Chapter 8: 1910-1915, Another Arkansas Physician

The women were seated in the parlor of the doctor’s home. “His wife is much older than him,” Mrs. Barnes whispered. “And they were never able to have any children,” Mrs. Dossey added.

2 “Haven’t you old hens got anything better to talk about?” Eli Cannon demanded as he entered the room. “We were just talking about what a hard life your brother has had to endure, Mr. Cannon!” Mrs. Dossey protested. “I’ll bet you were,” Eli mumbled as he walked back out of the room into the main hallway.

3 He glanced toward the stairway and then further down the hall and called, “Toad, are you there?” There was no answer, but he could hear people talking quietly somewhere toward the back of the house. He moved further down the hall and called after his brother again.

4 The doctor emerged from one of the rooms at the back of the hallway wiping his hands on a towel. “I’m sorry, Eli, I was busy,” he said as he finally looked up at his brother.

5 “Young Myrtle Fricks is bad off and needs tendin,” Eli volunteered without waiting to exchange pleasantries. “I’m sure she does,” the doctor calmly replied. “I don’t look for her to recover.”

6 “Toad, I don’t see how you can put up with these cacklin hens sometimes – they’d drive me to distraction,” Eli said as he pointed toward the parlor. “Oh, they’re harmless, brother” he replied with a smile.

7 “Bettie and I are going to ride into town together,” his sister-in-law interjected as she approached the two men. “That’s fine – I’ve got to go to the Fricks’ house anyway,” he sighed.

8 “Can you drive me over there?” he asked Eli. “Well, I don’t see why not,” Eli grinned. “Then, you ladies can take the buggy if you like,” the doctor told Mary. “Just don’t keep her out in the sun too long,” he gently reminded his sister-in-law. “You know how she burns!”

9 Doctor William Henry Cannon (his family called him “Toad”) had graduated from the University of Tennessee’s medical school at Memphis in 1890. Since then, he had practiced medicine in and around the small community of Saratoga, Arkansas.

10 The good doctor had also commissioned a nice two-story frame house to be built for his wife and several outbuildings so that he could be a gentleman farmer in his spare time. And, because of his prominent position within the community, he had caused a large shed to be built in his yard to house the town’s bell.

11 The bell was used to alert the community, summon them to meetings and signal the workers in the fields surrounding the town when to begin, break, resume and end their toils. “That damn bell has become a nuisance!” he was heard to exclaim on more than one occasion. “But they hauled it all the way here from Memphis on a wagon!” his wife often reminded him.

12 “I know, Bettie, I just wish it wasn’t so loud,” he persisted on one occasion. His wife looked down at the floor and sighed. “I imagine sometimes that it’s summoning a whole flock of children home to their dear mama and papa,” she said. William quickly turned away and tried to swallow the knot in his throat. He had given her so much, but he hadn’t been able to give her what she wanted most.

13 When he arrived at the Fricks residence, he was immediately ushered into Myrtle’s bedroom. She was only fifteen years old, but the doctor knew that she would never see her sixteenth birthday as soon as he saw her. She was pale and grey and completely still. He opened his bag and took out his stethoscope, placed it on her chest and listened for several minutes.

14 He returned the instrument to his bag and slowly turned to face the family. “She’s gone,” he told them. “I’m so sorry for your loss, but she’s with the Lord now,” he reassured them.

15 Mr. Fricks approached the doctor and pulled a dollar bill out of his shirt pocket. “Put that away,” the doctor told him. “You’ll need that for the arrangements.”

16 The man looked down at the floor and shook his head. “Thanks, doc,” he mouthed without actually speaking. William patted him on the shoulder and left the room.

17 “Brother, can you take me back home?” he asked. “Let’s go,” Eli replied.

18 As they drove back to the doctor’s house, William was very quiet. “I don’t know how you do it,” his brother finally told him. “I couldn’t do what you do.” “It’s very hard,” William admitted, “especially when they are so young.”

19 That evening, Doctor Cannon ate his meal with his wife and sister-in-law in silence. William stared at his plate, and the two women only looked up from theirs every few minutes as if to make sure that the other was still there. Finally, William looked up from his plate, and his eyes darted around the table at the empty chairs.

20 “Does it hurt worse to lose a child or to never have one to lose?” he wondered. “I think I’m going to turn in early tonight,” he announced as he pushed his chair away from the table.

21 “Good night, dear,” he smiled as he leaned over and kissed his wife’s forehead. She patted his hand and squeezed it as he pulled away.

22 “What will I do when she’s gone?” he mused as he mounted the stairs. He shook off the thought and went to bed.

23 As the year 1915 dawned, Doctor Cannon was dealt the blow which he had long dreaded. Bettie died in February, and that old house seemed even more empty than it had before. Fortunately, his nieces and nephews sensed the old man’s loneliness and visited regularly.

24 Later that year, he had his lawyer draw up a new will. When he was gone, his estate would be divided among his siblings.

25 In December, he received the news that his brother (John) had died in Oklahoma. Now, as Christmas approached, the man who had seen so many people die was feeling his own mortality most acutely. “It is appointed unto men once to die,” he reminded himself as he picked up his bag and headed out the door to deliver another baby.

26 Now, William Henry Cannon was the son of Riley Cannon and his wife, Nancy Carter of Lincoln County, Tennessee. They were also the parents of Samuel, Eli, Emma, Jane, John (the judge), Thomas, Lucy and Mary (who married William Preston Miller).