Dr. Jacob Bolotin (1888-1924); The world's first totally blind physician licensed to practice medicine.

Jacob Bolotin (1904)

Bolotin's parents were Jewish immigrants from Poland. Chicago born Jacob was the seventh child in the family and the third of those seven to be born blind. 

It took time after Jacob's birth for his parents to recognize that he had no sight. His eyes looked normal, and he had the innate ability to make perfect eye contact. However, just as his blind siblings Fred and Sarah had done at his age, Jacob crashed into the walls and furniture constantly as he began to crawl. It became obvious that the baby could not see.

When his mother went to enroll six-year-old Fred in public school, Jacob, now age four, wanted to go, too. The blind brothers had always done everything together. Upon hearing that Fred and Jacob were blind, the principal told their mother there was no place in the public schools for blind children.

Since the public school system could not educate the children, the Bolotins applied to the local Jewish Training School for admission. The school's principal was willing to give Fred a chance, but he indicated that Jacob was too young. The precocious child immediately stated he already knew as much as his brother. To prove it, Jacob recited his A B C's and then breathlessly counted all the way up to one hundred. Charmed by Jacob's enthusiasm for learning, the principal decided to give the little scholar a chance.

Soon realizing that his school did not have the necessary tools to teach blind children, the principal advised the parents to send the boys to a school for the blind. Here, they would have the opportunity for a better education. Shortly thereafter, the principal boarded a train with the two little boys and escorted them to the distant Illinois School for the Blind.

The Bolotin family was so poor that the parents could not afford to visit the children. They did not see one another until graduation--nine years later. Although graduation from the school was usually at age 16, 14-year-old Jacob became valedictorian of his class.

Despite his excellent education and superb blind skills, on returning home, Jacob could not find work. Accompanied only by a wooden cane, he searched the city of Chicago. No one would hire him. After many months of tramping about the city, Jacob became an excellent traveler. Designing a mental map of the various neighborhoods, memorizing route hazards, and learning all the streetcar destinations, he rarely became lost. Jacob's orientation and mobility techniques proved to be invaluable when he finally found a job as a door-to-door salesman.

First pedaling matches at four cents a box, the young entrepreneur moved on to selling a variety of brushes, from which he could make more money. Although he disliked what he was doing, Jacob needed the money--both to help support the Bolotin family and to further his education. Working twelve hours a day, he finally had enough money to attend a brief training program of what appears to have been massage therapy. Jacob had thought this training would lead to a career in the healing arts. Recognizing that the poorly taught course was inadequate, he set his sights on going to medical school instead. In order to pay for medical school, Jacob had to find a better way to earn money. Hearing about a company that needed salesman to sell newly-designed typewriters in commercial settings, Jacob applied for a job. He had excellent typing skills, which would enable him to show potential customers how to use a typewriter. The owner of the company was ready to hire him. Then, noticing Jacob's cane, he realized that he was blind. Jacob persuaded the boss to hire him on a trial basis, and he worked for one month without pay. His ability to demonstrate the benefits of using a typewriter, his smooth sales pitches, and his knowledge of the city gave Jacob an advantage that put him on a par with his sighted competitors. Eventually, the president offered Jacob one of the highest salaries ever paid at the typewriter company.

Jacob found a medical school that taught courses from 7 to 10 at night. By working during the day and attending school at night, he would have enough money to pay for the first year. After some initial hassles from the administration, he was allowed to enroll. Toward the end of his first year, the state withdrew accreditation, and the medical school closed its doors. It took Jacob another four years to earn enough money to begin his medical education again.

Returning to the typewriter company, Jacob renegotiated with its president. His contract gave him sole rights to sell typewriters in areas outside of Chicago. At the end of four years, Jacob had sold typewriters in every state of the Union. At last, earning enough money to pay for his tuition, Jacob, now 20, became a full-time student at a prestigious medical school in Chicago.

At medical school, Jacob developed new techniques to access information. For example, in his anatomy course, the class mascot, Elmo the skeleton, taught the young medical student everything he needed to know about human bones. While the other students were dissecting cadavers, Jacob molded clay parts of internal organs--placing them accurately into a clay human body. He received an "A" for the course.

However, Jacob began falling behind. He could not find appropriate readers to help him access the necessary medical information from the print textbooks. A fellow student, named Hermie, approached him. He too was having trouble with his courses. A recent immigrant from Poland, Hermie, although he could read English, could not comprehend the difficult medical terms. He proposed that they help each other. Jacob agreed. After classes, the two students retired to the back room of a saloon owned by Hermie. Here, they studied for many hours every night. While Jacob interpreted the medical terms, Hermie read the text aloud. They worked together for four years, became best friends, and graduated from medical school with honors.

Upon graduation he had to fight again to take the exam to become a licensed physician. He endured months in an office where no patients came.

His talents were proven during his internship at Frances E. Willard National Termperance Hospital, 710 S. Lincoln (now Wolcott) Street, Chicago, Illinois. 

A young woman's illness was misdiagnosed by at least three other physicians -- who thought it was psychologically based -- when Jacob Bolotin examined her and immediately recognized a serious heart condition. When Jacob examined the girl, he was stunned to hear the distinct murmur of an obstructed heart valve. Could he be wrong? Slowly he ran his fingers over her chest. Her skin was sweaty and clammy. Again he pressed his ear to her heart and listened intently. There was no doubt. It was not simple neurasthenia, but the dull unmistakable murmur of mitral stenosis. Alarmed, he hurried to the office of his immediate supervisor, Dr. Maxmillian Kuznik, professor of clinical diagnosis.

His brilliance as a physician, however, was recognized by patients and other physicians long before he took his rightful place in the medical community. Even after working for months as a volunteer physician in a facility for tuberculosis patients, he was not hired by that institution. Patients loved him, and doctors frequently called upon him for consultation, but his blindness was repeatedly waved as an excuse for not paying him for his services.

Eventually, however, Dr. Bolotin grew to be a renowned heart and lung specialist, not only throughout Chicago, he became the foremost heart and lung specialists in the country. When he addressed a medical convention as a favor to a friend, his talent for speaking also became legendary. Reading excerpts from his speeches is astonishing. The philosophy and sentiments are in complete accord with the words of leaders in the blindness movement almost a century later. Listen, for instance, to his comments as quoted in the Chicago Tribune, when that newspaper ran a sensational article about the blind man about to become a licensed physician:

"Well, is there anything so remarkable about it? Because a man has no eyes, is it any sign that he hasn't any brains? That is the trouble with the world and the blind man. All the blind man asks is fair play. Give him an equal chance without prejudice, and he generally manages to hold his own with his more fortunate colleagues."

Dr. Bolotin died in 1924, at the young age of 36. He seems to have literally worked himself to death -- maintaining such a rigorous schedule of seeing patients and giving speeches that his body wore out. Five thousand people came to his funeral.

Compiled by Neil Gale, Ph.D.

Philo Carpenter was Chicago's first pharmacist and drug store owner.

Philo Carpenter (1805-1886)

Philo Carpenter (1805-1886) came from the Berkshire Hills of New England. Both his grandfathers were in the Army of the Revolution. Nathaniel Carpenter resigned a captaincy in his majesty's service and raised a company for the Continental Army, fought through the war and was a major in command of West Point at its close.

An earlier ancestor was William Carpenter, a pilgrim who came from Southampton, England, to Weymouth, Massachusetts, in 1638, on the ship Bevis (also known as the Bevis of Hampton, was a merchant sailing ship that brought "Emigrants" from England to New England).

In 1787, the family came to western Massachusetts than a wilderness, where Philo Carpenter was born in the town of Savoy, February 27, 1805, the fifth of eight children of Abel Carpenter.

Philo lived on the farm with his father until he was of age. He received little money from his parents but did receive those greater gifts, a good constitution, a typical school education — supplemented by a few terms at the academy at South Adams — and habits of morality, industry, and economy. He made two trips as a commercial traveler as far south as Richmond, Virginia. He acquired an interest in medical studies during his stay at South Adams — traveled to Troy, New York — and entered the drug store of Amatus Robbins. In connection with a clerkship, he continued his studies and eventually gained a half interest in the business. He was married there in May of 1830 to Sarah Forbes Bridges, but she died the following November.

He closed out his business early in the summer of 1832. He shipped a stock of drugs and medicines to Fort Dearborn. The journey to Chicago was arduous. He took the short railroad then built to Schenectady, then took passage on a line boat on the Erie Canal to Buffalo, then on the small steamer Enterprise, Captain Augustus Walker, to Detroit, then by mud-wagon, called a stage, to Niles, Michigan, then on a lighter belonging to Hiram Wheeler, afterward a well-known merchant of Chicago, to St. Joseph at the mouth of the river, in company with George W. Snow. They had expected to sail in a schooner to Fort Dearborn, but on account of the report of cholera among the troops there, a captain, one Carver, refused to sail and had tied up his vessel. They, however, engaged two Indians to tow them around the head of the lake in a canoe with an elm-bark tow rope. At Calumet, one of the Indians was afflicted with cholera, but they kept on until they were within sight of the fort when the Indians refused to proceed. Samuel Ellis lived there and had come from Berkshire County, Massachusetts. They spent the night with him, and he brought them the following day in an ox wagon to Fort Dearborn on July 18, 1832. 

There were less than two hundred inhabitants, mainly Indians and half-breeds, who lived in poor log houses built on both sides of the Chicago River near its mouth.

When Mr. Carpenter's goods arrived, he opened the first drug store in a log building on Lake Street, next to the Sauganash Hotel, near the Chicago River, where there was a great demand for his drugs, especially his quinine.

The log building where Philo Carpenter opened his drug store next to the Sauganash Hotel (small log cabin on the left). Mark Beaubien opened the Eagle Exchange Tavern in 1829. In 1831, Beaubien added the frame structure and opened the Sauganash Hotel, Chicago's first grocery [EXPLANATION], hotel and restaurant at Wolf Point, on the east bank of the south branch of the Chicago River at the "forks," where the north and south branches meet.

The anticipated opening of the Illinois-and-Michigan Canal, a bill for which,   introduced by the late Gurdon S. Hubbard, passed the Illinois House of Representatives in 1833 — though it did not become a law till 1835, and the canal was not actually commenced until Mr. Hubbard removed one of the first shovelfuls of dirt, July 4, 1836 — turned attention to Fort Dearborn, increased the population rapidly, and Mr. Carpenter's business prospered.

This sketch looks South-East at George Washington Dole's store on the South-West corner of Dearborn and South Water Streets, opposite the Beaubien store in Chicago. It was built in the summer of 1832. This was the first forwarding and commission house in Chicago. In the fall of 1832, Dole butchered and packed 150 cattle and 138 hogs for Oliver Newberry of Detroit. The cattle were bought from Charles Reed of Hickory Creek, and the hogs were purchased from John Blackstone, who drove them from the Wabash Valley. This is the first record of the packing industry, which turned out to be so important to Chicago.

Carpenter soon moved to a larger store vacated by George Washington Dole, also a log house, and enlarged his stock with other kinds of goods. He bought a lot on South Water Street between Wells and LaSalle and built a frame store, the lumber for which was brought from Indiana on a "prairie schooner" drawn by ten or twelve oxen.

A 6-Horse Team pulling a prairie schooner.

In 1833, Carpenter built a two-story frame house on LaSalle Street opposite the courthouse square, and having been married again in the spring of 1834 to Miss Ann Thompson of Saratoga, New York, he made it their home.

Courthouse Square on LaSalle between Washington and Randolph Sts., Chicago.

Malaria[1] was prevalent in the swampy Chicago area, and Carpenter did a rapid business in quinine. At a time when it was not uncommon for physicians to abandon the treatment of settlers during an epidemic, Carpenter's faithfulness to the little village earned him increased respect. Within the year, he was able to move to better quarters. He had moved a second time by 1834 to a store on South Water Street between LaSalle and Fifth Avenue. At this location, Carpenter first began to sell items other than drugs. In 1835 Carpenter's advertisements list garden seeds, onion seeds, potatoes, leathers, stoves and castings, sand scrapers, wagon boxes, plows, mill irons, and maple sugar kettles in addition to the expected drugs, chemicals, and cosmetics.

The decision to expand his inventory was partially prompted by the fact that a second drugstore had been opened by Peter Pruyne. The small town of Chicago simply couldn't support two establishments dealing exclusively in drugs.

Another important consideration was the commonly accepted exchange system known as "store pay." Farmers coming into town would trade their produce for supplies; the storekeepers would, in turn, sell these goods to the townspeople. If a merchant didn't wish to participate in this moneyless trading system, he simply had to run his business on credit.

In 1842 he moved his drug store once again to 143 Lake Street, where it was known as the "Checkered Drug Store." Approximately two years later, he sold his pharmacy to Dr. John Brinckerhoff, abandoning his profession so that he could more carefully manage the real estate holdings he had amassed through the years. Some store fixtures were thought to have remained in use until consumed in the Great Chicago Fire of 1871.

Early on, Carpenter acquired a quarter-section ten miles up the north branch of the Chicago River.

A generous and trusting man, he made several endorsements for friends during his early years in Chicago. When the debts came to maturity, and the "friends" failed to pay their creditors, Carpenter was forced to borrow money to pay off some debts. The timing was poor, and in the financial panic of 1837, Carpenter owed some $8,600. His creditors demanded immediate payment. Since no cash was to be had, Carpenter prepared a schedule of his real estate holdings and submitted it to an impartial committee so they might choose those pieces of land that would most equitably serve to dissolve his financial obligations. The lands given in payment of his debts are valued today at over $29,705,625! Carpenter's only complaint about this arrangement was that, of all the lands from which to choose, I should have thought they might have left me my home." This was, however, only a temporary setback, for Carpenter's investment skill enabled him to rebuild his fortune, establishing a multi-million dollar estate in his later years.

Carpenter later purchased a quarter-section on the west side, considered undesirable because it was wetlands most of the year. He later subdivided the land into "Carpenter's Addition" parcels to Chicago.

It is that part of the west side bounded by Kinzie Street on the north, Halsted on the east, Madison Street on the south, and a line between Elizabeth Street and Ann Street on the west. (Philo Carpenter named Ann Street after his wife. It's Racine Avenue today.)

He ran for Mayor of Chicago twice on the Liberty Party ticket, losing to John Putnam Chapin in 1846 and James Curtiss in 1847.

Carpenter was known to have been a generous supporter of the Chicago Historical Society.

Carpenter Street (1032 West) in Chicago is named for Philo Carpenter, as was the public elementary school on Erie Street at Racine Avenue. In 1886 he donated $1,000 to establish a fund for the benefit of the first Carpenter School on the same site, just east of where the modern Carpenter Elementary School opened in 1957 and was closed in 2013. One of his daughters, Augusta Carpenter, is the namesake of Chicago's Augusta Boulevard.

Compiled by Dr. Neil Gale, Ph.D.

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[1] Malaria was a common disease in Chicagoland and southern Illinois in pioneer days, wherever swamps, ponds, and wet bottomlands allowed mosquitoes to thrive; the illness was called ague, or bilious fever, when liver function became impaired; medical historians believe that the disease came from Europe with early explorers around 1500; early travel accounts and letters from the Midwest reports of the ague (a fever or shivering fit), such as those of Jerry Church and Roland Tinkham, the details of which are extracted from their writings:

From the Journal of Jerry Church, when he had "A Touch of the Ague" in 1830: ...and the next place we came to of any importance was the River Raisin, in Michigan. There we met with several gentlemen from different parts of the world, speculators in land and town lots and cities, all made out on paper, and prices set at one and two hundred dollars per lot, right in the woods and musquitoes and gallinippers thick enough to darken the sun. I recollect the first time I slept at the hotel; I told the landlord the following day I could not stay in that room again unless he could furnish a boy to fight the flies, for I was tired out myself, and not only that, but I had lost at least half a pint of blood. The landlord said he would remove the mosquitoes the next night with smoke. He did so, and after that, I was not troubled so much by them. We stayed there a few days, but they held the property so high that we did not purchase any. The River Raisin is a small stream of water, similar to what the Yankees call a brook. I was very much disappointed in the appearance of the country when I arrived there, for I anticipated finding something great and did not know but that I might on the River Raisin find the article growing on trees! But it was all a mistake, for it was rather a poor section of the country. ...We then passed on to Chicago, and there I left my fair lady traveler and her brother and steered my course for Ottawa in Lasalle, Illinois. Arrived there, I put up at the widow Pembrook's, near the town, and intended to make her house my home for some time.

I kept trading round in the neighborhood for some time and, at last, was taken with a violent chill and fever, and had to make my bed at the widow's, send for a doctor, and commence taking medicine, but it all did not do me much good. I kept getting weaker every day, and after I had eaten up all the doctor stuff the old doctor had, he told me that it was a very stubborn case, and he did not know if he could remove it and thought it best to have counsel. So I sent for another doctor, and they both attended me for some time. I kept getting worse and became so delirious as not knowing anything for fifteen hours. I, at last, came to and felt relieved. After that, I began to feel better and concluded that I would not take any more medicine, and I told my landlady what I had resolved. She said that I would surely die if I did not follow the doctor's directions. I told her I could not help it, that all they would have to do was bury me, for my mind was made up. In a few days, I began to gain strength, and in a short time, I got so that I could walkabout. I then concluded that the quicker I could get out of those "Diggins," the better it would be for me. So I told my landlady that I intended to take my horse and wagon and try to get to St. Louis; for I did not think I could live long in that country, I concluded I must go further south. I accordingly had my trunk re-packed and made a move. I did not travel far in a day but arrived at St. Louis, very feeble and weak, and did not care much how the world went then. However, I thought I had better try and live as long as possible. 

From a letter by Roland Tinkham, a relative of Gurdon. S. Hubbard, describing his observations of malaria during a trip to Chicago in the summer of 1831: ...the fact cannot be controverted that on the streams and wet places, the water and air are unwholesome, and the people are sickly. It is not so bad in the villages and thickly settled areas, but it is a fact that in the country where we traveled the last 200 miles, more than one-half the people are sick; I know, for I have seen it. We called at almost every house, as they are not very near together, but still, there is no doubt that this is an uncommonly sickly season. The sickness is not often fatal; ague and fever, chill and fever, as they term it, and in some cases, bilious fever are the prevailing diseases.