This prompt for “52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks” is dangerous but liberating for me. My greatest weakness as a genealogist is the difficulty I have in sticking to “just the facts, ma’am.” Sometimes, the details have simply not survived, and it’s so hard to only know part of the story. But what is a movie but a dramatization, a chance to describe how it… could have happened? So this week, I take a crack at an ‘origin story’ for my great-great grandmother, Libby Barker. Maybe in one universe somewhere, this is how it went… “Of course, we instruct in the most modern methods for the lying-in chamber,” Dr. Brundage assured the two men sitting on the other side of the low walnut table. All three were comfortably slouched in over-stuffed armchairs, enjoying truly excellent coffee from the silverplate service that occupied most of one of the many such small tables in the lobby of the fashionable New York hotel. The younger of the two men facing the speaker took an appreciative sip and worked to keep his eyes open as the doctor droned on.
“Yet we are most judicious in our actual adoption of experimental medicine. For example, we have no truck with the current enthusiasm for employing anaesthesia during childbirth! After all, as the good book says, ‘in pain you will bring forth your children.’ So it has always been until this English nonsense, but what can one expect when a woman is in charge?" The director of the Brooklyn Homeopathic Maternity Hospital dismissed Queen Victoria with a wave of his pudgy fingers. "Would a woman care as much about her baby if labor was not… labored? Surely not!” Brundage shook his head to indicate his agreement with himself before reaching for the silver pot. He was so focused on his own profundity that he missed the sudden stillness in the man to his left, whose bright blue eyes narrowed dangerously behind his gold-rimmed spectacles.
To Brundage’s right, David Salfield narrowed his own eyes slightly in warning to the man across from him. Behave, he signaled silently to his uncle. Carl Salfield smiled back at his nephew, or perhaps merely bared his teeth… it was difficult to tell behind his bushy black beard.
“Would you pass the pot to my nephew, Doctor?” Carl asked.
“Of course! I’m sure there’s nothing so tiring as a transatlantic voyage,” the doctor agreed jovially.
“Yes, I’m surprised he is awake at all!” Carl said pointedly, although Brundage missed the dig. David bared his teeth at his uncle in return, before turning to accept the coffee.
“And what happens to the women and children once they are delivered? Is any attempt made to keep them from a fate such as his?” Carl asked, gesturing toward the lobby window. Outside, a ragged street urchin begged coins from passers-by, until he was chased off by the hotel doorman, only to creep back into place as soon as the man’s back was turned.
“While the main focus of the Hospital is to offer hygienic, professional care to women that cannot afford to have a physician come to their own homes, we have found it necessary to create a nursery to for some of the babies that require longer-term attention,” Brundage admitted. “We ask of indigent mothers that they work for us for at least six weeks in exchange for the care we provide. Of course, no woman is given a bed in the Hospital a second time. We emphasize the importance of their accepting this one opportunity for redemption - we have no room for the girl who embraces her shame and sins again.”
David briefly imagined the hospital staff performing an in-depth personal examination of a woman in the advanced stages of childbirth to determine her eligibility for humane care, and saw rather than heard his uncle’s teeth grind momentarily. Before Brundage could expound further on the potential moral turpitude of his patients, Carl redirected the conversation.
“As I wrote in my letter, Doctor, I hope to bring more trained nurses to San Francisco when I return there in two days, especially nurses with expertise in maternity and obstetrics. I understand your hospital is the first in the country to matriculate women with those qualifications; I give you my sincere congratulations on such a tremendous achievement!” Carl raised his cup toward Brundage in what seemed to David to be a salute of genuine approbation.
Brundage preened for a moment under this regard before fixing Carl with an appraising gaze. “And I believe you also mentioned a substantial donation?”
David took a deep drink of his coffee and relaxed a bit; they were back on track.
“Absolutely,” Carl said, removing his plump pocket book from his jacket and laying it tantalizingly on the table. “Does that mean you’ve identified nurses you believe will be willing to leave the city?”
Brundage shifted uncomfortably. “Well, you know, you are asking a great deal. San Francisco is quite a long way away – on the other side of the country, in fact!” He chuckled lamely. “Practitioners here and in neighboring cities have eagerly sought out our graduates, bestowing upon them – and their instructors – the very highest encomiums. Our nurses are very much in demand not only here in New York, but in Boston, Philadelphia and Washington. Although we typically graduate two to three dozen nurses each year, they are invariably already contracted for employment by the time that they leave us.”
Carl regarded him bleakly. “Are you saying you do not have any candidates for me to interview?” he asked Brundage, reaching for his wallet as though preparing to rise.
“Welllll…” Brundage eyed the worn leather and sighed. “No, I do have one woman to whom you should speak, a Mrs. Hitchcock. Or is she Miss Barker now?” Brundage scowled, and went on. “At any rate, she is extremely proficient at all matters…” Brundage dropped his voice and gave a furtive glance around the room, “gynaecological.”
Carl Salfield subsided back into his chair, his interest piqued. Watching the doorman shake his fist in the direction of the boy out on the sidewalk, he saw the lad trail dejectedly out of view, likely to try to find another spot from which to beg before heading home -- if he had a home - with enough to buy a crust of bread if he were lucky. No parent wanted this – or dangerous factory work – for their children! But unless women were provided with education and access to medical care and family planning resources, it was only a matter of time before hundreds of children just like this one would be decamped across his beloved adopted city. One nurse was not enough, but she could be a start – if she was the right woman. Salfield said, briskly, “So, this Barker, or perhaps Hitchcock -- is she widowed, then? I would certainly not expect a married woman to relocate across the country.”
Casting his eyes upward, Brundage sighed. “Well, no, she is not married. She is..” He paused, and again checked to see who might be nearby. “Divorced.” He whispered. “Or soon will be. Again. However,” he added hurriedly, “the circumstances are extremely regretful and I cannot feel that the fault is entirely her own. I hope that you will maintain what I tell you in the strictest of confidence; I only share this information as you are also a medical man, and this is by way of an employment reference.”
David covered his snort of amusement with a small cough. Brundage thought his uncle was a doctor! Of course, Carl Salfield was not a doctor, he was The Doctor: the man behind Dr. Salfield’s Rejuvenator, an extremely lucrative patent medicine whose marketing targeted men with… virility issues. David had overheard Carl telling David’s father that the formula was actually quite healthful, full of vitamins and digestive aids, unlike many of his competitors’ tonics comprised of whatever toxic but cheap ingredients came to hand. “I sell more,” Carl told August ruefully, “because I actually have repeat customers -- since they're still alive and all.”
Brundage leaned forward to emphasize the confidentiality of his tale. “I must start at the beginning, which will add to the confusion because when I first met her, she had yet another name -- Mrs. Moffatt. She was twenty years old and about to be delivered of her first child at my Hospital. By the time the baby was born, she and Mr. Moffatt were estranged. I only met him once, when he came to the hospital to provide the baby with legitimate paternity. I believe she held some sort of leverage over Mr. Moffatt. He is much older and better connected, but I suspect their liaison was not... mutually desired. Mrs. Moffatt later obtained a quick and quiet divorce. Brundage broke off, frowning. “I don’t know how she did that. But she is a very… determined person."
“We suspected that there was an abnormality with the baby’s heart, but, surprisingly, the little girl survived. It was a very difficult delivery and the mother was debilitated for several days, so we sent the child out to a wet nurse. Once recovered from the delivery, Mrs. Moffatt found herself without home, child or employment, and embarked immediately upon her service to the Hospital. I must say that the aptitude she showed for the work was astounding. Although she had only the most basic education, she intuitively grasped medical concepts easily, and displayed a remarkably gentle yet firm manner with our patients. Once she completed her required service, I asked whether she wished to stay on as a student. The only rub, of course, was the girl, Alma. But her mother, now called Miss Barker, recognized that she had few good choices and she made what I strongly felt was the only correct one – to give custody of the girl to one of our sister charities, for placement in a family home. Miss Barker’s one great wish was that the girl be adopted outside of what she characterized as ‘this heartless city.’”
Brundage refreshed his coffee from the pot although the contents, by now, must have been almost as cold as that in the cup. “In an unusual situation, one of our patronesses agreed to allow Miss Barker to live at her home, although I believe Barker was seldom there. When she wasn’t in classes, she assisted throughout the hospital. She continued to excel in both her studies and her work, applying herself single-mindedly. I thought it likely she would be one of our great success stories. Then, when she had almost completed the program, a Mr. Joseph Hitchcock applied to us for a nurse for his young daughter. The mother had died and the girl was sickly and required care. Hitchcock offered significant remuneration, and, to my great surprise, Miss Barker accepted the position.”
David thought to himself uncharitably that it was unlikely Dr. Brundage had ever been making decisions from the position of one homeless and penniless. He was so tired.
“That was just over a year ago,” Brundage went on. She wrote to me recently to say that, in the interim, she had married Hitchcock, but that following the death of her charge, young Adeline, her husband now wished for a dissolution of the marriage, as there had been no further children. Mrs. Hitchcock inquired whether I might know of any positions for a woman with nursing skills, especially somewhere other than New York City. And,” he spread his hands toward Carl and concluded, “I thought of you.”
David had listened to the doctor’s story with growing amusement. Rather than a professional and disciplined ‘deaconess,’ as would have been the case in Germany, all the doctor had to offer was introduction to a troublesome jezebel, one with expertise but no credential. David felt for the woman, but, really, this was too much. He braced himself for his uncle’s explosion, hoping that it would be quick – he really had other things he needed to be doing.
But Carl Salfield seemed curious rather than offended. “Mrs. Hitchcock would not be the first person to reinvent themselves on the other side of the country. I think that we might actually have many interests in common. Have you arranged a time for me to speak with her?” David's jaw dropped in surprise.
Brundage smiled hugely. “She awaits my message. I can have her come here at… two o'clock, if that would suit?” Carl nodded agreement. “Miss Barker – Mrs. Hitchcock – oh, bother, her Christian name is Libby, I shall use that – Libby is a remarkable person and I hope you are able to come to an agreement with one another. Without your having to marry her, of course!” Brundage laughed heartily at his own joke. “Now,” Brundage rubbed his hands together briskly, “perhaps we could discuss the terms of your donation?”
This, David thought resignedly, is going to take all day.
This story is set in 1881, around the time that Carl and Libby married. Libby’s two younger siblings joined them in San Francisco, as did Carl's nephew, David, who rose to considerable prominence as an architect. Dr. Salfield’s Rejuvenator had seeded a tidy fortune that Carl further increased through property speculation and the occasional sale of a patented invention; he and Libby supported many good causes (along with a few clunkers). Carl was the first president of the Haight-Ashbury neighborhood association and regularly harangued city leaders on everything from the need for a safe and reliable water supply to accessible public education. It is rumored that at least one of the properties that he and Libby owned served as an illegal abortion clinic.
I must apologize to Dr. R.C. Moffatt who was the actual director of the Brooklyn Homeopathic Maternity Hospital in 1881. From what I can discern, Dr. Moffatt was a compassionate man who was instrumental in developing the institution from “a nice idea” to a ground-breaking medical leader in maternity and obstetrics. In particular, his writing does a masterful job of acknowledging Society’s opinion about how poor and/or single mothers should be treated -- with scorn and disgust -- while subtly suggesting that such an approach is both unchristian and unproductive. Although I’m sure Moffatt was a product of his time, Brundage is entirely a product of my imagination.
And I give great thanks to Sarah at the Center for Brooklyn History. She dove into the undoubtedly dusty and musty paper archives of the Brooklyn Public Library, to laboriously scan the 1878 Annual Report of the Brooklyn Homeopathic Maternity Hospital for me. This 41-page report of the 7th year of the Hospital’s existence includes not just the expected statistics and pleas for further funding, but poignant stories of mothers and children that passed through the doors, and an accounting of the School for Nurses, “the first of it’s kind in the country and which now has, I believe, but one inferior competitor.” It is an eye-opening document, both with regard to how much has changed in the intervening 145 years and how much has not. Sarah, you are a gem – thank you so much!
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