My father, Angus, was the youngest of 8 children
born to a solid, Scottish family on one of the rugged Hebrides Islands
off the coast of Scotland. His birthday was May 15, 1851. Like his people
he grew up hardy, independent, humorous, (though sometimes dour) canny
and poetic. I remember him as tall and broad-shouldered, of a sinewy build;
his presence was confident and bracing, his keen blue eyes often twinkled
with mischief.
ANGUS BERNARD GILLIS
The parents, Malcolm and Hattie, were farmers. Malcolm
and the eldest of his sons served in the army from time to time.
When Angus was four the family followed friends
and relatives to Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island, where the soil was
more fertile and the climate milder, My father cherished this place in
his heart. For him its beauty was unrivaled on this earth, though the Connemara
coast of Ireland came close. "In Connemara" he would say, "you will find
the loveliest green hills and mountains, the best whiskey, and the prettiest
girls in the world!"
The only family photos I have are of his two sisters,
Christie and Margaret, after whom my two daughters were named. Christie's
expression is kindly and wise, while Margaret's shows grace and gentleness.
I also have a newspaper clipping from a P.E.I newspaper
announcing that Hattie Gillis died there at the age of 90.
Unfortunately, my father seldom spoke
of his early years; he felt that his real life began at 14, when he stowed
away on his uncle's sailing vessel. When the captain discovered his daring
young nephew at the point of no return, he put him to work. Angus proved
himself a worthy enough deck-hand and cabin-boy to stay with the ship for
two years.
In 1870, at age 19, it seemed natural
to Angus, coming from a military family, to enlist in the Gordon Highlanders,
a division of the Queen's army, fighting in India. He served for 6 years,
becoming a second lieutenant. During a scrimmage he suffered a saber wound
to his right wrist, the effects of which eventually forced him to give
up the practice of surgery.
His reminiscences of this Indian period of his life
have a fairy-tale quality. He described boa constrictors as thick as a
man's arm, lying along an overhead branch, waiting to drop around the unlucky
man walking beneath. Venomous insects crawled into tents at night. The
soldiers hung their boots upside down, set the legs of their cots in cans
filled with kerosene, and hoped for a decent night's sleep.
My father's tales about fakirs were the most amazing!
There were those who lay unharmed on beds of spikes; others walked barefoot
through live coals; still others stared at the sun until they went blind
and had to become beggars for the rest of their lives.
On one occasion the troops watched while a fakir
placed a boy in a basket, took up a sword, and ran the basket through several
times. The boy stepped out unharmed.
Another fakir clapped his hands and the boy beside
him appeared in the top of a nearby tree, where he sat on a branch, gazing
down at the crowd. Another clap and he stood on the ground again.
A third fakir cast a coiled rope in the dust beside
him, stood a few moments with eyes closed, as though in deep thought. Then,
opening his eyes, he clapped his hands, and the rope uncoiled and sprang
up, suspended vertically in the air. Another clap and the boy appeared
at the very top, arms and legs entwined around the rope! A last clap and
he was standing on the ground again, the rope lying beside him!
After one retelling of such an incredible story,
my ever practical mother asked, "How can you explain these tricks?" "Well,"
Angus replied, "it could have been mass hypnotism. We soldiers discussed
it after every time we witnessed such magic, but we were completely baffled.
Couldn't come up with a logical explanation! "Believe it or not!" as Ripley
would say."
ANGUS BERNARD GILLIS
At 25, homesick and tired of the soldier's life,
Angus returned to P.E.I., and after much thought, decided to become a doctor.
Not having enough money yet to finance his education,
he worked on neighboring farms, and in his spare time pored over a set
of medical books, borrowed from the local doctor.
When he heard that the grammar school was looking
for a new schoolmaster, Angus applied and was hired.
A friend of his had warned him that Scotty, the
school bully, had driven the last two teachers nearly mad till they gave
it up and quit.
When Angus walked into the schoolroom that first
day, he identified Scotty immediately by his build; a large, burly fellow,
some years older than the rest. His eyes seemed to gleam, as a true bully's
will, with the excitement of a new challenge.
When Scotty began punching the lad in front of him
in the back, Angus strode down the aisle, grabbed him by the shirtfront,
hauled him to his feet, shoved him to the door, kicked it open, and threw
him out, and yelled, "And don't come back till you can behave yourself!"
A few days later Scotty was in his seat, ready to
settle down and learn.
In the Canada of my father's time a
candidate's lack of previous schooling was not counted against him. To
prove that he had the knowledge requisite for admission, he must pass a
3 day oral examination before a panel of professors.
At last Angus felt as ready as he would ever be
to present himself at Queen's University Medical School in Ontario to take
the entrance exams. He was accepted, and later was graduated with honors;
his best friend came in second.
To support themselves while at Queen's they did
tutoring and odd jobs, and in the summers, farm work. It was not an easy
road to that medical degree, but neither was it all serious study.
One of his least successful pranks involved a cow,
which, very early one morning he and his chum managed with much exertion
to lead, cajole, and push up the front steps of the university. Their punishment,
when they were caught, was this simple order, "Get that beast back to its
pasture!"
It took hours, using planks, and hay, and a lot
of patience.
A more macabre and elaborate prank was photographed
by a professional photographer, hired for "An evening of Poker at the Morgue!"
His job was to shoot pictures of 5 Queen's medical students in shirt sleeves
and derby hats, holding cigars and cards, and seated around a sheet-draped
cadaver. They are intently studying their poker hands; the poker chips
are stacked upon his bare chest, and he, of course, is serene and really
quite handsome with his handlebar-moustache!
Following graduation Angus was appointed
Resident Physician at the university hospital; also professor of Mathematics
and Anatomy.
His next move was to Europe for post-graduate
work in London, Paris, and Vienna; his longest stay was among the poor
in the tenement district of Whitechapel. I still have a defensive weapon
of his, called a "cane-sword" with a carved horn handle in the shape of
a hound's head. It is used in this way: you raise it as if to strike your
assailant, and when he grasps the end, you press a button at the base of
the handle, and pull the sword out of its case, The assailant then high-tails
it away!
In Berlin, while Angus and his friend were studying
at the Algemeinenkrankenhaus, (General Hospital) they dined out at a certain
local restaurant. When the waiter came to take their order, my father,
who at that point knew only a little German, and was still unfamiliar with
German script, mistook an "R" for a "K", and ordered "Kinderbraten" (literally
"roast child") instead of "Rinaerbraten" ("roast beef") His friend, who
was fluent in German quickly explained the mistake, and the waiter's shock
turned to laughter.
Back in Canada, at age 32, an attack
of the old adventurous spirit prompted Angus to join the Riel Rebellion
in Manitoba in 1855; he loved Canada and a good fight!
In his late thirties around 1890, after a few years
as assistant to Professor Faulk, a surgeon in New York City, the prospect
of a small-town practice, and country life appealed to Angus. He came west
to Salem, Oregon, and settled into upstairs offices in the Ladd and Bush
Rank Bldg., living in an adjoining apartment.
At the turn of the century Angus seemed
to exemplify Horatio Alger's popular image of the resourceful, self-made
man. He had traveled as a lad on his uncle's sailing-vessel, fought in
India, gotten his medical degree, studied and practiced in Europe and New
York, joined the Riel Rebellion in Canada, and at last moved out West to
set up his medical practice.
True, he was close to 40, and still not married.
My mother told me that when my father was a young man, the girl he loved
died shortly before they were to be married, and it was very difficult
for him to recover from this heartbreaking loss.
However, in the late 1890s, about 10 years after
settling in Salem, my father met 24 year old Anna Krebs, who was living
in
ANNA KREBS
Salem with her mother and 2 of her brothers.
She had been suffering from a sore throat which
worsened to the point where she had to see a doctor. Her mother had heard
that Dr. Gillis was highly thought of, so she sent Anna off to see him.
At first sight of her he knew he was in love!
He confessed later that after Anna's throat was
well, he continued to book appointments for her, and mama told me that
her throat seemed just fine after the second visit, but that she liked
this man so much she went along with return visits.
Finally, at the end of the 4th visit, when pretense
was no longer possible, Angus blurted out, "Miss Krebs, I would like very
much to visit you at your mother's home. I would like to meet your mother
and. . . well. . .I want very much to see you again!"
"Oh" she replied, quite relieved, "That would be
very nice, Doctor. I'm sure she would like to meet you. . .How would next
Sunday do? Come for dinner, please, at about five o'clock. Some of my family
will be there, too."
"Fine. . . thanks. . .Oh I'll be there,"
he assured her, delighted with the prospect.
A year later they were married, and in their pretty,
new home they entertained family and friends. Mama rode her thoroughbred
mare, Wanda, and papa was a busy horse and buggy doctor.
Angus was an immediate hit with Anna's
brothers. They loved to make music together; each played different stringed
instruments: guitar, banjo, mandolin, zither, violin and autoharp. Anna
played the piano accompaniment and the violin. The repertoire ranged from
popular and folk to classic; many happy evenings were spent with music.
ANGUS BERNARD GILLIS
Angus also shared the outdoors with his brothers-in-law.
They swam the rivers together, and hunted and fished and camped. Together
they dreamed up practical jokes, some notable enough to make the newspapers.
Between my grandmother and Angus there was a bond
of mutual respect, based on their shared love of healing. His was an academic
approach, hers was inherited and well-tested folklore medicine. Cordelia
knew her herbs: where to find they in field and forest, how to prepare
and administer them.
Dr. Gillis was a familiar sight in Salem,
driving the countryside in his black buggy, pulled by his black Morgan,
named "Mac". Medicines, surgical instruments, bandages, chloroform and
ether, all the tools of his trade were packed into his doctor's bag on
the seat beside him.
In his head was the medical knowledge available
to doctors of a hundred years ago; not much, perhaps by modern standards,
but, with a diagnostic sixth sense, and a cheerful, bracing manner, those
horse and buggy doctors were able to heal a good many physical and emotional
ills. They were deeply respected and loved by their patients for their
cleverness and unstinting devotion.
Iodine, hydrogen peroxide and alcohol for disinfectants;
boric acid solution for the eyes; silver nitrate for sore throats and festering
sores; syrup of ipecac, ("urpicac" I called it when my father gave me a
dose,) to induce vomiting; digitalis, concocted from foxglove, still used
for ailing hearts; bella donna from Deadly Nightshade, also for the heart
and to dilate the pupils of the eyes, and relieve chronic vomiting and
diarrhea.
ANGUS BERNARD GILLIS
One other staunch ally was the placebo. Just hearing the word
"placebo" could make my father smile, recalling hypochondriac patients
he had treated for imaginary ailments; not severe usually, but troubling
nonetheless.
These patients were often well-to-do society women;
bored, uninvolved in interests outside their homes, and also perhaps a
bit taken with this handsome and charming bachelor, Dr. Gillis.
When he could find nothing really wrong with a patient,
who still insisted there was pain and discomfort, he would write a pretend
prescription for her to take to the pharmacy downstairs. It was for a placebo
(from the Latin "I shall please") and the slip of paper she gave to the
pharmacist carried some scribbled words familiar to him, which roughly
translated to "some of the usual." In a few days the patient would almost
surely be back to tell Doctor how much better she felt!
My father overcharged this type of patient, who
could easily afford it; it evened out in his ledger, which recorded many
patients with financial troubles, whom he treated free of charge, or for
whatever they were able to pay, which was often not money. At times mama
complained when he brought home too many vegetables. On one such occasion
I remember her saying, "But we already have 2 sacks of potatoes!"
For many years before Angus' right hand
became unsteady, he was a renowned eye surgeon; people came to him from
other Western states for treatment.
He was proud of being able to replace an eye with
a glass one which looked exactly like its mate, and attach it so it would
track perfectly. Sometimes Angus would call my mother into the surgery
to look at a patient's eyes, and decide which eye was the false one; sometimes
she chose the wrong one!
Workers from the steel-mill nearby came to his office
with tiny splinters of steel in their eyes. (Protective goggles were not
yet in use.) He drew them out with a magnet.
Angus enjoyed so much being a doctor
that when he was finally forced to give up surgery, he continued to practice
medicine as a general practitioner.
ANGUS AND ANNA AT
BUSH HOUSE
The Insane Asylum outside of town needed a doctor
to examine the inmates regularly. These were mostly routine check-ups,
cursory, at best, but often virtually impossible with violent cases.
With some difficult cases my father used his gold
pocket-watch (his engagement present from my mother) as a diversionary
tactic. He would stand by the barred door, gently swinging it back and
forth by its chain. When the inmate's attention was completely absorbed
with it, he and the guard would enter the cell, my father still swinging
the hypnotic watch. After a bit he would offer it to the patient, and while
he wonderingly gazed at it, Angus would do a speedy check-up. When he was
done, he would hold out his hand to receive the watch, and the guard would
let him out.
Visiting the asylum gave Angus the opportunity to
observe the warden and guards at work, He came to understand the grinding
emotional stress they suffered. One of the guards told my father very seriously
"You know, Doc, taking care of these crazy people, and seeing they don't
kill us and maybe each other, . . . well I think it's making me crazy,
too!"
At the next Governor's Board meeting Angus told
these gentlemen about the asylum employees' problems. He proposed that
they be allowed one week away from work, with pay, to 3 weeks on. This
ruling was enacted.
Angus was also the doctor for the OR
& N Railroad, travelling by train to different stops, where he would
stay over and examine the railroad workers, as well as applicants. He always
checked their vision, and occasionally discovered a case of color-blindness.
The ability to distinguish red from green being, of course, a requisite.
Especially for a signalman, he would have to dismiss that worker or applicant.
Salem, like all growing cities, had
its share of prostitutes. Outrage from the pulpit and among the righteous
private citizens had failed to change this fact of Salem life.
Good doctors of my father's time believed
it was wise medical practice to begin with the simplest and least invasive
of the possible cures, in hopes it would be the right one never choosing
surgery when it was not strongly indicated. Also they relied on a patient's
positive attitude as a big factor in recovery. That and the doctor's knowledge,
common sense, experience, and his diagnostic sixth sense were powerful
forces.
My father loved to tell stories from his years as a family
doctor and surgeon, and I loved to listen. From these many stories I have chosen
a few I most enjoyed, and for the sake of fun and interest I have written them
here as short stories, or skits, if you will. I think this format makes them seem
as though Angus himself were telling them.
Bear in mind that this doctor had a strong appreciation
of the absurd in a situation; a delightful twist of humor!
