The American Women’s Hospitals (AWH) was started in 1917 to provide, register and finance American women physicians for war work; to offer medical and emergency relief to refugees; and, later, to provide international public health service. The following is an excerpt from Virginia Metaxas’s article on the AWH use of field information to publicize and raise funds for their ongoing work. The full article can be found here.


by Virginia Metaxas, Ph.D., Professor of History and Women’s Studies, Southern Connecticut State University Legacy Center 2010 M. Louise Carpenter Gloeckner Fellow

Refugee camp on the island of Macronissi, circa 1922

The largest American Women’s Hospitals projects in the 1920s and 1930s were in Greece, where long term medical aid was desperately needed, due to the devastation left by the First World, Balkan, and Greco-Turkish Wars.  To meet the vast needs for medical relief, President Esther Pohl Lovejoy found that she had to spend much of her time fundraising.  As early as 1919, she realized that she needed to capitalize on human interest stories as well as factual material in order to procure private and public support of the AWH projects.  In a letter written to Dr. Ruth A. Parmelee, a physician and medical missionary working in Harpoot [now Harput] Turkey, Dr. Lovejoy succinctly said:

We are very much interested in the work you are doing and we should greatly appreciate a more complete description of the cases you are meeting.  I observe that your total number of treatments for the month of August was something over three thousand.  It is very helpful in this office to have letters descriptive of conditions that are of human interest.   In other words, stories of suffering and heroism such as will help us in our effort to secure funds to continue this work. 1

Dr. Parmelee, who served in Greece for three decades in various capacities under the auspices of the AWH, took Dr. Lovejoy’s advice to heart.  She became, in a very real way, an impassioned advocate for the continued support of the Christian Greeks and Armenians she worked among both in Turkey and in Greece.  Without exaggeration, Parmelee was one of the most articulate reporters of conditions witnessed by AWH staff abroad.  Having grown up in Turkey, the daughter of missionary parents, and a fluent speaker of many of the Near Eastern languages (Armenian, Greek, Turkish), she may have had a particularly empathetic feeling for the people with whom she worked. Through her four decades of work in Turkey and Greece, she sent a constant stream of information from the field to the AWH office in New York, the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions in Boston, other professional medical women’s organizations, and to the general public in the form of medical reports, professional and newspaper articles, books, private and public letters, speeches, lectures, and more.  Dr. Lovejoy was supreme at this sort of activity, publishing three major books and hundreds of professional and lay articles, giving speeches and lectures, and participating in other promotional activities too numerous to count.   She required all of the AWH physicians working in the field to send statistical data as well as ‘stories’ for use in publicity materials used for fundraising.  These abundant and varied materials, many of which are located in the Records of the American Women’s Hospitals, are a windfall to historians seeking documentation of the work of the AWH.  It is also the task of the historian to identify biases in sources and to situate their significance in a larger context.

Dr. Ruth Parmelee and nurse. Salonica, Greece, 1922.

Dr. Esther Pohl Lovejoy, 1918.

Lovejoy’s and Parmelee’s work in reporting what they saw and heard, and their calls for support and action, built upon a tradition set in motion earlier by secular and missionary Americans who had served in various Near Eastern locations.  In the context of rising nationalisms in the region, Americans had witnessed many years of conflict between the Muslim Turks, who they often characterized as feared,  despised, and uncivilized “Mohammedans,” and Greeks and Armenians, who they characterized as “Christian martyrs,” especially in the context of resistance to Ottoman rule.  Indeed, late nineteenth and early twentieth century reports from American missionaries and diplomats had resulted in widespread public awareness of the plight of Armenians and Greeks in the waning final years of the Ottoman Empire.  Many grassroots organizations, both religious and secular, conducted massive public fundraising campaigns so that American citizens knew of and contributed to saving the thousands of “starving Armenians” displaced by the conflict in the area.2  The Greek genocide and forced population exchange of 1922 became part of the American consciousness through the efforts of American witnesses who sought to form public attitudes and possibly achieve humanitarian intervention. These unprecedented international human rights campaigns helped shape America’s national and international identity.  3  AWH fundraising efforts shrewdly adopted these familiar tropes as a means of obtaining the funds to provide medical relief.  They joined the chorus of voices speaking against the growing evidence of ‘Turkification’ perpetrated by the Kemalist government, policies that resulted in the ethnic cleansing of Christian populations in the region. Read the full article.


  1. Italics mine.  Letter to Dr. Ruth A. Parmelee from Chairman EL (Esther Pohl Lovejoy), November 26, 1919, Records of the American Women’s Hospitals, Acc. 144, Box 9, Folder 73.  The Records of the American Women’s Hospitals are located at Drexel University College of Medicine, The Legacy Center Archives and Special Collections, Philadelphia, PA 19129.  Thanks to the generosity of the M. Louise Carpenter Gloeckner, M.D. Summer Research Fellowship, I was able to spend several weeks at the archives during the summer of 2010.  I am very grateful to have received this support and for all the wonderful help of the staff there, including Joanne Murray, Director, Margaret Graham, Digital Resources Archivist, Lisa Grimm, Assistant Archivist, (who left shortly after I arrived) and Karen Ernst, Administrative Assistant.  Their expertise and welcoming ways made my stay there very productive and joyful. 

  2. A recent treatment of the Armenian genocide and the response by the American public and government can be found in: Peter Balakian, The Burning Tigris: The Armenian Genocide and America’s Response (New York: Harper Collins, 2003).  

  3. See Barbara Reeves-Ellington’s dissertation “That our daughters may be as corner stones: American missionaries, Bulgarian nationalists, and the politics of gender” (Graduate School of Binghamton University State University of New York, 2001) for a critical study of the role of American women missionaries in shaping U.S. ambitions for empire during the nineteenth century in the Ottoman Empire. 

Kuhlenbeck with bookFor the past several weeks, I’ve been processing the extensive Hartwig Kuhlenbeck collection. Kuhlenbeck, born in Germany in 1897, was Professor of Anatomy and, later, Emeritus Professor at Woman’s Medical College, and served as Major of the Medical Corps of the United States Army during World War II.  He traveled all over the world, including the Alps, Alaska, the South Pacific, India, South America, and spent several years in Japan at the Imperial University and Keio University in Tokyo as Dozent of Anatomy and Comparative Neurology during the 1920s.  He’s an interesting man with an interesting collection.  While Kuhlenbeck deserves an entire blog post to himself, one item in his collection is just begging to be written about.

Kuhlenbeck saved various memorabilia from his travels: souvenir postcards and stationery, maps, museum booklets, hotel receipts.  Fun stuff to look through, and much the same as we save from our vacations today.

In 1951, Kuhlenbeck spent several months in South America, lecturing (in Spanish, of course) at the Neurological Clinic of the University of Montevideo, Uruguay; the Hortega Institute in Buenos Aires, Argentina; and the Universities of Santiago and Concepcion in Chile.  He visited “a number of additional Medical Schools and Scientific Institutions…[to collect] material for comparative neurological study.” He also collected a shrunken head, allegedly from the Jivaro people.

The Jivaro are South American Indian people living in Ecuador and Peru, north of the Marañón River in the eastern part of the Andes mountains. They are war-like and well-known for their talent of shrinking heads to the size of apples.1 Kuhlenbeck described the head-shrinking process as such:

In the manufacture of the skin tsantsas, the separated head is split by a cut from the apex across the occiput to the rear end of the neck stump and carefully peeled away from the skull; the skinned skull is thrown away. The skin sack is then cooked for several hours in a boiler, where water and plant juices, known to the Indians as conducive to shrinkage, are mixed. Then the head-hunters sew the incision to guide the peeling skin and again achieve a further shrinkage, and at the same time shape [the head] by placing hot stones in the neck opening of the skin sack, and roll the stones back and forth. Furthermore, the outer side of the head is flattened with smooth stones and modeled. Finally, hot sand is poured through the neck opening into the interior of the hollow head; so that the final drying and shrinkage is caused, which can be completed by a kind of incense on the fire.

During his visit to Ecuador, Kuhlenbeck wrote in his Tagebuch (you view the relevant pages and translation here) about the day he purchased the shrunken head:

An old Indian woman, sitting there on a blanket spread out on the street, offers a variety of handicrafts for sale at which I look. As I exchange a few words with her, she pulls out of a basket a blackish, shrunken head,  the size of a small human fist, with a long dark mop of hair, which she offers to sell to me for a few dollars…It is apparently one of those designated as Tsantsa Trophies of the Jivaro (Jibaros), the wild Indian tribes of the tropical jungle in the upper Amazon.

Clearly not as skeptical as some would be when offered such merchandise for a measly few dollars, Kuhlenbeck seemed to believe it was the real deal:

The head, which the squaw offers to me, is obviously true – it shows the face of a young person of about 20 to 30 years, with slightly Negroid and some feminine traits. I am therefore not quite sure if it was a young man or is a woman. In the latter case, the value would only have been a very little as a trophy for the Jivaro. Also, it is probably a half-breed head, perhaps the one Zambos. The lips are sewn, as is generally the case with these heads, with only a single thread loop. Nevertheless, this  shrunken head offered to me is an unusual showpiece with an almost living facial expression. Therefore, I pay the high price and put the head, like an apple, in my coat pocket.

shrunken headNow, meet Jürgen Jivaro (we here at the Legacy Center have dubbed it as such, feeling it needed a name).  The question is, “Is it authentic?”  Authentic in this case – a true tsantsa – means a shrunken human head prepared with correct ceremonial and religious rituals by the Jivaro people.   I’m still undecided, but signs are pointing to it being a forgery – whether human, it’s very difficult to tell.

My first foray into Jürgen’s authenticity was to find out what Kuhlenbeck himself had written; luckily for me, he mentioned the date of his South American tour in a short autobiography.  From there it took several hours of paging through his Tagebuch (day book, literally) until finding some mention of the Jivaro – a tough task considering my German is a bit rusty!  With the help of Google Translate (quite possibly, the bane of foreign language teachers everywhere), I soon discovered the means by which Kuhlenbeck acquired Jürgen (as excerpted above).

Well, Kuhlenbeck seemed to harbor little doubts as to the authenticity of the shrunken head, but that didn’t settle it for me.  So I did some digging.  One helpful article, “Shrunken head (tsantsa): A complete forensic analysis procedure,” listed diagnosis criteria for authenticating shrunken heads.  Jürgen fit only four of these criteria well.2   Another article, a case study written in 1975 about two shrunken heads in the nearby Mütter Museum3, seemed to present evidence that Jürgen is not authentic.

So what did I find out about authentic tsantsa and forgeries?  A ‘forgery’ or ‘fake’ can be either a shrunken human head not prepared with the correct ritual (sometimes referred to as “tourist heads”2) or one made of an animal head (commonly sloth); animal hide; or even plastic.Here’s what I found about our shrunken head, and why I believe it’s not authentic, but (best case) a “tourist head” or (worst case) a fake composed of animal skin.

While Jürgen’s skin is smooth and polished with what could be charcoal, and there are stitches up the back of its head, it is clearly missing some qualities authentic shrunken heads share.  Yes, it’s not uncommon for the hair to be cut or for the string attached to the top of the head to be absent.  However, while Jürgen’s ears seem to be blocked with some sort of material, they’re not pierced.  Its eyes are not completely shut, let alone sealed.  This, and the fact that its lips are sewn through with only one thread as opposed to three, seem to point to the head being a forgery.  The Jivaro made certain the lips and eyes were sealed and sewn tight to ensure the spirit could neither see nor escape.  Additionally, the thumb-sized depressions found on the temples of authentic tsantsas are not noticeable.2,3

Blocked, unpierced ear

Side view showing eyes and lack of depression

Back of head showing stitching

Kuhlenbeck also mentioned that the shrunken head he purchased had “an almost living facial expression.” It has been stated that the Jivaros would purposefully distort the heads to ridicule their enemies and made no attempts to make the facial expressions look ‘alive.’3

All this evidence leads me to believe Jürgen is a forgery, much as I would like it to be authentic. Without the use of high-powered microscopes or DNA testing, we probably won’t know whether it is a human head. So what do you think? Is Jürgen authentic or just a clever forgery?

Sources cited:
1. “Jívaro.” Encyclopaedia Britannica. Encyclopaedia Britannica Online. Encyclopædia Britannica Inc., 2014.
2. Charlier, P.; Charlier, I-Huynh; Brun, L.; Herve, C.; and de la Grandmaison, Lorin. “Shrunken head (tsantsa): A complete forensic analysis procedure.” Forensic Science International, 222 (2012): 399e1-399e5.
3. Mutter, George L. “Jivaro Tsantsas, Authentic and Forged: A Study of Two Shrunken Heads in the Mütter Museum.” Transactions & Studies of the College of Physicians of Philadelphia 43, no. 2 (1975): 78-82.

As April rolls into May, our (now named!) digital history project is now in its beta testing phase.  We are sending it off to our project advisors and to The Pew Center for Arts & Heritage (our grant funders) for some feedback.  We’re especially excited to hear back from all the students and teachers who have tested out our story content and site functionality over the past three years.  While we still have some kinks – design-wise and interface-wise – to work out, we can say that we’re happy with the outcome, albeit exhausted.

More news about “Doctor or Doctress?” coming in September as we plan for our ‘official’ launch.  For more project and grant information, see our earlier blog, Playing with the Past: A Digital History Toolkit, or visit the interpretation planning section of our website here.

 

Well before (okay, at least a few months before) our digital history project will be launched, we visited two Philadelphia-area high schools last month to test our website in its beginning stages.  We focused on one story: “Two Women, Two Paths: Eliza Grier and Matilda Evans.” (An earlier blog post about testing the story content can be found at: Two Women, Two Paths.)  Our goal was to find out how the students navigated our as-of-yet rather basic site, and to make changes to the design, navigation, and user interface based upon our results.

As of now, our story includes about five ‘core documents,’ the ones we rely on as evidence; several ‘related documents,’ meant to enrich the content; a ‘background,’ which tells the story and gives general historical context pertaining to it; questions to consider while browsing through the documents; and a teaser video.  Each core document has attached to it a brief description, an image of the original, a transcript of the excerpted sections and audio to complement it, questions for discussion, and a ‘why it matters’ section, designed to let users know why this document is important as evidence to the story (or in general!).

Whew! Not too much content to fit into one page (for the stories)…or a pop-up window (for the documents), correct?

So several of the staff members here, along with a colleague from the Drexel Library, set out to see how students interacted with the page, knowing that the feedback might mean a lot more work, but in the end would create a better user experience.

Not surprisingly, many students watched the video first.  Some felt it was too short; the video was only 60 seconds.  Others felt the video was “too general” and would have liked it to provide more information about the story.

Students also seemed to like having the transcript and the audio for the documents.  They questioned the placement of the audio player, and some didn’t know the transcript was underneath the player.  Other students found the navigation on the viewer to be troublesome.  However, a lot of students commented they enjoyed being able to see the original document, and that the transcript and audio made it easier to figure out the handwriting and follow along.

Because our project is still in its early development phases, students had various comments about navigation: they found it hard to scroll from horizontally, as an example.  Many students said the pictures and the videos caught their eyes first; this is what we kind of expected, although it’s good to have confirmation.  Another rather common comment was that they way the content was presented felt a bit overwhelming; they wanted a cleaner layout with more visual components and one that was more aesthetically pleasing.

Overall, we found that students enjoyed going through the stories, and may wanted to “know more.” (Ah, the nature of archival material!)  Although they enjoyed using it, most said they wouldn’t visit the site unless it was for an assignment, which isn’t too surprising.  They found the questions and the ‘why it matters’ section useful for hypothetical assignments, although many admitted they wouldn’t bother with those if they were just browsing out of interest; again, not surprising.

While we have much feedback to wade through and changes to be worked out, it was fantastic seeing students enjoying seeing all this “old stuff” and really digging the images of original documents.

 by intern Claire (Tracy) Ulmer
This article is also posted on the HCI-PSAR blog. 

This fall I processed two collections as part of the HCI-PSAR Internship Pilot Program, facilitated by the Historical Society of Pennsylvania’s Hidden Collections Initiative for Pennsylvania Small Archival Repositories (HCI-PSAR). As part of this project I received guidance and supervision from professional archivists at the Drexel University College of Medicine Archives & Special Collections where I processed the Jessie Laird Brodie, M.D. papers and at the Chestnut Hill Historical Society, where I processed the Philadelphia Canoe Club records.

The end goal of this internship pilot program was to make better known and more accessible the hidden archival collections held at the numerous small repositories throughout the five-county Philadelphia area (as well as to work out any kinks in the program!). While I certainly aided in this end goal, it was not the end goal I had for myself.

Other than an assignment for an archival studies class at Drexel University where I processed a collection of just 50 pages, I had no experience in processing archival collections. Sure, I had all the theory, knew all the lingo… but processing a comparatively small-scale class assignment and an actual collection are two very different things! This internship was a chance for me to merge my knowledge with experience.

I first processed the personal papers of Jessie Laird Brodie, M.D. and then the organizational papers of the Philadelphia Canoe Club. Over the months I learned first-hand what I recall discussing in all of my archival studies classes: what one wants to accomplish following archival theory is very different from what one might be capable of accomplishing given situational circumstances! It is theory versus reality, and it can be as frustrating as all get out.

Jessie Laird Brodie, MD collection before processing

Time, of course, is always a limiting factor, and my biggest challenge as I felt the pinch while processing both collections, particularly when I had to remind myself that I did not have time for minutia. Time versus thoroughness became my internal mantra. This factor inevitably led to compromise between the ideal and reality. For example, for the Jessie Laird Brodie, M.D. papers I was not able to organize or describe the 800 some odd 35 mm slides beyond, “The slides appear to be of Brodie’s travels outside the United States and are generally labeled with the country shown in the slides, but do not always have a date.” While frustrating, I had to accept that this area of the collection was simply not going to receive as much attention in terms of physical or intellectual arrangement.

Limiting how much attention I could give the two collections was a particular difficulty for me. The desire to get into every nook and cranny, figuratively speaking, was immense. As someone looking to enter the archival profession, where such detailed work is generally not possible due to time constraints, funding, and backlogs, pulling back from the minute was something I had to remind myself of every day I worked on the collections. Certainly starting with a collection of personal papers this was more difficult, but working on an organizational collection at the Chestnut Hill Historical Society was comparatively much easier. Folder labels were typically obvious and straightforward; for the most part I did not have to spend time double-checking that the contents of a folder were what the folder title purported them to be.

Jessie Laird Brodie, MD collection after processing

After working with two types of archival collections, there were two key principles I have since taken in mind: there are numerous ways to process any given collection; time and experience will help me to ferret out the best way to process various types of collections in the shortest amount of time possible. Also: always double check to make sure you pull all of the boxes belonging to one collection so you do not end up with a surprise box at the end when you go to put the collection away!

Hahnemann Medical College records

Funded through the Council of Library and Information Resources (CLIR) and the Andrew W. Mellon Foundations Grant, the Philadelphia Area Consortium of Special Collections (PACSCL) has begun its second venture into uncovering the “hidden collections” of Philadelphia area repositories. Here at the Legacy Center, our PACSCL processors will be delving into the records of Hahnemann Medical College, one of the predecessors of the Drexel College of Medicine.

Hahnemann Medical College, ca. 1890

Hahnemann Hospital and Nurses' Building, 15th Street, ca. 1910

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Homeopathic Medical College of Pennsylvania was founded in Philadelphia in 1848 by Constantine Hering, Jacob Jeanes, and Walter Williamson. Homeopathy was becoming a somewhat popular alternative to traditional medicine, and the school was one of the first homeopathic medical schools in the United States. The College continually faced financial problems, and in 1867, Hering resigned his position after additional conflicts about the pathology and diagnostics department, and opened a new school, the Hahnemann Medical College. The two colleges merged in 1869 as Hahnemann Medical College. The College continued to focus its education on homeopathy until the 1920s and 1930s, when it began teaching traditional medicine. In 1941, Hahnemann Medical College began admitting women.

Drs. Charles Bailey and Joseph DiPalma


 
In the 1960s, Hahnemann rid itself completely of its homeopathic past and focused on the mid-20th century medical practices prescribed by the American Medical Association and the Association of American Medical Colleges. The faculty organized and directed laboratory work and clinical research programs, and implemented the modern teaching methods of the second half of the 20th century. Hahnemann was re-inventing itself as a nationally known academic medical center with prominence in cardiac surgery and cardiology, oncology, transplantation, training of non-physician health professionals, community health and community mental health. In 1981, it became a university with four fully accredited schools: the School of Medicine, Graduate School, School of Allied Health Professions, and School of Continuing Education.

 

 

 

In 1995, Hahnemann University merged with the Medical College of Pennsylvania (formerly Woman’s Medical College of Pennsylvania) under the Allegheny Health Education and Research Foundation. In 1998, with bankruptcy looming near for AHERF, Drexel University began operating the school as MCP Hahnemann University School of Medicine, and in 2002, it became the Drexel University College of Medicine.

The Legacy Center’s Hahnemann Medical College records include the papers from former deans, faculty members, and academic departments. To learn more about the Hidden Collections project, visit “About the Project”. Meet our hard-working processors, Steve and Annalise, on the “Project Team” section.

Interested in reading more about Hahnemann Medical College? Check out An Alternative Path by Naomi Rogers.


Constantine Hering, M.D., the father of homeopathy in America, was born on January 1, 1800 in Oschatz, Saxony, in Germany. In 1817, he began studying medicine at a surgical academy in Dresden. By 1820, he was enrolled at the University of Leipzig and during his studies there, he turned to homeopathy after injuring himself during a post-mortem examination. Refusing the traditional treatment of the time – amputation – he turned to homeopathy and was healed. Hering became a practitioner of homeopathy and was a great advocate for Samuel Hahnemann, the father of homeopathic medicine. In 1826, he graduated from the University of Wurzburg with a doctor of medicine. He then spent the next 7 years in South America researching zoology and botany on the orders of the King of Saxony. Hering, however, continued working in homeopathic medicine at hospitals and a leper colony. In 1833, he immigrated to the United States and opened his own medical practice.

A homeopathic medicine case, likely Hering's

Homeopathy is based on the principle that ‘like cures like’ – so a substance which causes symptoms in large doses will treat those same symptoms in small doses. Just as drinking several cups of coffee might make you stay up all night, taking the essence of coffee in small, highly diluted doses will help you sleep more easily. While this may sound counter-productive, the concept of ‘like cures like’ is sometimes used in traditional medicine, like using small amounts of pollen to de-sensitize a person allergic to it.

The idea of treating like with like dates as far back as Hippocrates, an ancient Greek physician who lived from 460 to 377 B.C.E. He is known as the father of western medicine. When Samuel Hahnemann discovered this method of treatment in the 19th century, he embraced it as an alternative the harsh medical treatments of the time, which often included blood-letting and purging. It is not difficult to see why Constantine Hering turned to homeopathy when he was at risk of losing a limb.

 

Hering, ca. 1850s

Once in Philadelphia, Hering founded the Hahnemannian Society of Philadelphia. He promoted the use of homeopathic medicine and, in 1835, along with several other doctors, he founded the North American Academy of Homeopathic Medicine in Allentown, Pennsylvania – the first homeopathic medical school in the United States. The Allentown Academy remained open until 1842. In 1838, the Homeopathic Medical Society of Philadelphia was founded. The Homeopathic Medical College of Pennsylvania opened in 1848 and in 1867, Hahnemann Medical College opened, both in Philadelphia. The two schools merged in 1871. Constantine Hering also published several scholarly journals, including the American Journal of Homeopathy (1835) and the Philadelphia Journal of Homeopathy (1852). He wrote several books as well, like his The Logic of Homeopathy (1860s). Hering continued practicing homeopathic medicine until his death in 1880.

 

Hering in his study, ca. 1870s


The Legacy Center holds Hering’s papers as well as those of his son-in-law, Calvin Knerr, who took over Hering’s practice after his death. The finding aid for this collection can be found here: Constantine Hering and Calvin B. Knerr Family Papers. In addition to the family papers, the Legacy Center has Hering’s collection of the works of Paracelsus, a 16th-century Swiss German physician who founded the discipline of toxicology. A PDF catalogue listing of the works in the collection can be found here: Paracelsus catalogue.

One of the features we hope to have as part of our digital history project is an interactive timeline.  We want our users to be able to use the timeline to explore the stories – none of these static, boring, text-only timelines most of us are familiar with.  Browsing the depths of digital exhibits and collections on the web – not to mention history websites – has led us to discover some pretty cool timelines.  Here are 3 of our favorites:

For example, Neatline offers the ability to connect your timeline with a map and with documents plotted on that map.  Mousing over the documents gives the user the title, and clicking on it brings up a lightbox containing whatever metadata your heart desires: it could be a transcript, a detailed description, or something as basic as a catalog record.

Neatline is a great tool; the problem is that it only plays nicely with Omeka, and it’s unlikely we would have the means necessary to create something from scratch with the same functionality.  However, it’s still fun to play around with!

We’ve also been checking out Chronozoom.  It has really a nice zoomability feature, and clicking on an event from the timeline zooms in to what reminds me of a Prezi presentation, with several ‘slides’ for each event.  We haven’t looked into whether it will work well with Islandora, but this could be an interesting way to present the stories, with each one being its own event on an overall timeline.  Some events have videos included, so it’s great knowing we would have that capability.

 

Finally, there’s also Timeglider.  This one also has a nice zooming ability feature, and we like the document thumbnails featured at the top of the timeline.  It seems like the events can be categorized, which is an attractive feature; perhaps one color for a story, and one for general, contextual events.  Like Neatline, Timeglider also provides a nice little lightbox when clicking a document or a link, but doesn’t seem to have a mouse-over feature.  Again, we haven’t looked into how (or if) Timeglider would work with Islandora, but we’re excited to find out.

It’s hard to narrow down our choices in which timelines to explore further; these 3 are just a few that seemed fun, interesting, and engaging.  Over the next few months, we’ll be putting more thought into this part of our project.  Questions we’ll need to answer include: “What works best for our audience?  What’s the best way to integrate/implement a timeline and map into our stories?  How big of a feature do we want this to be?”  And of course, the most sensible question, “Can we do it?”

Mary Putnam Jacobi, undated

 

The New York Times ran a recent article entitled “Honoring Female Pioneers in Science” (see link below) – and one of Woman’s Medical College of Pennsylvania’s graduates was recognized. Although this woman graduated nearly 150 years ago, it seems that Dr. Mary Putnam Jacobi is still highly regarded today for her work in the field of medicine.

Dr. Mary Putnam Jacobi was born in 1842 in London, England, to American parents. She and her family returned to the United States in 1848 and she grew up in New York. She studied under Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell, the first woman to receive a medical degree (from Geneva Medical College in 1949), attended lectures at New York Medical College, and studied anatomy. In 1861, Dr. Jacobi became the first woman to earn a degree from the New York College of Pharmacy.

The matriculation book for Woman's Med, October 14, 1863. Jacobi is the fifth name down, under her maiden name Putnam.

 

 

Thesis, 1864, "Theorae ad lienis officium"

She entered the Female (later Woman’s) Medical College of Pennsylvania in October of 1863, and after some conflict with Dean Edwin Fussell over the fulfillment of graduation requirements, Dr. Jacobi graduated in spring of 1864. Her thesis was written entirely in Latin – a great feat even back in the mid-nineteenth century, and certainly uncommon. It is titled “Theory on the Function of the Spleen” (or Theorae ad lienis officium) and can be viewed in our digital collection here.

After graduating from the Female Medical College, Dr. Jacobi worked for a brief time at the New England Hospital for Women and Children, and then set off for Paris, where she finally gained entrance to the École de Médecine of the University of Paris in order to further her studies. She was the first female student accepted into the school, and, in 1871, became the second woman to graduate. She then returned to the United States and opened her own medical practice in New York.

An 1883 newspaper clipping, praising women physicians

 

In 1872, Dr. Jacobi became the first woman to gain membership into the Academy of Medicine and also organized the Association for the Advancement of the Medical Education of Women, of which she was president from 1874 to 1903. In 1876, Harvard University awarded her the Boylston prize for her essay “The Question of Rest for Women during Menstruation.” Her essay argued against the belief that women were limited physically during menstruation, and provided scientific evidence to support her statements, including data on pulse rate and other statistics concerning the the stability of a woman’s health, strength, and agility throughout her monthly cycle. In 1886, she opened a children’s ward in the New York Infirmary. Her final essay, “Description of the Early Symptoms of the Meningeal Tumor Compressing the Cerebellum. From Which the Writer Died. Written by Herself,” was published in 1905, shortly before she died in June of 1906.

The Legacy Center holds not only historic photographs of Dr. Jacobi, but also her thesis, news clippings, biographical information, and publications by and about her. You can access our digital materials about Dr. Jacobi here.

The New York Times article, “Honoring Female Pioneers in Science: ‘Extraordinary Women in Science and Medicine’ Offers Up Little-Known Details,” can be viewed here.

- Chrissie Landis, Archives Assistant

Woman's Southern Homeopathic Hospital, 739 S Broad Street, Philadelphia. Founded 1896.

Just like any other profession in the 19th and early 20th centuries, women in medicine struggled for the right to formal education and recognition as professionals.  Even in the field of homeopathy, which was considered ‘eclectic,’ early women physicians had to put forth a great deal of effort if they wanted to be acknowledged as their male counterparts were.  In Philadelphia, the Female Medical College of Pennsylvania (later Woman’s Medical College of Pennsylvania) was the first school to grant women medical degrees; it was founded in 1850.  Several other medical colleges which awarded degrees to women soon followed, in Boston, New York, and Chicago. 

However, formal homeopathic training was even harder to come by – there were only two schools by 1870, one in New York and one in Cleveland, which allowed women to study homeopathy and earn degrees or certificates.  At the Homeopathic Medical College of Pennsylvania (which merged with Hahnemann Medical College of Philadelphia in 1871), women were repeatedly turned down for admission, although they were granted the right to attend lectures in 1865 – provided they sat behind screens.

It was common practice for women in the early days of homeopathy to receive medical degrees from schools such as the Woman’s Medical College of Pennsylvania (Philadelphia) or New England Female Medical College (Boston), and then move to Chicago, Cleveland, Baltimore, or Boston, where they could receive formal training in homeopathic medicine. 

We have been working on compiling a list of resources from our collections – and some from elsewhere – about the brave early women homeopaths.  You can find our subject guide at Early Women in Homeopathy Resources.  And here’s a sneak peek of three women homeopaths who practiced in the Philadelphia area:

 

Dr. Mary Branson

Mary Branson, Woman’s Medical College of Pennsylvania, 1873

Mary Branson studied homeopathy for several years after receiving her degree from Woman’s Med, although it is not known where.  She was a founding member and the president of the Woman’s Southern Homeopathic Hospital. She was also a member of the American Institute of Homeopathy, the Pennsylvania State and Philadelphia County Homeopathic Medical Societies, and the Woman’s Medical Club.

 

 

Dr. Harriet Schneider French

 Harriet Schneider French, Pennsylvania, 1864

Harriet French was born in Philadelphia and received her medical degree in 1864.  She was the president of the Women’s Christian Temperance Union of Philadelphia as well as president of the Women’s Homeopathic Society of Pittsburgh.  She was also on the Board of Censors for the Homeopathic Medical Society of Pennsylvania.  Harriet French, along with Harriet Judd Sartain and Mercy Jackson, was one of the first women to be admitted to the American Institute of Homeopathy in 1871.

 

 

Dr. Harriet Judd Sartain

Harriet Judd Sartain, Philadelphia; Eclectic Medical Institute (Cincinnati, Ohio), 1854

Harriet Judd Sartain was born in Connecticut and studied medicine in both Philadelphia and Cincinnati.  She married Samuel Sartain (the son of the famous engraver, John Sartain) not long after graduating from Cincinnati and moved to Philadelphia.  She was the first woman member of the Homeopathic Medical Society in 1870, and in 1871 she was elected to the State Homeopathic Society.  Harriet Sartain, along with Harriet French and Mercy Jackson, was one of the first women to be admitted to the American Institute of Homeopathy in 1871.