Volume 005-3 - April 1951 (3 pages)

anything that he had ever received. It was so full of appreciation. The doctor brought into this world over 3,000 babies. He never thought about collecting a bill. If one-third of the business he did was paid for, he was satisfied, but if you changed to another. doctor—it was different. You surely would receive a bill with some very fancy notations on it. There were families who had him for over thirty years and never paid him a cent. I could name many cases where he was their guardian angel. One winter day he was called to Scott's Flat to wait on Elish Haven. We hated the thought of the trip. That grade was the worst mud hole in the county. We took along a shovel, pick, axe and plenty of wire. It was all we could do to get there. It was a quagmire, and we had plenty of use for the tools that we had along. We were all in when we arrived, and I knew the doctor was all out of sorts. When he got through with Elish he informed him in no uncertain language that he was not coming out there again to see him, and that he had better have himself hauled to town as he had a good chance of passing out, and if he died out here no damn fool undertaker would come out and get him. He told his sons, “You lazy galoots, if you want your father to live, bring him in and I'l] take care of him.” They did—and he got well. We had many such trips. Some were babies, some were accidents and others were just plain sick, He never turned one down, The thing that would make him mad, was for someone to be sick all afternoon, but wait until midnight to call him. He furnished all of the finances to put his stepson through school in order to give him a good medical education. He wanted some one to take his place when he got older. His stepson’s name was Dr. Henry S. Welsh. Dr. Hunt never got along with him which made it very hard for Mrs. Hunt. Both doctors were very quick-tempered and one never knew just what would happen when they were together. Along about this time if you were ailing and had plenty of money, the right place to go to was Paso Robles Hot Springs, and as the doctor had rheumatism and needed a rest badly, he decided to go just as soon as Phil Scadden’s heir arrived which was expected most any day. Something went wrong, for the doctor called there every other day for a month before the new arrival came—he would fret and fume and fuss and say, “That boy will be old enough to vote before he gets into this world.” When the new law went into effect to help orphans and half-orphans, the doctor was very pleased as it would help a great many families. Shortly afterward someone wade a test case of it, and the money was stopped. The doctor felt very badly but he was not licked. He made a list of all the most deserving cases and on the first of each month I was scnt out with his buggy team to give advance money to those deserving people. He took the chance of getting it back, which he did. For years he kept the road in good _Shape from the Catholic Church to Deer Creek past the Hospital. He hired men and teams to do it at his own expense. Many of you remember Aunt Caroline and Uncle Billie—two colored characters and very much admired by all. They lived about three blocks from the doctor’s house back of Nevada Street. The doctor was mortally afraid of dogs, and the colored people had a bad one. One day I was working in the yard, and he came out in great haste, and said, “Is the shot gun loaded? If not, put a big charge in it as I want you to come with me to Aunt Caroline’s. She is hurt and I don’t want that D---dog to bite me. If he makes a move, shoot him.” I did not like my assignment. I didn’t want to kill the old people’s dog as it was their only protection. We arrived at the gate. He in the lead, and I following with the cocked gun. No dog was in sight. We went up to the house, and he again told me to shcor the dog on sight. We knocked, and some one said, “Come in.” The doctor was nervous and frightened. He went up to the bed, and was doing what he could for the old lady as she had some broken ribs from a fall. All of a sudden there was a growl overhead and he yelled, “Shoot the so and so.” They had put the dog upstairs and there was a stove pipe hole in the ceiling floor, The dog stuck his head through that and growled. The doctor yelled again, “Shoot the so and so.” I started laughing and then he said, “Aint I a damn fool?” I agreed with him and he got mad at me for doing so. Three years before he died, he placed me in charge of the Hospital and my brother took my place with him at the house.’ They did not get along and it was up to me to keep them together. His practice was dwindling and old age was telling on him. Had he lived a few years more, I would have had my shingle out somewhere as an M.D. and probably have starved to death. I liked my wor! at the Hospital very much and did a lot of studying. George Clark, an indigent patient who came to the Hospital from Maybert, was a very fine old gentleman and almost at the end of his trail. He came into the Hospital office one morning and asked the doctor’s permission to dig his grave in the hospital cemetery. The doctor asked him if he contemplated suicide. “Why no!” Clark said. “I am just getting my house in order. I want your permission for a certain spot for my last resting place.” The doctor consented and Clark asked him if he would stake it out for him. The doctor told him to lie down and with a big rock in his hand, drove a peg at his feet and head, and told him to dig between those pegs. In a few weeks Clark again came and asked the doctor to come ‘and see his grave as it was all finished. The doctor took one look at it and said, “Clark, I cannot bury you in that until you dig it one foot deeper. The law calls for five feet deep and this is only four.” Clark said, “It’s all right, I’ve got plenty of time.” He finally finished the job and it was nice. He had it all lined with old boards and white-washed all of it. He had a head board set up with the inscription on it except the time of his death. He left some money with me to finish the job after his death. Clark died several years after the doctor, and his wishes were carried out in detail. Here is the specimen of the type of yee an old time country doctor had to do. He called me at the Hospital one day and asked if I could come and give him some help as he had a bad case down in Chinatown. I consented. A Chinaman had been brought down from Washington district with a badly broken and infected ankle. The doctor said the foot would have to come off. The Chinaman did not want to go to the Hospital, so the doctor told me to get a place ready while he went for Dr. Muller and his instruments. This was in the old Joss House. With the help of a couple of Chinamen we dug things out—sacks, seed bags, tools, shavings and what not. We got a couple of saw horses and a couple of boards and a block for a pillow and had the patient ready when the doctors came. I gave the anesthetic, and the foot was soon off. I came down early the next morning to see how the patient was, and found that the Chinaman had taken off all the bandages and had put cobwebs on the stump. It was an awful mess. I called Sigourney’s express wagon, and took the patient to the Hospital where he recovered nicely. I will tell of one more case just to show the difference between the old school of medicine and the new. Mr. C. D. Eastin, a merchant from Graniteville, and a very fine man with a very fine family, moved down from the mountains in order to.give his children a better schooling and to get away from the hard mountain winters. He bought the J. J. Ott’s place on Nevada Street. Shortly after he settled there, one of his small sons was stricken with diphtheria and Dr. Hunt was called in. He did everything in his power to save him—but to no avail—the boy died. A few days later another one of the small lads was stricken and in spite of everything that was done for him, he passed away. The doctor was beside himself— he felt very badly. He could not eat or sleep—he was just like one in a trance. The third lad was stricken and again the doctor was called in. It was just about this time that Antitoxin was being discussed and it had performed some remarkable cures. The doctor had been opposed to it, but he said to me, “If I don’t he will die, so I'll give him the benefit of the doubt.” He telegraphed to Sacramento for the medicine and it came in on the evening train. He stayed with the patient all night and the next day, and along in the afternoon the boy showed improvement and made a splendid recovery. Here is one of his favorites. “When the patient dies, it’s the doctor’s fault, but if the patient gets well—it’s an act of providence.” Dr. Hunt was very proud of his home on Nevada Street. It was a beautiful place both inside and out. He loved to bring nice things into it, such as new furnishings, silverware, fancy dishes and the many things that go to make a real home. He greatly admired his yard which consisted of three acres. He had it planted with many kinds of fruit and shade trees and many fancy shrubs. He had four very nice horses that were born and raised right on the place. He never really enjoyed his home though, as most of his time was given to others. He was often lonesome and would call me at the Hospital to come down and talk with him. We would sit on the porch and smoke a cigar and talk about old times, the hardships and the pleasures he had gone through, and would give me a lot of good advice. To me those are pleasant memories of a very dear friend. He seldom spoke an ill word of anyone. He numbered among his old time friends E. M. Preston, Walter D. Vinton, I. J. Rolfe, George Jacobs, Charley Mulloy, Tom Legg, J. I. Caldwell, George E. Turner, Jake Naffziger, Fred Searls, M. L. Marsh, Bob McMurray, J. T. Morgan and many others. Dr. C. W. Jones of Grass Valley, father of Judge Jones, was one of Dr. Hunt's closest friends and in the early days they worked together a great deal —in operating and in consultation. In later years, the doctor worked mostly with Dr. Muller, Dr. Conlan and Dr. Jim Black. Dr. Jameson of Grass

anything that he had ever received. It was so full of appreciation. The doctor brought into this world over 3,000 babies. He never thought about collecting a bill. If one-third of the business he did was paid for, he was satisfied, but if you changed to another. doctor—it was different. You surely would receive a bill with some very fancy notations on it. There were families who had him for over thirty years and never paid him a cent. I could name many cases where he was their guardian angel. One winter day he was called to Scott's Flat to wait on Elish Haven. We hated the thought of the trip. That grade was the worst mud hole in the county. We took along a shovel, pick, axe and plenty of wire. It was all we could do to get there. It was a quagmire, and we had plenty of use for the tools that we had along. We were all in when we arrived, and I knew the doctor was all out of sorts. When he got through with Elish he informed him in no uncertain language that he was not coming out there again to see him, and that he had better have himself hauled to town as he had a good chance of passing out, and if he died out here no damn fool undertaker would come out and get him. He told his sons, “You lazy galoots, if you want your father to live, bring him in and I'l] take care of him.” They did—and he got well. We had many such trips. Some were babies, some were accidents and others were just plain sick, He never turned one down, The thing that would make him mad, was for someone to be sick all afternoon, but wait until midnight to call him. He furnished all of the finances to put his stepson through school in order to give him a good medical education. He wanted some one to take his place when he got older. His stepson’s name was Dr. Henry S. Welsh. Dr. Hunt never got along with him which made it very hard for Mrs. Hunt. Both doctors were very quick-tempered and one never knew just what would happen when they were together. Along about this time if you were ailing and had plenty of money, the right place to go to was Paso Robles Hot Springs, and as the doctor had rheumatism and needed a rest badly, he decided to go just as soon as Phil Scadden’s heir arrived which was expected most any day. Something went wrong, for the doctor called there every other day for a month before the new arrival came—he would fret and fume and fuss and say, “That boy will be old enough to vote before he gets into this world.” When the new law went into effect to help orphans and half-orphans, the doctor was very pleased as it would help a great many families. Shortly afterward someone wade a test case of it, and the money was stopped. The doctor felt very badly but he was not licked. He made a list of all the most deserving cases and on the first of each month I was scnt out with his buggy team to give advance money to those deserving people. He took the chance of getting it back, which he did. For years he kept the road in good _Shape from the Catholic Church to Deer Creek past the Hospital. He hired men and teams to do it at his own expense. Many of you remember Aunt Caroline and Uncle Billie—two colored characters and very much admired by all. They lived about three blocks from the doctor’s house back of Nevada Street. The doctor was mortally afraid of dogs, and the colored people had a bad one. One day I was working in the yard, and he came out in great haste, and said, “Is the shot gun loaded? If not, put a big charge in it as I want you to come with me to Aunt Caroline’s. She is hurt and I don’t want that D---dog to bite me. If he makes a move, shoot him.” I did not like my assignment. I didn’t want to kill the old people’s dog as it was their only protection. We arrived at the gate. He in the lead, and I following with the cocked gun. No dog was in sight. We went up to the house, and he again told me to shcor the dog on sight. We knocked, and some one said, “Come in.” The doctor was nervous and frightened. He went up to the bed, and was doing what he could for the old lady as she had some broken ribs from a fall. All of a sudden there was a growl overhead and he yelled, “Shoot the so and so.” They had put the dog upstairs and there was a stove pipe hole in the ceiling floor, The dog stuck his head through that and growled. The doctor yelled again, “Shoot the so and so.” I started laughing and then he said, “Aint I a damn fool?” I agreed with him and he got mad at me for doing so. Three years before he died, he placed me in charge of the Hospital and my brother took my place with him at the house.’ They did not get along and it was up to me to keep them together. His practice was dwindling and old age was telling on him. Had he lived a few years more, I would have had my shingle out somewhere as an M.D. and probably have starved to death. I liked my wor! at the Hospital very much and did a lot of studying. George Clark, an indigent patient who

came to the Hospital from Maybert, was a very fine old gentleman and almost at the end of his trail. He came into the Hospital office one morning and asked the doctor’s permission to dig his grave in the hospital cemetery. The doctor asked him if he contemplated suicide. “Why no!” Clark said. “I am just getting my house in order. I want your permission for a certain spot for my last resting place.” The doctor consented and Clark asked him if he would stake it out for him. The doctor told him to lie down and with a big rock in his hand, drove a peg at his feet and head, and told him to dig between those pegs. In a few weeks Clark again came and asked the doctor to come ‘and see his grave as it was all finished. The doctor took one look at it and said, “Clark, I cannot bury you in that until you dig it one foot deeper. The law calls for five feet deep and this is only four.” Clark said, “It’s all right, I’ve got plenty of time.” He finally finished the job and it was nice. He had it all lined with old boards and white-washed all of it. He had a head board set up with the inscription on it except the time of his death. He left some money with me to finish the job after his death. Clark died several years after the doctor, and his wishes were carried out in detail. Here is the specimen of the type of yee an old time country doctor had to do. He called me at the Hospital one day and asked if I could come and give him some help as he had a bad case down in Chinatown. I consented. A Chinaman had been brought down from Washington district with a badly broken and infected ankle. The doctor said the foot would have to come off. The Chinaman did not want to go to the Hospital, so the doctor told me to get a place ready while he went for Dr. Muller and his instruments. This was in the old Joss House. With the help of a couple of Chinamen we dug things out—sacks, seed bags, tools, shavings and what not. We got a couple of saw horses and a couple of boards and a block for a pillow and had the patient ready when the doctors came. I gave the anesthetic, and the foot was soon off. I came down early the next morning to see how the patient was, and found that the Chinaman had taken off all the bandages and had put cobwebs on the stump. It was an awful mess. I called Sigourney’s express wagon, and took the patient to the Hospital where he recovered nicely. I will tell of one more case just to show the difference between the old school of medicine and the new. Mr. C. D. Eastin, a merchant from Graniteville, and a very fine man with a very fine family, moved down from the mountains in order to.give his children a better schooling and to get away from the hard mountain winters. He bought the J. J. Ott’s place on Nevada Street. Shortly after he settled there, one of his small sons was stricken with diphtheria and Dr. Hunt was called in. He did everything in his power to save him—but to no avail—the boy died. A few days later another one of the small lads was stricken and in spite of everything that was done for him, he passed away. The doctor was beside himself— he felt very badly. He could not eat or sleep—he was just like one in a trance. The third lad was stricken and again the doctor was called in. It was just about this time that Antitoxin was being discussed and it had performed some remarkable cures. The doctor had been opposed to it, but he said to me, “If I don’t he will die, so I'll give him the benefit of the doubt.” He telegraphed to Sacramento for the medicine and it came in on the evening train. He stayed with the patient all night and the next day, and along in the afternoon the boy showed improvement and made a splendid recovery. Here is one of his favorites. “When the patient dies, it’s the doctor’s fault, but if the patient gets well—it’s an act of providence.” Dr. Hunt was very proud of his home on Nevada Street. It was a beautiful place both inside and out. He loved to bring nice things into it, such as new furnishings, silverware, fancy dishes and the many things that go to make a real home. He greatly admired his yard which consisted of three acres. He had it planted with many kinds of fruit and shade trees and many fancy shrubs. He had four very nice horses that were born and raised right on the place. He never really enjoyed his home though, as most of his time was given to others. He was often lonesome and would call me at the Hospital to come down and talk with him. We would sit on the porch and smoke a cigar and talk about old times, the hardships and the pleasures he had gone through, and would give me a lot of good advice. To me those are pleasant memories of a very dear friend. He seldom spoke an ill word of anyone. He numbered among his old time friends E. M. Preston, Walter D. Vinton, I. J. Rolfe, George Jacobs, Charley Mulloy, Tom Legg, J. I. Caldwell, George E. Turner, Jake Naffziger, Fred Searls, M. L. Marsh, Bob McMurray, J. T. Morgan and many others. Dr. C. W. Jones of Grass Valley, father of Judge Jones, was one of Dr. Hunt's closest friends and in the early days they worked together a great deal —in operating and in consultation. In later years, the doctor worked mostly with Dr. Muller, Dr. Conlan and Dr. Jim Black. Dr. Jameson of Grass