Every small town back in the dark ages, had their own doctor. Laurel, Iowa, population (200-300) where I grew up, was no exception. Our town doctor's name was Dr. Wilkinson. More detail about him can be found in our town Centennial Book (1881-1981) on page 36. I've also written about his acreage where our Boy Scout troop would camp.
This memory is about his office. When you came in and waited to see the doctor in the reception room, it was a different experience than that of today. The reception room was somewhat dark with stark panneled walls, dark furntiture with very un-comfortable chairs and no soft piped in music.
It did seem like there was a stack of magazines to read-maybe. But, mainly dead silence with the exception of the grandfather clock that sat up on a mantel with the sound of its pendulum slowly moving back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
When it came to see the doctor, it was a little creepy to be in the presence of the skeleton hanging over in the corner of the room along with the classed in unit filled with medical instruments. And, only hoping that none of those metal objects would be used on you.
Of course, every one of the doctor's patients, at one time or another, took a few table-spoons of Doc's own bottled "white" medicine. Actually, it was clear not really white. Talking to class-mates years later, we all seemed to agree that it probably was just Peppermint Schnapps or similar. An old "medicine doctor?"
He retired to his acreage home north on highway 14, between Laurel and Marshalltown during the late 1950's or so. It seems like on occasion after his retirement, mom would stop by at his place and buy a bottle of that special cure!
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