Wednesday, May 1, 2019

Comet Fever: 1910

Do you remember the 1997 visit of Hale-Bopp comet to our part of the universe? If not, you are not likely to get another chance, as the comet's present orbit requires about 2500 years to complete one revolution. But in 1997 Hale-Bopp attracted a lot of attention. In addition to being newly-discovered and especially bright and visible, Hale-Bopp gained notice for its part in the mass suicide of some 40 persons belonging to a cult called "Heaven's Gate." With confidence that they would be transported to some other life by the comet, the cult's followers committed mass suicide as the comet approached. Perhaps it's just as well, therefore, that Hale-Bopp won't return any time soon.
Halley's Comet, May 15, 1910, photographed at Meeanee Observatory, Napier, New Zealand
(https://www.reddit.com/r/Astronomy/comments/7ydr88/halleys_comet_may_15_1910/)
Historically, however, the appearance of comets has stirred anxieties and hopes. For example, when Halley's Comet approached planet Earth in 1910, rumors of dire consequences gained traction around the globe. And when cyanogen was discovered in the comet's tail, there was widespread speculation about whether, when Earth passed through the comet's tail, cyanogen might not snuff out all life on the planet. Most scientists scoffed at such fear-mongering, but the public at large responded more dramatically. It got me to wondering: How did the 1910 visit of Halley's Comet play out in Grinnell and across central Iowa? Today's post examines that question.
***
Scarlet & Black February 26, 1910
With the erection of Goodnow Hall after the 1882 Cyclone, Iowa College had an astronomical observatory, and astronomy courses were taught regularly. Unfortunately, the bright 1910 comet did not make a good subject for the college's 8-inch Clark, small field-of-view telescope, but did offer good opportunities for naked-eye viewing, and this circumstance seems to have encouraged the student paper to alert campus to the viewing possibilities. In a February, 1910 issue the Scarlet and Black pointed out that Grinnell might have the chance to view numerous comets that year. In addition to Halley's, whose roughly 76-year orbit had long been documented, several other comets were expected (if nothing had happened to them since their last appearance). Moreover, in early January a "new" comet had been observed—in daylight—in South Africa. Within a few days a Des Moines astronomer confirmed having observed this very bright, unexpected heavenly visitor, so central Iowans were alert to the developing cast of comets as Halley's approached earth.
Des Moines Register January 20, 1910
Much of the news, however, was devoted to the fears that the comets' coming generated. In mid-March, for instance, the Perry Daily Chief headlined a story about Halley's comet with "Dire Calamities Might Happen," alluding to the cyanogen threat.
San Francisco Call February 8, 1910
The Marshalltown Evening Times-Republican published a miscellany of brief reports on the anxiety with which the comet's approach was being received around the globe ("'Cometitis' Afflicts Many People and Some Queer Things Happen," the headline read): a 10-year-old girl in Illinois was said to have been "seized with convulsions...as a result of fear of the comet...," and when the engine of a mine in Evansville, Indiana failed, panic was reported among the miners, "many of whom thought Halley's comet had struck the earth...." Predictably, reports of fear and irrational behavior frequently focused upon people occupying the social margins, notably "gypsies," Mexicans, negroes, and other people of color. An account datelined Atlanta, for example, alleged that "Dealers in 'conjur' bags in the negro sections of the city carried on a thriving business as the result of the scheduled trip of the earth thru [sic] the comet's tail..." (Marshalltown Evening Times-Republican May 10, 1910). Keokuk's Daily Gate-City published a story date-lined Hopkinsville, Kentucky. Here, the newspaper reported,
Several white persons in all walks of life are waiting the event [the comet's tail] with great trepidation and refuse to be comforted. Negroes have given notice on their employers that under no circumstances will they work today, and at least one negro church here will hold an all-night service tonight (May 18, 1910).
Daily Times (Davenport) May 18, 1910
As the comet drew nearer, public anxiety seems to have grown apace. In mid-May Davenport's Daily Times chastised Quad-Cities residents, censuring parents who were too frightened of the comet's impact to allow children out of the house. The Waterloo Courier of May 19 reported that, when a gas range exploded at 5 AM in the Fortner Hotel in Waverly, Iowa, guests panicked, "Fearing the Comet Had Struck Them."

Attention-getting though these reports must have been, many newspapers tried to defuse public fears. For instance, the Ottumwa Tri-Weekly Courier on March 12 published a long interview with the director of the Yerkes Observatory in southern Wisconsin, the chief conclusion of which was that there was no danger of collision between Earth and what the paper called a "wandering planet." Keokuk's Daily Gate-City (March 2, 1910) could not resist a misleading headline—"May 18 Will Be Doomsday"—to an article more accurately described by the sub-head: "There Will Be No Danger."
https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/419186677787266351/
Of course, so long as there was money to be made, hucksters tried to take advantage. Anti-comet pills were for sale, as were myriad instruments that promised to give earthlings better sight of the comet or protection from the comet's imagined influences. City theaters added to their vaudeville shows presentations devoted to the comet. Davenport's Family Theater, for example, promised that, in addition to the Quaker City Quartette of Singing Blacksmiths, they had secured slides of Halley's Comet: "The World's Coming to An End," the announcement threatened; "Come and See What's Going to Happen" (Davenport Daily Times May 12, 1910). The comet even found popular musical expression in Harry J. Lincoln's "Halley's Comet Rag."
Undated postcard of First Baptist Church, Des Moines, IA
In Des Moines, clergymen had their own take on the import of the appearance of Halley's Comet. The Des Moines Register gave attention to the sermon of Rev. Howland Hanson of the First Baptist Church. Dismissing the petty interests of showmen, fear-mongerers, reporters, and scientists, Hanson urged listeners to use the comet's coming to ponder the fact that
God is greater than the universe he has created. Shall our finite minds therefore despair because our theology fails to solve all the problems of his nature? Shall we who measure distances by miles grow skeptical because we cannot comprehend him who uses the comet's orbit as a unit of measurement? How shallow must that life be that professes to know God whose nature is as much larger than ours as the universe is larger than our tiny earth. Let us therefore expect problems, mysteries, enigmas, insoluble in our little span of life.
"Halley's comet will soon return to his long, long voyage of three quarters of a century," Hanson concluded. "But his brief visit will do us good if only he teach us not to despair if our finite minds cannot explain all the mysteries of God's infinite nature..." (Des Moines Register May 2, 1910).

Two weeks later the Register reported on another clerical reading of the comet. Rev. William Boynton Gage of Highland Park Presbyterian Church was said to have declared Halley's comet "a religious force" that "has made people become more devout church members."
It has worked for righteousness as has no preacher, and religiously is almost as significant as the career of Martin Luther or the life of any other of the churches' great men...Who knows those whom it has made pray? How very many has it converted? Truly it is the [Dwight L.] Moody of the skies. It is the evangelist of the heavens. It is the [Ira D.] Sankey in the chorus of the stars (Des Moines Register May 16, 1910).
To others the arrival of Halley's comet gave cause to party. The Marshalltown Evening Times-Republican reported that, as elsewhere,
Comet Parties were the rage throughout the city Wednesday night...In the west part of town people were out in droves gazing westward in the hope of catching a glimpse of the celestial wanderer...A large party of young people spent the evening at the Country Club [where] dancing was indulged in from 7:30 to 9:30...and lunch was enjoyed at 10 o'clock.
When the comet proved resistant to viewing against the setting sun, party-goers could enjoy "numerous rockets...[that] illuminated the sky over the club house" (May 19, 1910).

Scarlet and Black April 23, 1910
Parties or not, actual viewing of the comet in central Iowa must have proved difficult for many. Although newspapers like the Scarlet and Black published detailed instructions on when the comet would be visible to Iowans (even without telescopes), the paper was careful to note that "It must not be supposed that the comet will be at all brilliant when first seen. It will be only just visible at first, but will rapidly increase in brightness and in apparent size as it comes nearer to the earth during the latter part of April and in May" (Scarlet and Black April 23, 1910).

Weather was also an issue. A report to the Iowa Weather and Crop Service noted that for much of early May, 1910 the weather in the Dubuque area had been "cloudy or hazy most of the time and the comet itself could not be seen." Then forest fires in Minnesota and Wisconsin added haze to the atmosphere. However, at 2:45 a.m. on May 18th,
a remarkably bright and distinct shaft or band of light, now known to have been the comet's tail, appeared, and was visible for three-quarters of an hour. [The following night] The comet's tail appeared in the heavens at the identical hour and in the same location as on the previous night, but it was very much less distinct...It appeared at 2:45 a.m. and disappeared at 3:30 a. m...  (Iowa Weather and Crop Service. Annual Report for 1910 [Des Moines: Emory H. English, State Printer, 1911], 26-28).
Clouds on the 19th obscured further viewing.

The Daily Iowan reported that in Iowa City on the evening of the 18th "weather conditions were excellent for observation [of the comet] but the sun was too near the comet." Professionals had better luck. Mr. G. H. Thomas, for example, told the newspaper that
the comet's tail was followed with great distinctness for a distance of about eighty degrees...The head of the comet was too near the sun to be seen this morning, but immediately before sunrise, the tail swept obliquely southward from the point on the horizon at which both the sun and the head of the comet rose together a few minutes later (Daily Iowan May 19, 1910) 
In Des Moines a Drake University astronomer found the comet successfully May 23-25, then could not capture it again until the 29th-30th, by which time "The comet had changed materially," D. W. Morehouse wrote. "The head presented a knob-shaped appearance, directly behind which projected a cone-shaped tail...composed of streamers, those on the south side being the brightest." By early June Morehouse thought the comet head brighter, but the tail "faint and contorted" (D. W. Morehouse, "Halley's Comet," Popular Astronomy 18[1910]:426).
Popular Astronomy 18(1910): after 426
Marshalltown appears to have had clear skies on May 18th and 19th, but the comet was nevertheless not visible (Marshalltown Evening Times-Republican May 17, 1910). Apparently only on May 25th did circumstances combine to give Marshalltowners a clear view; "as yet, however, the comet is a disappointment as far as being visible to the naked eye is concerned," the newspaper remarked (Marshalltown Evening Times-Republican May 26, 1910).

When D. W. Brainard (1837-1918) (who left behind one of Hazelwood's most interesting gravestones) submitted to the newspaper his observations on Grinnell's May, 1910 weather, he reported only six cloudy days all month against fifteen clear days, but he did not identify which days were clear and which cloudy (Marshalltown Evening Times-Republican June 4, 1910).
Extract from Richard Spire, "Characteristics of the Times and Seasons," p. 49
(https://digital.grinnell.edu/islandora/object/grinnell%3A12351#page/55/mode/2up)
But Brainard was not the only local who kept track of the weather that spring. Richard Spire (1853-1924), who farmed in Sheridan Township from 1872 to 1910, for almost a quarter-century kept a journal on the "Characteristics of the Times and Seasons." Happily, the journal has survived, is archived in the Drake Community Library Local History collection, and is accessible via Digital Grinnell. Spire did not report on every month, every year, but he did record his summary of the weather for May, 1910, even if his brief report leaves doubt about when the comet could be seen:
May was a cool month...some frost...there was considerable fruit, cherries and plums and apples.. some show for grapes. Much talk about Halley's Comet whose tail would strike the earth on the 18th, many sit up to watch but the illumination was only slight and of short duration... (https://digital.grinnell.edu/islandora/object/grinnell%3A12351#page/55/mode/2up) 
As Brainard and Spire implied, overcast skies kept the comet out of view in Grinnell for several days, especially mid-May. NOAA historical data report 0.55 inches of rain in the Grinnell area on May 2, a touch of rain on the 7th and 11th, then steady rain from the 15th to the 21st; after a few clear days, the 28th and 29th brought more rain. Consequently, as the Grinnell Herald announced, the comet was not visible in town until May 23 when an eclipse was also on tap. "The eclipse of the moon looked just like any other eclipse," the Herald allowed, "and as for the comet...well, the comet didn't approach in pulchritude the Johannesburg wanderer that hovered around Grinnell a few months ago." Halley's comet, the newspaper continued, "was nothing but a smoky patch of phosphorescence in the heavens" that had no "more tail than an up-to-date bull dog" (Grinnell Herald May 24, 1910; thanks to Dorrie Lalonde and Cheryl Neubert for locating and sending me this file long-distance). With that complaint, the much-anticipated 1910 visit of Halley's comet whimpered to a close.
***
When Halley's Comet next approached earth in winter 1986, much had changed. The public anxiety of 1910 seems to have been replaced by large-scale disinterest. According to the Iowa Poll, only about 16% of Iowans even bothered to try to find the comet in the sky. "Compared with its last passage in 1910," the Des Moines Register wrote, "Halley's Comet stirred no more interest this time than a child's sparkler at a fireworks display" (April 6, 1986).

The scientific community was much more deeply invested. For one thing, five spacecraft were directed toward the comet, producing a raft of photographs and data. The United States had planned to release a satellite and an orbiting observatory from its space shuttles to be launched in January and March, but the January 28 explosion of the space shuttle Challenger put an end to those plans.

Unsurprisingly, attempts to profit from the comet's visit were visible in 1986, just as they had been in 1910. For example, those who wished might acquire a Halley's Comet collector's spoon; Quad City residents had the chance to buy the 22400 Halleyscope "for closeup viewing of Halley's Comet"; and Iowa City diners might obtain a "Free Halley's Comet Collector's Cup" at the Patio Restaurant in Sycamore Mall.
Des Moines Register January 27, 1986
Back in Grinnell, the comet attracted considerable attention on the college campus. Erection of the Grant O. Gale Observatory in 1984 brought to campus good opportunities for viewing and talking about Halley's Comet. A feature article in a November 22, 1985 edition of the Scarlet and Black reported on a South Lounge talk by astronomer and director of the observatory, Professor Robert Cadmus. A January 31, 1986 article contained an update, including a photograph of Halley's Comet provided by Cadmus. Another of Cadmus's photos was published that month in the Des Moines Register, and in late April Cadmus hosted two open house viewings of the comet at the Gale Observatory (Des Moines Register April 28, 1986).
Grant O. Gale Observatory, Grinnell College
(http://www.dfmengineering.com/news_grinnell.html)
Overall, however, the 1986 visit of Halley's Comet found a world much less troubled by the astral traveler. No reports of mass panic appeared in the press, nor did theologians imbue the comet with moral or spiritual force. Indeed, if the Iowa Poll be believed, the 1986 appearance of Halley's Comet proved a public relations bust, despite the rather impressive achievements of astronomers from around the world. Perhaps, against the backdrop of the region's agrarian crisis and its impact on farmers or, more broadly, the horrific explosion of the Chernobyl nuclear power plant, the slim tail in the sky seemed of relatively little import.

Of course, Hale-Bopp and its accompanying tragedy lay in the undiscovered future.

Wednesday, April 3, 2019

One Family: Two Countries, Two Lives...

As often happens, I was looking for something else when I ran across an item that caught my attention. This time I was perusing the 1925 visit book of the Grinnell physician, Pearl Somers; the booklet identified patients whom he had visited and treated, and included occasional visits to the college, where on January 7th and again on January 14th he attended to Shizu Yamamoto. Who?
Shizu Yamamoto
(1924 Pathfinder, Burlington High School Yearbook; courtesy of Sam Helmick of Burlington Public Library)
The name jumped out at me. Although I have seen many names from the 1920s at the college and in town, I had never run across a Yamamoto. Who was Shizu Yamamoto? Was she Japanese? I knew that several Chinese students had been enrolled at the college in the 1920s, but since the days of Sen Katayama (1859-1933), who had graduated from Grinnell in 1892, Japanese students at Grinnell had been rare.

I soon discovered that Shizu Yamamoto's story was even more interesting than I had guessed. Born in 1906 (later reported as 1907) in Burlington, Iowa, she was the daughter of Japanese immigrants. A son, Toshitada (or Toshi), was born to this family five years later; like Shizuko, he was an American citizen. These two Japanese American siblings, however, crafted life arcs that soared off in radically different directions. Shizu, after completing high school and abandoning college, spent her entire working life in Washington, DC as an employee of the US federal government. Toshi, on the other hand, after his high school days and college, moved to Japan and by 1938 held an appointment in the diplomatic corps of the Imperial Japanese government. The 1941 Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, therefore, erected an immense wall between them: yes, they both belonged to one family, yet the sister and brother found themselves on opposite sides of the globe and aligned with dramatically different political traditions at war with one another. The stories of Shizu and Toshi Yamamoto are the subject of this post.
***
The beginning of the Yamamotos' story reaches back to the first years of the twentieth century when a wealthy Burlington, Iowa industrialist, Walter B. Eaton (1863-1948), found Raisuke Yamamoto, a Japanese national who was living in Honolulu. Eaton arranged for Yamamoto and his wife, Chito, to travel to Burlington where Raisuke would work as gardener, chauffeur, and house man for Eaton. When the Yamamotos first came to Burlington, Eaton was living at 613 N. 5th Street. The Yamamoto family lived up the street a bit in lovely brick home at 621 N. 5th, a location that kept Raisuke close at hand, the better to tend Eaton's gardens and fulfill his other wishes. 
621 N. 5th Street, Burlington, IA, the Yamamotos' home until the 1920s (2018 photo)
From the beginning, the Yamamotos were a source of wonder in Burlington. When the Burlington Evening Gazette published a 1907 story about a Baptist missionary who gave a talk on Japan at First Baptist Church, the missionary
was assisted by Mrs. [Chito] Yamamoto, the only woman Japanese in Burlington, who had a baby with her. This little one [Shizu] is the first Japanese child born in Iowa and her English name is "Iowa" (October 24, 1907).
Whether in fact Shizu was the first child born to Japanese parents in Iowa is unknown, and what was meant by calling her "Iowa" is also mystifying; perhaps the translation of Chito's remark fell wide of the mark. The newspaper account, however, continued, pointing out that the missionary 
praised the Japanese for their efficient work and stated that Burlington would be benefited by the addition of a hundred or more. Especially are they desired around the house for housework, as they are very polite, clean and do their work thoroughly (ibid.).
This caricature of Japanese must have confronted the Yamamotos often during their years in Burlington, although what they thought about it the record does not preserve.

Clearly life in an Iowa river town presented many challenges to the Yamamotos, and may explain why in 1913 the family returned to Japan "for a lengthy visit." The newspaper account, mistaking Toshi for a second daughter, announced that the Yamamotos would "take their two little daughters born in Burlington, the Misses Toshitada and Shizuko, who will no doubt have some wonderful things to tell their cousins...concerning the great land of America."
Burlington Hawk-Eye, August 27, 1913
The announced plan was to visit Japan for only a year before returning to Burlington. In fact the entire family did return, reaching San Francisco in late April, 1915. Soon thereafter, however, Chito Yamamoto disappeared—whether she died or returned to Japan is unclear; newspaper articles report both fates. However, there can be no doubt that by autumn 1918, when Raisuke registered for the US draft, Chito Yamamoto was gone: on the draft registration form Raisuke listed as his contact person not his wife, Chito, but rather his twelve-year-old daughter, Shizu.
Raisuke Yamamoto's 1918 Registration for Draft
In 1921 Raisuke traveled to Japan again, taking with him 10-year-old Toshi, but leaving Shizu behind. Perhaps this moment determined the different paths for the Yamamoto siblings, Toshi getting his second taste of his parents' homeland while fifteen-year-old Shizu stayed in Burlington, residing at the local YWCA without parents or family nearby. The year-long absence of her Japanese-speaking parents meant, among other things, that Shizu became more deeply immersed in English-speaking American culture than she had been at any previous time.
Extract from passenger list of Taiyo Maru which arrived in San Francisco December 26, 1922
When Raisuke and Toshi set foot again on the American mainland in December 1922 they brought with them Aki Yamamoto, a new wife and mother. Twelve years younger than Raisuke, Aki seems to have had no prior experience with America or with speaking English, making the Burlington home of the Yamamotos determinedly more Japanese than it had been with Chito Yamamoto, who had lived in Burlington for fifteen years or more before she disappeared.

Aki was, of course, completely unknown to Shizu who had spent the last year living largely on her own, without father, mother, or brother. Newspaper notices confirm that Shizu sometimes performed "Japanese dances" for various Burlington groups, but her contact with Japan was much more distant than was anyone else's in the family: her last visit to Japan had been half a lifetime ago. Meantime Shizu had become an active and evidently popular high schooler. At Burlington High School she played soccer, basketball, and volleyball as a sophomore, and was a member of the Hypatian literary society, Blue Triangle club (YWCA), and the class social committees as a junior and senior. She made the school honor roll, participated in the high school "Rooters Club," and in May 1923 attended a "mothers and daughters" banquet at the YWCA not with Aki, her step-mother (who almost certainly spoke no English), but rather with Mrs. J. E. Jamison (Burlington Hawk-Eye Gazette, May 12, 1923). On at least one occasion she overnighted with friends in Fort Madison, further settling into the culture of her teenage American friends. Her high school yearbook offered this small poem in tribute:
She had great fame in B. H. S.
For pep and brilliancy of mind.
In both these qualities, I fear,
She left the rest of us behind.
Unsurprisingly, Shizu gained a place on the commencement honor roll, ready for the next step in a life that had less and less connection to her parents' Japanese ancestry.
Main Hall, ca. 1915 (A Glimpse of the New Quadrangle for Women, Grinnell College, 1915)
Autumn 1924 Shizu enrolled at Grinnell College. How she heard about Grinnell and what brought her to central Iowa for college remain unknown. On arrival, Shizu moved into what was then called the "Central Building" of the women's dormitories on South Campus, now known as Main Hall. Extant records provide slight evidence of Shizu's first year. Only once does her name appear in the Scarlet and Black, reporting that she had substituted for another woman in a game of six-on-six basketball. But apparently Shizu did well in her studies, as she was one of several freshmen who at the end of the 1924-25 academic year won honorable mention for their writing. Whether her work, entitled "Japanese Prints," constituted prose or poetry is not reported.
The Henry York Steiner and Freshman English Awards for Original Writing, 1924-25 
(Grinnell College Special Collections; thanks to Elaine Thut, student assistant in the archives, for locating this material)
But if Shizu did well at college, something unknown moved her to abandon Grinnell after her first year, and she never returned. Perhaps she wanted to be closer to home, because the following year Shizu enrolled at Iowa Wesleyan College. But this, too, proved unsatisfactory, because soon she was back in Burlington, enrolled at the College of Commerce. Founded in 1912 to offer an array of courses suitable to secretaries and beginning businessmen, the college had but four teachers in 1924-25 and an average of about 50 students in the day program and another 20 in night classes.
Advertisement from Burlington Gazette, July 30, 1926
Apparently Shizu did well here, too, because she soon passed the civil service examination and set off for Washington, DC, where in March 1927 she began work as a junior stenographer in the Department of the Navy. What her family thought of this move no records report, but the Burlington newspapers noted that, on the eve of her departure, Mrs. C. W. Woodward hosted at her home a farewell dinner for Shizu and Lelia Penrose, a YWCA official who accompanied Shizu to DC (Burlington Hawk-Eye, March 17, 1927).
Somers House, 1104 M Street NW, Washington, DC (Social Service Review 7[Apr 1918]:16)
Given her history with the Burlington Y, it is no surprise that on arrival in DC Shizu settled into the Elizabeth Somers House at 1104 M Street NW, a YWCA residence. Somers House was designed to welcome women who were new to town and who were taking up work with the government. At some point prior to publication of the 1929 DC city directory Shizu moved to an apartment building on Clifton Terrace NW; the 1929 city directory gives no street number, but reports that Shizu was living in apartment #506; both the 1931 and 1935 city directories have her at 1323 Clifton Terrace, apartment #21.
1323 Clifton Terrace NW, Washington, DC (2009 photo)
When she returned to Burlington for visits, as she did in 1929 and 1930, Shizu enthused about life in DC: "One of the things that I like most about Washington is that the sky is always filled with planes...You just can't imagine how pretty the blimps look up in the sky" (Burlington Hawk-Eye, March 21, 1929). She was especially complimentary about the women with whom she worked and lived in Washington.
I was afraid everyone would be cold and distant as you always hear they are in the east.... But the girls there were the friendliest people I had ever known in my life. I guess it was because we were all away from home and needed each other (Burlington Hawk-Eye, August 17, 1930).
"Almost everybody goes to night school," Shizu told the Burlington newspaper, and she herself attended George Washington University at night, studying French and Spanish, a surprising choice of subjects that might reflect on her earlier academic interests.

In DC Shizu rapidly ascended the civil service ladder. Already in October 1927 she was promoted to senior stenographer, and in November 1933 she transferred to the Agricultural Adjustment Administration where in September 1935 she was promoted to clerk in the budget section. In October 1941 she was appointed junior administrator, the beginning of a series of promotions and pay increases that decorate her entire personnel record.

And then came Pearl Harbor, and with it suspicions about persons of Japanese ancestry. Several government actions, including the notorious Executive Order No. 9066  (February 1942), revealed official anxiety about Japanese nationals and Japanese Americans.  Public Law 135 of the 77th Congress (June 28, 1941) was mainly an appropriation bill for the Departments of State, Commerce, Justice, and the Federal Judiciary, but it, too, worried about citizen loyalty. Tucked into discussion of funding for the Justice Department were a few lines that affected Shizu and everyone else who worked for the government.
$8,750,000, of which at least $100,000 shall be available exclusively to investigate the employees of every department, agency, and independent establishment of the
Federal Government who are members of subversive organizations or advocate the overthrow of the Federal Government...
Her federal personnel file shows that in June 1941—months before Pearl Harbor—Shizu signed a loyalty affidavit, apparently without any problem, and a brief 1942 report from the FBI found nothing with which to suspect Shizu's loyalty. Nevertheless, in December 1941 Shizu filed notice at work of a name change—to Shizu (later Sue) Y. Meushaw—"because of marriage." Although I examined every source I could find to document the marriage, I was never able to identify a spouse or a place or date of marriage. Likewise, Shizu's obituary makes no mention of a spouse having survived her or having died before her. An inquiry to relatives in Hawaii brought no reply, nor did an inquiry to Honolulu's Epiphany Episcopal church where her 1986 funeral was held. Of course, not every record survives, so it may be the case that Shizu did marry and somehow the records were lost. But I have not been able to escape the suspicion that, on the heels of Pearl Harbor and the government's increased interest in Japanese Americans, Shizu simply changed her name to escape notice as Japanese.

This brush with wartime suspicions having passed, Shizu continued her successful career in the Department of Agriculture, regularly receiving pay increases and promotions. In the anti-communist craze of the early 1950s her 1942 loyalty oath was recalled, her supervisor noting in December 1952 "that the employee has been favorably processed under the loyalty program." In February 1958 she gained commendation for "Sustained Outstanding Performance in completing difficult and complex budgetary duties in an exemplary manner," and in 1962 she was rewarded for having provided "expeditious service to top management levels of numerous and realistic estimates of operating costs of programs under legislative consideration."

Finally, in December 1965 Shizu retired with more than 30 years of service to the federal government. There was no reason to return to Iowa, and the District of Columbia had evidently lost its appeal, so she settled in Honolulu where twenty years later "Sue Meushaw" died, her brother and two older sisters surviving her.
Honolulu Star-Advertiser December 31, 1986
***
Shizu's younger brother, Toshi, followed a different life course. As noted above, by the time he was twelve, he had already visited Japan twice, both stays lasting a year or more. He was, therefore, more familiar with his parents' homeland than was Shizu, and he had become friendly with relatives there. Nevertheless, back in Burlington Toshi seems to have fit in well with small-town Iowa. If a photograph of his eighth-grade class reveals him as the only outlier among all those Caucasian faces, none of this seems to have fazed the young man.
Eighth Grade Class, Perkins School, Burlington, IA (Burlington Gazette May 29, 1926)
Toshi Yamamoto on far left, second row
Even more than his sister, Toshi was attracted to the Burlington Y where he played basketball, swam, and served as an officer in the Hi-Y club. In early summer 1927 he joined a clutch of other Burlington boys to take a Y-sponsored camping trip to northern Minnesota, dispatching enthusiastic reports—on birch bark!—to the Burlington newspaper on the group's adventures.
Burlington Gazette June 14, 1927
Working in the Burlington Y at that time was a young Quaker named George Townsend (1903-1990). Because Townsend later worked for the War Relocation Authority, in 1978 Frank Chin interviewed him about the Japanese internment camps. In that interview Townsend recalled that, prior to his 1942 appointment with the War Relocation Authority, he had had few opportunities to meet Japanese. One exception, he noted, was Toshi Yamamoto,
a Japanese American kid about thirteen or fourteen who hung around the Y a lot. He was the only Japanese in Burlington, Iowa when I was in Y work (Frank Chin, Born in the USA [NY: Rowman and Littlefield, 2002], p. 266).
Newspaper stories in Burlington confirm that Toshi was deeply involved with the local Y: he was part of the membership campaign; he life-guarded, demonstrated life-saving, and taught the breast stroke in the pool; he performed the so-called Monte Cristo trick, escaping from a tied bag under water; and he played Y basketball. Consequently, although Toshi had experiences in Japan that differentiated him from most of his classmates in Burlington, Iowa, he was nevertheless deeply integrated into the local teenage culture.

Like his sister, Toshi graduated from Burlington High School as a member of the honor roll, and, like his sister, decided to attend a liberal arts college. Instead of Grinnell, however, Toshi chose Knox College in Galesburg, IL, enrolling there autumn 1930. As he had in Burlington, Toshi soon became active in extra-curriculars. No later than his sophomore year he was part of the cheerleader squad, and the following year was the group's head. At Knox he also continued to swim, and was known as an ardent fan of Knox athletic teams.
Knox College Swimming Class, 1934; Toshi Yamamoto, front row, far left
(Knox College Special Collections and Archives, Harold E. Way Photograph Collection, J8 #2)
In all this, Toshi could hardly be distinguished from any of his Knox classmates. And when he graduated with honors from Knox in the spring of 1934, he returned to Burlington where he resumed active participation in Y activities. Almost immediately on reaching Iowa, however, Toshi announced his intention to travel to Japan in what would be his third visit (Burlington Hawk-Eye Gazette, June 18, 1934).

For reasons unknown, Toshi did not embark upon this trip until the following April. The newspaper expected that, as had been true of earlier trips, Yamamoto would soon return to the US.
He has no desire to live anywhere except America [the newspaper reported], but [he] said a knowledge of languages, especially Japanese, will be important. While in Japan...he will work at an importing office owned by an uncle, getting practical experience in the work he plans to follow the remainder of his life...On his return to the United States, Yamamoto hopes to become connected with his Tokio [sic] uncle's importing house in San Francisco (Burlington Hawk-Eye Gazette, March 8, 1935).
In short, so far as the local newspaper could imagine, Toshi would follow the same life course as most of his fellows in Burlington, and live out his life in America.

Once in Japan, Toshi sent the Burlington newspaper reports of his life abroad. Apparently at first he lived at Nichibei Home, a dormitory "founded in 1932 specifically for Nisei students coming from Hawaii." Here Nisei could prepare for entrance examinations at Japanese universities (Toyotomi Morimoto, Japanese Americans and Cultural Continuity [NY: Routledge, 2014], p. 93). Yamomoto was not alone in traveling to Japan for more education. It is estimated that in any given year of the 1930s some 40,000 to 50,000 Nisei were living in Japan, although only a fraction expected to return to the lands in which they had been born (Eiichiro Azuma, "'The Pacific Era Has Arrived': Transnational Education among Japanese Americans, 1932-1941," History of Education Quarterly, vol. 43, no 1 [spring 2003]:39).

Burlington newspapers announced that Toshi had begun study at Waseda University, but later notices that Toshi himself filed with the Knox College Alumni Office omit reference to Waseda, reporting instead that he had attended Meiji University law school. After finishing there in 1938, he seems to have moved directly into the diplomatic service of the Japanese Empire, a decision that marked a sharp revision in Toshi's career ambition and presumably also in his identity: joining himself to the Japanese diplomatic corps, he associated himself very visibly with the land of his parents' rather than with the land of his own birth.
Burlington Hawk-Eye Gazette September 9, 1938
No later than September 1938 Yamamoto was in Nanjing, China, serving in the Japanese embassy there. The appointment could hardly have been more difficult, with the Chinese capital still reeling from the Japanese assault characterized as the "Rape of Nanking." George Townsend, the former director of the Burlington Y, told Frank Chin in 1978 that he and Toshi had corresponded often over the years, and it would be fascinating to learn if any of Toshi's letters came from his time in Nanjing. Regrettably, Townsend's heirs know nothing of this body of correspondence, nor has any diary surfaced to give us insight into Toshi's reflections on the subject.
Toshi Yamomoto ca. 1941 (Burlington Hawk-Eye Gazette April 11, 1941)
A November 1938 report from the British consul in Nanjing observed that Yamamoto had been appointed Vice-Consul and that, unlike his co-Vice Consul, Toshi spoke English "perfectly." The same report, however, bemoaned the inability of Japanese diplomats to do anything to restrain military authorities, so it might be that, if Toshi attempted to ameliorate or complain about conditions in Nanjing, he met considerable resistance from Army officers (Suping Lu, ed., A Dark Page in History: The Nanjing Massacre and Post-Massacre Conditions [NY: Rowman and Littlefield, 2018], p. 74).
Burlington Hawk-Eye Gazette December 22, 1941
His superiors found nothing to complain about his diplomatic work, because by 1941 Toshi was promoted to "liaison officer" at Nanjing; as the war in China ground on, Yamomoto moved to the Japanese embassy in Shanghai where he remained until the end of the war. According to records from the Diplomatic Archives of the Foreign Ministry of Japan, in Shanghai Yamomoto worked mainly as a translator, first for the military and then for the trade section. Back in Burlington, Iowa, however, locals were uncertain where Toshi might be. Weeks after Pearl Harbor and the US declaration of war on Japan, people in Burlington, which "has no Japanese residents at present," the newspaper remarked, turned their thoughts to the Yamomoto family, whose head, Raisuke (nicknamed "Moto") had returned to Japan the previous summer. The newspaper observed that it was not known whether Moto, who had worked in Burlington for 37 years, "was ordered home [by the Japanese] or decided of his own volition to return" to Japan. The newspaper's view of Toshi, who, after all, had been born in Burlington, was less suspicious: "Those who knew him here found it difficult to believe he would use his knowledge of this country to its detriment in serving its enemies." Indeed, the newspaper suspected the reverse, wondering whether Yamomoto "might have been demoted or interned for the duration because of his American connections" (Burlington Hawk-Eye Gazette December 22, 1941).

As it happened, it was the Japanese in the western United States who were interned, but no further news of Toshi Yamamoto reached Iowa while the war lasted. A brief article in 1943 wondered whether the hometown boy was related to the architect of the Pearl Harbor attack, Isoroku Yamamoto (1884-1943). As before, Burlington locals doubted that Toshi was "serving in any important capacity in Japanese occupied territory," believing that "Hirohito's government would not trust an American-born Jap with a prominent post in time of war" (Burlington Hawk-Eye Gazette May 22, 1943).

A less confident perspective emerges in an unsigned, June 1945 letter to Knox College's Bessie Hinckley. The unidentified writer, regretting that he could not answer Hinckley's question about the whereabouts of Toshi Yamamoto, reported that four representatives of [US] military intelligence had visited his office since Pearl Harbor, asking the same question. The letter writer recalled that, when last he knew, Toshi had been working for the Japanese government, but the
Bureau of Military Intelligence say that...he did not do that at all. But returned, they are informed, though as yet have not been able to prove it, to the United States where he is a spy for the Japanese (Knox College Special Collections and Archive).
In a 1980 interview, Yamamoto reported rather vaguely that during the war he had been "interned for six months in China, but 'I wasn't treated badly.'" By whom or where he was interned Yamamoto did not say. George Townsend claimed that Toshi had been captured by the Soviets, but, if so, Yamamoto himself never acknowledged it in print.
Toshitada Yamamoto (right) in Tucson, AZ, October 1951 (Arizona Daily Star October 28, 1951)
Once repatriated to Japan in 1946, Yamomoto almost seamlessly resumed his career, despite his service to the Japanese Empire. By his own testimony, he "was asked to sit in on trials [of war crimes in Japan] and identify documents being entered as evidence." But before the trials of Japanese officials were over, Yamamoto was "assigned to Supreme Command, Allied Powers," working in the Economics and Social Section to help remodel defeated Japan. Still later, Yamamoto was evidently a member of the Japanese delegation at the 1951 San Francisco Peace Conference, although my search of documents associated with the negotiations did not yield a single hit for Toshi. In 1950 he and another Foreign Ministry colleague arrived in Los Angeles to establish there an office of the Japanese Overseas Agency, anticipating the consulate that later opened there for post-war Japan (Burlington Hawk-Eye June 5, 1980).
Undated photo of Tokyo Prince Hotel
Recalled to Japan in 1952, Toshi was soon sent to the Japanese embassy in Bangkok, Thailand, where he served until 1956. The following year he was loaned to the United Nations, Toshi and his family moving to New York where he became Chief of the Documents Division in the Conferences Department. In 1972 he retired from the diplomatic corps, leaving the UN and New York but stopping at several US cities (including Burlington) before reaching Japan where he took up a position as Director of Public Relations at the Tokyo Prince Hotel.

The official, published record provides scant insight into the private life of Toshi Yamamoto.  We know that in 1941 Toshi married Mei Sugimoto, presumably while he was home on leave. Whether Mei followed him back to his duties in China is unknown; in his public remarks Toshi never referred to it. The couple had two daughters, Keiko (Gloria), born in 1943, and Shoko (Shirley), born in 1947. The only photo I found of the family comes from much later when all the Yamamotos were flying from New York to Japan on vacation.
Toshi, Mei, Keiko and Shoko Yamamoto (Shin Nichibei June 21, 1961)
How long Toshi and family remained in Japan the record does not explain, but at some point the Yamamotos moved to Honolulu, and it was there that Toshi died in 1994, leaving his wife and daughters behind.
Death Notice for Toshitada Yamamoto, Honolulu Advertiser July 4, 1994
***
Much remains unknown about how Shizu and Toshi Yamamoto organized their lives. Despite these open spaces, it is easy to see the different attractions of the two cultures this family inhabited. Born to Japanese nationals in the American midriff, Shizu and Toshi as adults each identified themselves with different strands of that background. Probably from her teenage years when she remained in Iowa while the rest of her family went to Japan, Shizu associated herself with a distinctly American destiny. Even when, after Pearl Harbor, American authorities tried to warranty American commitment from federal employees, Shizu signed the oaths demanded of her. Toshi, on the other hand, despite all his connections with the Burlington YMCA and its onetime leader, and with Knox College and his fellow collegians, found his future not in America, but rather in service to his parents' native country. To judge from his sojourn in China, even in the face of the organized cruelty that fellow Japanese had inflicted on Nanjing (and covered up), Toshi put his confidence in his adopted land.

Friday, November 16, 2018

When Radium Came to Grinnell...

Many history textbooks describe the last years of the nineteenth and first years of the twentieth century in Europe and America as the "Age of Progress." A wave of inventions and a general rise in the standard of living in parts of the northern hemisphere encouraged an optimism that only dimmed when World War I and the "Spanish flu" worked their deadly spells. However, among the developments that gave rise to optimism was the 1898 discovery of radium. Applications did not immediately appear, but gradually the medical community came to realize that the powerful rays emitted by radium might be used effectively to treat disease. Enthusiasm over the newly-discovered element led to the founding in 1913 of a new journal, Radium, "devoted to the chemistry, physics and therapeutics of radium and other radio-active substances."
Cover of first issue of new journal, Radium (April 1913)
At about the same time, news reports began to appear about radium's medical uses. For example, an article in the May 4, 1915 issue of the Ottumwa Courier told of a Keota man who had been hospitalized in Chicago for cancer of the neck. After four months there had been no improvement. But then the patient became the lucky experiment of a German doctor, newly arrived in Chicago and eager to demonstrate the utility of radium therapy. Three applications later, the patient reported that "he feels like a new man," and he returned home to resume his earlier way of life.

As reports of the curative powers of radium multiplied, more and more physicians grew eager to make use of this new therapy. In September, 1917 the University of Iowa announced that it had purchased "two tiny tubes of radium, the weight of which was but 50 milligrams, combined." Although the acquisition had been pricey—$5000—Dr. Bundy Allen declared that "the state now has a valuable equipment for the cure of cancer and other malignant diseases" (Marshalltown Times-Republican, September 29, 1917). Saying so did not prevent the university from losing its precious medicine. As the Daily Iowan reported, the radium was lost in the course of treating a cancer patient who had a tube containing radium placed in her mouth.
When the time came for its removal it was found that the contents of the tube had entirely disappeared. The patient was ignorant of the way in which the radium was lost (Daily Iowan, November 28, 1920). 
Iowa was not alone in losing track of these minuscule, but costly, radium batches. The Des Moines News (November 12, 1920) reported that a Utica, New York hospital had also lost its radium while treating a patient. "The radium burned [a patient] and in irritation she took off the bandage containing the tiny radium tube and threw it down a drain pipe," obliging the hospital to tear up its sewer system in search of the precious commodity. Closer to home, a physician in 1928 Waterloo sought help from Coe College's electroscope to retrieve a tiny ("one-fortieth as large as a dime") bit of radium that was "thrown by accident into a furnace, along with some surgical refuse" (Coe College Cosmos, October 28, 1928).
Undated photograph of A. James Larkin (1888-1936 )
(History of Medicine and Surgery and Physicians and Surgeons of Chicago [Chicago: Biographical Publishing Corporation, 1922], p. 645)
Meantime physicians across the country embraced radium treatment for a surprisingly broad array of illnesses. In 1929 A. James Larkin, a Chicago doctor who specialized in radium therapy, published Radium in General Practice, a physician's guide. The table of contents, each line of which detailed some illness or part of the body for which radium therapy was recommended, occupied two entire pages. In addition to examining radium's use on numerous forms of cancer, Larkin detailed how radium could benefit sufferers of vernal conjunctivitis, deafness, ringworm, nevus, and much else. Presumably there were illnesses for which radium was not suitable, but physicians seemed to be finding more and more applications.

Given the potency of the chemical, radium treatment demanded only small quantities applied for brief periods. In practice this meant placement of a small tube or needle of radium directly on or within the affected area. The idea was that the radium would "burn away" tumors, which seemed more susceptible to the radioactive emissions than healthy tissue. The difficult part was to make certain that the radium damaged only cancerous cells; when this goal was achieved, radium treatment became an effective competitor to surgery.
Illustration of containers used in radium therapy
(A. James Larkin, Radium in General Practice [NY: Paul B. Hoeber, 1929], p. 6)
But the minute applicators necessary raised other problems, obliging physicians to apply secure tethers to make certain that the valuable containers of radium were not ingested or otherwise lost (a lesson learned too late by some of radium's early enthusiasts). Indeed, Larkin was at pains to warn physicians to make certain that the radium applicator was "firmly attached to some object or part of the patient's body during the application so that it is impossible to lose control of it at any time...." This problem was especially urgent when treating the mouth, nose, throat, uterus, rectum, bladder or esophagus (Larkin, Radium, p. 16), all body parts to which radium was frequently applied.
Title page of L. L. Myers's study
(University of Iowa Studies in Medicine v. 1, n. 5 [July 1919])
Although radium therapy gradually exhausted its welcome among physicians, it is easy to understand the enthusiasm with which it was originally received. In a 1919 paper devoted to using radium to treat uterine cancer, Dr. L. L. Myers pointed out that radical hysterectomy, until then the primary therapy for uterine cancer, was not only a complicated and taxing surgery; it was also often deadly. According to Myers, among "experienced operators" twenty-five percent of all hysterectomy patients died during or after the operation, but among less experienced or less-skilled surgeons patient mortality often reached fifty percent. Moreover, Myers continued, those who survived radical hysterectomies often experienced severe pain in the pelvis because of the retraction of pelvic tissues. By contrast, placing controlled quantities of radium directly upon the malignant tissue for brief periods occasioned little discomfort and none of the mortality dangers so common to surgical solutions.

A similar argument was made for many other surgical therapies, which helped encourage physicians to prefer radium treatment over the scalpel. For example, in an era when tonsillectomies were very common an increasing number of physicians applied radium cylinders directly to the tonsils. Doing so removed some of the dangers of infection and helped patients resume normal activities sooner. The same dynamic influenced the treatment of skin disorders and other medical specialties.
***
Grinnell received its first radium in the spring of 1920. Weighing only 12.46 milligrams (about one-quarter the size of the sample that the University of Iowa had acquired), Grinnell's radium arrived "cradled in a needle, fastened in a strong box with boxes and boxes and wrappings and wrappings on the outside." This "tiny but mighty" package cost the Grinnell Community Hospital $1507.20, a staggering outlay for a small-town hospital.
Grinnell Herald, March 12, 1920
Two local physicians, Drs. P. E. Somers and L. A. Hopkins, were named "radium experts" and directed to undertake the training necessary to use radium therapy safely. Hopkins may never have practiced with radium in Grinnell, as he left town for the west coast in 1923, never to return. But Somers clearly did, as several of his professional presentations indicate. At a 1921 meeting of the Iowa Clinical Medical Society in Grinnell, Somers gave a paper on "The Results of Radium Therapy in Epithelioma and Lupus Vulgaris" (Journal of Iowa State Medical Society, vol. 11 [May 1921]:184), indicating that his first treatments in Grinnell likely dealt with skin maladies. The next year at the annual meeting of the Iowa State Medical Society Somers presented a paper on "Chemistry and Medicine," almost certainly detailing more of his work with radium (Journal of the Iowa State Medical Society, vol. 12 [April 1922]:126).

How often and how long Somers pursued radium therapy in Grinnell presently-available records do not make clear. The October 1923 issue of the Grinnell Community Hospital Bulletin devoted a special article to cancer, firmly embracing radium therapy:
The best practice in the treatment of cancer is early removal. It is always preceded by the exposure of the part to Radium where this is feasible, and the area from which the growth is removed is again treated with Radium afterwards. Radium is the best single agent in the treatment of cancers and should be used in all inoperable cases and is the treatment of choice in cancers on the skin.
Each year the hospital published data on the number of patients treated and the therapies applied. The February 1923 bulletin, reporting on 1922 admissions, identified 58 "radium cases" that year, compared with 91 surgeries, figures that confirm the hospital's confidence in radium therapy.

The Drake Community Library Local History Archives does not hold a complete run of the Community Hospital Bulletin, so it is difficult to know exactly how long radium continued to be employed as a cancer treatment at the hospital. The February 1931 issue, however, indicates that at some point before 1930 radium had disappeared entirely from the hospital's cupboard of therapies, perhaps because that year the hospital purchased a new x-ray machine intended for therapeutic as well as for diagnostic use. Consequently, the February 1933 report on hospital admissions in 1932 reported 135 surgical patients and 56 treated by x-ray; no use of radium was reported. The following year showed a similar distribution, again with no reference whatever to radium. Figures for 1937 showed nearly as many patients treated with x-ray (120) as with surgery (124), and in 1938 and 1939 patients treated with x-ray therapy outnumbered surgery patients. Evidently the physicians at Community Hospital had decided sometime in the 1920s that radium therapy was no longer a preferred—or even complementary—therapy for cancer. Perhaps the scare occasioned by the 1925 discovery of disease among women who painted radium onto watches helped persuade Grinnell physicians to seek alternative therapies.
Admission Register of St. Francis Hospital, 1919-1935 (Grinnell Historical Museum)
The register of admissions to St. Francis hospital, however, offers a bit more evidence about radium therapy in Grinnell. To judge by the register, Grinnell's second hospital did not employ radium therapy at all until the 1930s. Throughout the 1920s and early 1930s, St. Francis physicians regularly resorted to surgery to deal with cancer and other problems to which radium had been applied since 1920 at Community Hospital. But after Dr. C. W. Howell (1887-1941) joined the St. Francis staff in 1931, taking over the practice of Dr. Eugene Talbott (1873-1943), St. Francis hospital began to treat patients with radium. Where or when the hospital obtained its radium supply I do not know, but the register indicates that when Mrs. Cedric Barnes entered the hospital on August 3, 1933, she received "radium treatment," the first time that this phrase appears in the register. John Devereux entered hospital the day that Mrs. Barnes left (August 5), and he, too, received "radium treatment," although for what exact problem the register does not say.

After that, Dr. Howell applied radium treatment sporadically, sometimes more than once to the same patient. For example, Mrs. Mary E. Turner entered St. Francis November 14, 1933, was treated with radium, and then dismissed November 18. Two months later (January 13, 1934) she was back in hospital, once again receiving a dose of radium before being sent home the next day. That summer Turner was once again a patient at St. Francis, being admitted August 21 and dismissed Aug 22 after her third radium treatment. J. A. Breeden of Newburg went through two radium treatments at St. Francis, the first occurring in late January 1934 with a follow-up in mid-March. Mrs. J. G. Strovers (Kellogg) and Mrs. Charles Newcomer (Newburg) also both received two radium treatments in 1934. Four other persons underwent at least one treatment at St. Francis in 1933 or 1934, but between the time Mrs. Newcomer was dismissed in late November 1934 and the end of this volume of the St. Francis register (July 31, 1935), no other hospital patients had resort to radium. Without access to the next volume of hospital admissions we cannot know if Dr. Howell continued to use radium therapy, but if he did, his use of radium did not last long, as Howell himself died of a heart attack in 1941.

With so little information, it is difficult to know what to make of Howell's practice, but it appears that his patients may have benefitted from their encounter with radium. Mary Turner, for example, who had had three radium treatments in 1933-1934 lived until 1984 when she died at age 74 "following a lengthy illness." If Howell had treated her for cancer (as the three treatments imply), the radium treatments may well have prolonged her life, even if it was cancer to which she ultimately succumbed.  James Breeden did not live so long as Turner, but it was an automobile accident, not illness, that took his life in 1957 when he was 66 years old. Ross Coutts, who apparently had just one encounter with radium therapy, died in 1965 in the Grinnell hospital, but he was then 81. Therefore, it may be that Dr. Howell's St. Francis patients benefited from radium therapy.

Nevertheless, as practice at Grinnell's Community Hospital indicated, the therapeutic use of radium had clearly peaked by 1930, replaced by newer, safer therapies. In its heyday, however, the very word—even without its potent radioactive energy—exerted enormous power across American culture, and was especially prominent in the marketplace, tempting entrepreneurs to associate almost any product with radium.
***
Many of these products never came near actual radium, but bore the name in the hope that buyers would eagerly scoop up anything associated with the latest wonder. Dry goods stores, for example, advertised that seamstresses could purchase "radium silk," and clothing stores offered pajamas or petticoats made of "radium silk." As a 1922 advertisement for Grinnell's Brintnalls Dry Goods store put it, "What girl's heart wouldn't be joyous just to feel the soft, clinging Silk in these garments" (Scarlet and Black, December 6, 1922)? "Radium slips," which advertisements admitted were made from rayon satin, were on offer from Younkers in Des Moines, so almost certainly some women in Grinnell wore them. Men's stores in Marshalltown sold cotton socks bumped up by being called "Radium 100" or "Radium 400," so these too could likely be found in Grinnell dressers in the 1920s.
https://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2013/03/how-we-realized-putting-radium-in-everything-was-not-the-answer/273780/
Radium butter probably did not make it onto grocery shelves in town, but it illustrates the lengths to which advertisers would go to hype their products. One of the most amusing products in this group was something called "Radium Spray," which borrowed the idea of radium's power to allege that the spray "cleans everything except a guilty conscience."
Advertisement from Des Moines Daily News, May 25, 1912
Most of these products were harmless, containing no radium whatsoever. But some entrepreneurs not only borrowed radium for the names of their products, but also actually used radium in their products. One of the most widely-known was something called Radithor, "certified radioactive water." Produced in New Jersey between 1918 and 1928, Radithor contained both radium and mesothorium in distilled water. Promoters claimed that, when consumed regularly, Radithor could remedy many ills, including sexual impotence.
https://www.pinterest.com/pin/187392034476939006
Enthusiastic consumers, like Eben Byers (1880-1932), who was said to have drunk three bottles a day for several years, ended up absorbing enormous quantities of radium. Originally buoyed by his use of Radithor, Byers ultimately fell seriously ill, losing his jaw to cancer and developing holes in his skull. When he died in 1932—a victim of radiation poisoning—he was buried in a lead-lined coffin; when exhumed in 1965, his body was found to be still highly radioactive. Unfortunately, Byers was not alone; experts estimate that some 400,000 bottles of Radithor had been purchased, leaving many other consumers afflicted with radiation poisoning. So far as I could determine, no Iowa publication advertised Radithor, so perhaps Grinnellians remained safe from its radioactive nostrum.
Headline from the Ames Daily Tribune, April 1, 1932
But Radithor was not the only culprit in this wave of quackery. Radium Appliance Company of Los Angeles advertised a "Radio-Active Pad" to be worn on one's "back by day and over the stomach at night." The pad was said to cure "Neuritis, Rheumatism, High Blood Pressure, Constipation, Nervous Prostration, Asthma..., Heart, Liver, Kidney and Bladder trouble."
Advertisement from Mason City Globe-Gazette, October 21, 1930
Other uses seemed less threatening. For example, as early as 1918 Grinnellians learned that they could buy from Hoffmeister's jewelry store on Broad Street wrist watches with genuine radium dials that would glow in the dark. Only later did purchasers learn that the women who painted the radium on watch dials had themselves become victims of radiation poisoning. By the late 1920s, the sordid tale of the "Radium Girls" took much of the wind out of radium's sails.
Advertisement from the Scarlet and Black, October 6, 1918
Nevertheless, hucksters attached the promise of radium to rouge, chocolate bars, suppositories, and much else.
Advertisement from the Chicago Tribune, March 9, 1919
The lure of radium also attracted beauty salons that promised "radium treatments" alongside "vapor baths" and other cosmetic therapies.
Advertisement from Des Moines Register, December 13, 1925
Physicians eager to collect patients attuned to the latest craze advertised in newspapers their commitment to "radium treatment." Davenport's Dr. C. E. Glynn, for instance, advertised "Radium treatments" along with "X-ray diagnosis of the heart, lung, stomach and kidney" (Davenport Daily Times, December 6, 1921). In Estherville R. C. Coleman, M. D. advertised "Operations and Radium Treatments" (Estherville Daily News, July 24, 1930). Inevitably, therefore, swindlers showed up, taking advantage of people's fascination with something they poorly understood. In 1927 both Illinois and Michigan pursued Fred Ashner who was wanted in a dozen Michigan and Illinois communities for "faking 'radium' treatments of persons in rural communities" (Davenport Daily Times, December 20, 1927). Some places, like Davenport, established their own institutes, the better to coordinate delivery of radium therapy. Larger cities like Chicago saw the establishment of services that provided either on-site radium therapy or rented out radium to physicians who contemplated radium therapy for patients.
Journal of Iowa State Medical Society, vol. 11(1921)
***
But then radium's moment in the sun passed.  Even the journal Radium, which had been born on the eve of the element's explosion into medical practice, closed down, its last issue published in 1925, the same year that the public heard about "Radium Girls." Soon the country's newspapers reported the sad tale of Eben Byers's deadly embrace of Radithor, further dulling the gloss on radium's future. As the Great Depression bore down on the country and a new war gradually came into view, radium—dangerous and expensive—lost its hold on the medical profession. The early deaths of enthusiasts like A. James Larkin did nothing to stall radium's death spiral. No longer did hospitals need to spend large sums for tiny tubes easily swallowed, thrown into the toilet, or otherwise lost. Radium's replacement, X-ray therapy, was also expensive, but provided a more controlled dose to aim at tumorous tissue without the same risk of loss, and rapidly edged radium out of medical practice. Certainly in Grinnell the Community Hospital abandoned radium therapy already in the 1920s; why it made a brief comeback at St. Francis Hospital in the 1930s is unclear, but after the death of Dr. C. W. Howell, radium therapy in Grinnell seems to have come finally to an end.

Public fascination with this wonder remedy also passed. Suddenly radium butter and radium silk seemed much less appealing than they had seemed a decade earlier.