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Webster’s Otaphone

I wrote a new entry over at Nineteenth-Century Disability: A Digital Reader:

UK patent #7033, dated 17 March 1836, is the earliest British patent for a hearing aid device, granted to the aurist (19th century term for ear specialist) Alphonso William Webster, for his “curious” invention, the Otaphone (sometimes spelled “Otophone”). In his publication, A New and Familiar Treatise on the Structure of the Ear, and On Deafness (London: published by the author, sold by Simpkin & Marshall, 1836), Webster outlines he was first devised his invention by observing the common practice of cupping the hand to the back of the ear to enhance hearing. He wondered whether the practice could be obtained by “means less troublesome and unsightly” (132).

Continue Reading…

The Aurist and the American

From the Pall Mall Gazette, Friday 22 February 1889:

A distinguished “aurist” was once rather amusingly “done” by an enterprising American, who bounced into his room one morning, exclaiming, in stentorian through nasal tones, “Say, before we do bus’ness, guess I should like to know the price of fixing me up.” “Two guineas for the first visit,” from the surprised specialist. “See here, thar’s two pounds and a florin,” said the American, planking down the money with a resounding smack on the table. the necessary examination was proceeded with. The prescription written and pocketed. The Yankee discoursed in an airy manner on all the topics of the day, and finally, after grasping the physician warmly by the hand, and saying in tones pregnant with feeling, “Waal, doc’, I’m real proud to ha’ met you; guess you must look me up if you ever run on Chicago, thar’s my card. Good-bye, sir, good-bye,” he slowly walked to the table, firmly took hold of the before-mentioned fee, calmly placed it in the innermost recesses of a deep waistcoat, and made a deliberate but determined exit. the dumbfounded doctor sank helplessly into his chair. Never again did he cast eyes on his genial patient, and subsequent reference to the “Chicago Directory” disclosed no satisfactory information about the guileless invalid.

Friday Evening Discourse

18 Savile Row. Burlington Gardens. W | 10 Feb 1860

Dear Mr. Faraday,

Having been unsuccessful in my attempts to obtain a ticket for Mr. Huxley’s lecture* tonight I shall esteem it a favour if you can give me one.

Believe me yours sincerely & obliged,

Joseph Toynbee

*Thomas Henry Huxley’s Friday Evening Discourse of 10 February 1860

 

The Expulsion of “Lewis”

During fall of 1848, a practitioner imposed himself upon the inhabitants of Newcastle-on-Tyne, announcing himself as “Mr. Yearsley” and distributing posting-bills around the area. Sporting a mustache on the upper lip and an imperial on the nether lip, and a cherished crop and carefully-nourished tuft of hair, he strutted himself peddling his wares. Urging the inhabitants to make use of his services on “all diseases of the ear,” he assumed authorship of numerous books that were favorably reviewed in popular periodicals and boasted of his successes in relieving maladies of the ear. He loudly and widely proclaimed himself as “the curer of deafness.”

“A quack doctor selling his remedies on the streets of London – despite objections.” Wood engraving by E.L. Sambourne, 1893.

Charles Robert Larkin, a respectable surgeon of Newcastle, wondered about the individual. Upon investigating, he realized the man was supposedly called “Lewis,” hailed from London, and made a fraudulent living impersonating the aural surgeon James Yearsley. Revealing the quack, Larkin and the Mayor of Newcastle–and probably a few other angry men and women–drove “Lewis” out of town. Further, Larkin printed 300 large bills and placarded them wherever the advertising bills were posted around Newcastle, announcing the truth of the impudent impostor. Similar bills were placarded in North and South Shields; Larkin was about to send a man to Sunderland to post more bills, until he was told the impostor had fled. To convey the message even further, Larkin employed a man to wear a placard revealing the fraud, and paraded him before the “villain’s door.”

James Yearsley received word of these events from Larkin’s letters. Writing to the Mayor of Newscastle about the situation, Yearsley asked whether the Mayor had any means of redress, to which the Mayor replied: “We have no by-law to punish the party, and the only remedy you have is to indict him, and bring and action for damages.” But alas, the impostor had fled, no doubt to Larkin’s vigorous exertions of exposure.

Yearsley might have salvaged his reputation, but the lack of public spirit captured by the local press did not sit right with Larkin, who wrote to the editor of The Lancet (9 Dec 1848):

“In this affair, nothing could exceed the injustice of the newspapers. They refused to notice Mr. Yearsley’s letter of remonstrance; would insert nothing but as a charged advertisement; and though the imposture had been made notorious to the whole neighborhood, yet, out of mingled mercenary motives, and mean submission to the quacks, they have not made the slightest allusion to the affair. Na, they positively refused to insert either Mr. Yearsley’s caution, or my notice to the public, without such a mitigation of the language as would have taken away all the point and emphasis of both productions, and without a deposit of £40 as a security against any legal expenses that they might be exposed to, should at any time this miserable quack and impostor institute an action against them…The papers which refused my application were the Newcastle Courant and the Newcastle Chronicle.”

A Word, Aurist.

The word—or rather, the identity of—“aurist” has an incomplete history. Even right now, as I typed the word, Microsoft Word automatically corrected it to “aorist,” as if questioning my word choice. A quick dictionary search turns up a definition of “an ear specialist” or even “former name for audiologist.” The former is true. The latter false. An audiologist studies hearing (or lack of) and measures degree of hearing losses, and the tem did not emerge until the late 1940s. An otologist, however—or the more modern otolaryngologists, or Ear/Nose/Throat doctors—studies the normal and pathological anatomy and physiology of the ear, as well as diseases, diagnosis, and treatment of various defects in the ear.

Let me inspect your ears... From: David Hayes Agnew, The principles and practice of surgery : being a treatise on surgical diseases and injuries (Philadelphia: J.B. Lippincott & co., 1878-83)

Let me inspect your ears…
From: David Hayes Agnew, The principles and practice of surgery : being a treatise on surgical diseases and injuries (Philadelphia: J.B. Lippincott & co., 1878-83)

“Aurist” is more fitting as an ancestor of “otology,” but the transformation of usage and identity formation was not an easy one. In my dissertation on nineteenth century British aural surgery, one of the major themes I address is the making of a speciality: how did practitioners of ear diseases, who chose to specialize and claim legitimacy for their field, identify themselves as specialists? The ways in which “aurist” or “aural surgeon” suggests the very ambiguous characterization of the word, even by those who asserted themselves as ear specialists. Looking through newspapers, correspondences, and publications, it’s clear that “aurist” was a panoramic term used to describe all practitioners who provided treatments for aural diseases, especially during the first half of the nineteenth-century. The earliest reference to “aurist” I found dates to a practitioner’s newspaper advert in 1775 and there’s a remarkable jump in the word’s usage starting in the nineteenth-century.

But the word was more than a reference to a practitioner treating the ear. It was a term of abuse against proprietors of such medical nostrums as “Dr. Taylor’s Celebrated Remedy,” “Dr. Dunbar’s Bonatical Snuff,” or “Collin’s Coridial Cephalic Snuff,” who boasted their potions could cure incurable deafness. It was a word to condemn the nefarious itinerant whose fallacious promises could scarcely cloak his sheer quackery. These were the men (and yes, they were all men), who, as The Gentleman’s Magazine reported in 1828, were “bad, dangerous, and ignorant practitioner[s].”

At the same time, “aurist” was used to refer to a distinctive surgical identity, the specialist practitioner who also called himself an “aural surgeon,” whose knowledge of physiology and diseases of the ear enabled him to develop newer techniques for diagnosis and treatment. These were the practitioners who crafted their surgical authority by publishing widely on the anatomy, physiology, and diseases of the ear. They also called themselves “surgeon-aurists.” To use the word “surgeon” as part of a self-imposed identity was clearly to construct (in)visible ties to the tripartite hierarchy of elite medicine in nineteenth century Britain, which was composed of physicians, surgeons and apothecaries aligned in degrees of authority, while at the same time, distinguishing the specialist.

Yet, much to this historian’s confusion, these practitioners also used the word “aurist” and “aural surgeon” interchangeably, dismissing the notion that the former was strictly an idiom of abuse. And even more confusingly—all practitioners of aural surgery were at one time or another, or even in the entire duration of their career, denounced as quacks, from John Harrison Curtis the “nefarious” aurist who attended to the royal family, to Joseph Toynbee, the pathologist who was the first to be appointed as Aural Surgeon at St. Mary’s Hospital. The whole story is so complicated that even at nearly 300 pages, I’m still not finished writing this story of the aurists and on aural surgery.

So when did “aurist” fade away? It’s hard to determine, but words don’t really drop out of fashion all of a sudden. William Wright published a journal called The Aurist in 1825, but this was short lived, with a print run of only 3 issues.  “Otology” started showing up in the second half of the nineteenth century. The German journal Archiv für Ohrenheilkunde (Archives of Otolarynology) was established in 1864 by Anton von Tröltsch (1829-1890), Hermann Schwartze (1837-1900) and Adam Politzer (1835-1920), with print runs in both German and English. The first British journal of otology, the Journal of Larynology and Otology founded in 1887 by Morel Mackenzie and Norris Wolfden—it was originally the Journal of Larynology and Rhinology and Otology was later added in 1892 after changes in editorship.

Thanks to H.Stiles for the scan!

Thanks to H.Stiles for the scan!

In 1868, the American Otological Society was established, with no doubt due to Politzer’s influence, as evident from an 1879 letter from his student Clarence Blake (1843-1919):

We have every reason to be encouraged as to the standing of otology in America in the future and the cordial good feeling which exists among aurists in this country will do much to advance our branch of science. The aurists here seem always ready to acknowledge each others good work and to help each other in study and in experiment…” (quoted in Weir, p.184). 

Blake held the first Professorship at Harvard in 1870 and was also appointed Lecturer in Otology and Aural Surgeon to the Massachusetts Eye and Ear infirmary, clearing showing that “otologist” did not immediately replace “aurist” or “aural surgeon.” In England, Urban Pritchard (1856-1926) founded the department of aural surgery at King’s College Hospital in 1876 and was created Professor of Aural Surgery in 1886—the only chair of its kind in all of England. Pritchard was also the British representative on the committee of organization for the International Congress of Otology, which held its first meeting in 1876; he would become president of the society in 1899. The Germans did not establish a society for otology until 1881, the British in 1900 with the Otological Section of the United Kingdom; seven years later the society would become the Section of Otology of Royal Society of Medicine.

There’s still more work to be done, of course. This is but the beginning!

For an overview of the history of otolaryngology, see: Neil Weir, Otolaryngology: An Illustrated History (London: Butterworths, 1990).