alert most of the time, despite being confined to both bed and bedpan. Occasionally the cigar-chomping doctor would search anew for the bullet or instruct his surgeons to plunge pus-draining tubes into the wound, further spreading the infection and leaving Garfield writhing in pain. Incredibly, this went on for over two months.
And yet out of this misery came a ray of light in the form of Alexander Graham Bell.
Press releases written by Bliss kept the nation advised of Garfield’s “improving” condition and Bell raced to town. Even Bliss couldn’t refuse the famous man. Bell was convinced he could invent a metal detector to locate the hidden bullet. His “Induction Balance” went from paper to prototype in a manner of weeks as Bell labored day and night in a former horse stable. Unlike Bliss, Bell sought advice from anyone he could. Astonishingly, on July 26, Bell was ready to test his device on the president.
It worked . . .
But the results were inconclusive, in part because Bliss refused to allow the device to be positioned over Garfield’s right side! Bliss, of course, had told the press the ball was surely on the left. Bell made further improvements to the device and a second unsuccessful attempt was made on Aug. 1. Sadly, Bell would make no other attempts, as he was quickly summoned to Boston, where his wife gave birth to a son who died three hours later. Bell was crushed.
And Garfield was fading.
Finally, on Sept. 6, the president, now only weighing only 130 pounds, let Bliss know he had had enough. A train was carefully prepared to take him to the Jersey shore where he passed away on Sept. 19, 1881, as he watched the waves from his room. An autopsy would reveal massive amounts of infection throughout his tired body.
Bliss remained unrepentant and demanded $25,000 (almost $1million in today’s money) from Congress for his services. They paid him $6,500 and he faded into history.
But perhaps we shouldn’t judge Dr. Doctor too harshly. He was, after all, a product of his time and his greatest sin — a stubborn unwillingness to ask for help — infects us all on occasion.
“For lack of guidance a nation fails” goes the old proverb; and marriages crumble, dreams wither and presidents die. Best to remember, then, the noble Mr. Bell the next time you find yourself in a quandary and make quick use of that other invention of his: the telephone.
A listening ear and timely advice are often but a phone call away.
Daniel F. Harrington ( danielfharring ton@yahoo.com ), a monthly contributor, is president of Chartwell Investment Services in Rumford.
"...GOTTA LOVE FRIARTOWN.."
"...I HAVE NO IDEA..."
JOURNAL ARCHIVES
President James Garfield shot by Charles J. Guiteau, July 2, 1881.
©2014, Published by The Providence Journal Co. This material may not be published, broadcast
The unnecessary death, by incompetence, of a president
DANIEL F. HARRINGTON
‘But what think ye of Christ?” shouted the insane man during a dull sermon at a church in Washington, D.C. President James Garfield noted the man’s outburst — and the terrible sermon — in his diary. What he didn’t know was that the man had been stalking him for weeks, and one month later, on July 2, 1881, would shoot him as he boarded a train.
Robert Todd Lincoln was traveling with the president and comforted him as he lay on the station’s filthy floor. The wound wasn’t fatal — the missile eluded Garfield’s vital organs, entering the left side of his back and coming to rest in fatty tissue on the right side. Like other Civil War veterans, he could have lived for years with the ball inside him. Instead, what Robert Lincoln did next probably did more to kill Garfield than the hidden bullet: Lincoln summoned Doctor D. R. Bliss to the scene.
Bliss was destined for infamy. His parents actually named him “Doctor” at birth. He had a checkered past, a thirst for fame, and a commanding presence. He was also at Abraham Lincoln’s side when he died. When Bliss arrived at the Washington station he found several doctors huddled about Garfield, some probing the bullet wound with their fingers and likely introducing infection. Bliss probed the wound, too.
They should have known better. It had been 16 years since British surgeon Joseph Lister pioneered antiseptic surgery, but many American doctors scoffed at the concept of invisible germs
.
They then decided to move Garfield to a stifling upper room in the White House and care for him there. Bliss curtly dismissed all physicians save for two handpicked surgeons and set about micromanaging the situation.
It was a living hell for Garfield. Bliss forbade him visitors and even conversation — fearing it would disturb the bullet inside him. He plied him daily with a mix of rum, wine and morphine, followed by unusually rich foods, causing Garfield to frequently vomit. The president was conscious, polite and alert most of the time, despite being confined to both bed and bedpan. Occasionally the cigar-chomping doctor would search anew for the bullet or instruct his surgeons to plunge pus-draining tubes into the wound, further spreading the infection and leaving Garfield writhing in pain. Incredibly, this went on for over two months.
And yet out of this misery came a ray of light in the form of Alexander Graham Bell.
Press releases written by Bliss kept the nation advised of Garfield’s “improving” condition and Bell raced to town. Even Bliss couldn’t refuse the famous man. Bell was convinced he could invent a metal detector to locate the hidden bullet. His “Induction Balance” went from paper to prototype in a manner of weeks as Bell labored day and night in a former horse stable. Unlike Bliss, Bell sought advice from anyone he could. Astonishingly, on July 26, Bell was ready to test his device on the president.
It worked . . .
But the results were inconclusive, in part because Bliss refused to allow the device to be positioned over Garfield’s right side! Bliss, of course, had told the press the ball was surely on the left. Bell made further improvements to the device and a second unsuccessful attempt was made on Aug. 1. Sadly, Bell would make no other attempts, as he was quickly summoned to Boston, where his wife gave birth to a son who died three hours later. Bell was crushed.
And Garfield was fading.
Finally, on Sept. 6, the president, now only weighing only 130 pounds, let Bliss know he had had enough. A train was carefully prepared to take him to the Jersey shore where he passed away on Sept. 19, 1881, as he watched the waves from his room. An autopsy would reveal massive amounts of infection throughout his tired body.
Bliss remained unrepentant and demanded $25,000 (almost $1million in today’s money) from Congress for his services. They paid him $6,500 and he faded into history.
But perhaps we shouldn’t judge Dr. Doctor too harshly. He was, after all, a product of his time and his greatest sin — a stubborn unwillingness to ask for help — infects us all on occasion.
“For lack of guidance a nation fails” goes the old proverb; and marriages crumble, dreams wither and presidents die. Best to remember, then, the noble Mr. Bell the next time you find yourself in a quandary and make quick use of that other invention of his: the telephone.
A listening ear and timely advice are often but a phone call away.
Daniel F. Harrington ( danielfharring ton@yahoo.com ), a monthly contributor, is president of Chartwell Investment Services in Rumford.
"...GOTTA LOVE FRIARTOWN.."
"...I HAVE NO IDEA..."
JOURNAL ARCHIVES
President James Garfield shot by Charles J. Guiteau, July 2, 1881.
©2014, Published by The Providence Journal Co. This material may not be published, broadcast
