Old West Patent Medicine

To wrap-up our study of patent medicines, here are a few of the other products your character might have used for various complaints. I've included ingredients and prices when I could find them, and also approximate dates that the brands would have been on the market. Also included are the advertisements promising just about anything!

·  Ayres Diarrhoea Cure: ca 1890 ("Cholera, dysentery, diarrhea")

·  Humphreys' Homeopathic No. 6 Cholera Morbus; ca 1890 ("Promptly curative for Cholera Morbus, with nausea, vomiting, coldness, and even cramps. As preventative of Asiatic Cholera. For Cholera, with coldness, blue surface, vomiting, sudden, profuse, thin, or rice-water stools, cramps, and oppressed respiration. Curative for nausea, or nausea and vomiting from any cause. Morning sickness of expectant women.")

·  Hebe Pills; ca 1880, 2-4 at bedtime

·  Piso's Tablets; after 1894, lycopodium ("For inflammation, leucorrhea, ulceration, sores, or any affections of the skin and mucous membranes capable of being treated locally.")

·  The N.C. (New Century) Stone Root Kidney Cure; after 1895 ("Positive relief and cure for all acute or chronic kidney, bladder or urinary disorders. It is a valuable remedy in Bright's Disease, gravel, stone in bladder, urinary calculi, uric acid deposits, rheumatism, catarrh of the bladder, pain in the back, headache, inflammation of the kidney and liver, bladder and urinary passages, convulsions, incontinence of urine, and all blood, heart, skin and other diseases caused by deranged kidneys.") 50 cents

·  Lydia E. Pinkham's Vegetable Compound; ca 1890, pleurisy root, life root, fenugreek, unicorn root, black cohosh ("A sure cure for prolapsis uterus or falling of the womb and all female weaknesses, including leucorrhea, irregular and painful menstruation, inflammation and ulceration of the womb, flooding, diseases of the kidneys. For all weakness of the generative organs of either sex, it is second to no remedy that has ever been before the public, and for all diseases of the kidneys it is the greatest remedy in the world.")  

·  Emerson's Rheumatic Cure; ca 1898, lithia ("For rheumatism, gout, rheumatic fever, kidney troubles, lumbago, sciatica, pains in small of back.") 50 cents

·  Dr. Swayne's Pills, ca 1880, sarsaparilla and tar ("A prompt purifying medicine; removes all unhealthy bilious secretions of the stomach, liver, bowels, bladder and kidneys; purifies the blood causing a perfect state of health.")

·  Alexander's Liver and Kidney Tonic; 1890-1906 ("Neuralgic or rheumatic pains in the back, side or limbs, sick headache, liver complaint, kidney affections, dyspepsia, jaundice, loss of appetite, debility, giddiness, nervous diseases, weakness, and complaints peculiar to females, and all diseases arising from a disordered stomach or liver.")

·      Dr. Lorraine’s Vegetable Pill (“Mild, certain, safe, efficient. It is far the best cathartic remedy yet discovered”) 25 cents a box (1870 ad)

·      Polk Miller’s Liver Pills: after 1860 (“For constipation, headache, biliousness”) 10 cents per box

·      Dr. Wengert’s Hepatica Pills: 1874 (“For derangement of the liver and secretions. An alternative and cathartic”)

·      Dr. C. McLane’s Celebrated Liver Pills: after 1855 (“For sick headache and in all bilious complaints”)  

·      Dr. T. Reynolds’ Celebrated Virginia Hepatic Pills: after 1863 (no indications on bottle)

·      Holloway’s Pills: 1870 (“sick headache with loss of appetite … dropsical swellings and turn of life … nervous disorders …”) aloe, myrrh, saffron

·      Tamara Larix Bon Bon: 1872-1883 (“For the cure of constipation and liver diseases and thereby for the prevention of headache, dyspepsia, cerebral congestion, biliousness, piles, etc. Etc. Cures constipation and thus prevents congestion of the brain, apoplexy, insanity, convulsions. It is almost a cure for seasickness”)

·      Dr. H.D. Whitlock’s Cathartic Granules: 1872-1883

·      Brandreth’s Pills: after 1868 (“Excellent purgative and anti-bilious pills, warranted purely vegetable”)

·      Ayer’s Pills: after 1840, jalap, ginger, spearmint oil (“Purely vegetable cathartic”)

·      Beecham’s Pills “after 1859 (“The great English remedy, cures bilious and nervous ills”) 25 cents a box

·      Schenck’s Mandrake Pills: after 1869 (“For biliousness and associated conditions due to constipation” “For all bilious complaints. These pills are composed exclusively of vegetable ingredients and, although they entirely supersede the use of mercury, do not have any of its injurious effects. They act directly upon the liver, and are a valuable remedy in all cases of derangement of that organ. Sick headache, indigestion, and all bilious disorders succumb to the free use of them”)  

·      Hall Family Pills: after 1871 (“For sick headache, vertigo or dizziness, constipation”)

·      Rush’s Pills: 1866-1907 (“Purgative”) Compound colocynth extract, mild mercurous chloride (calomel), jalap resin in fine powder, gamboge in very fine powder, diluted alcohol a sufficient quantity - average dose, 2 pills. 4 different laxatives.

·      Dr. Harter's Liver Pills: 1898-1902 ("For the liver, spleen, stomach, bowels, and all the glands of the system. Purifies the blood and prepares the system for other medicines. For fevers, bilious complaints, coughs, colds, sore throat, costiveness, dyspepsia, chronic diseases, croup, sick headaches, rheumatism, breakbone and yellow fevers, eruptions on the skin, pains and aches.")

·      Carter's Little Liver Pills: after 1880, bisacodyl ("For headache, torpid liver, constipation and the complexion.")   

·      Kickapoo Indian Pills; 1881-1906 ("Constipation, sick headache, nervousness and the complexion.") 

J.E.S. Hays

ww.jeshays.com

www.facebook.com/JESHaysBooks

HAYBALE HORSES & WOODEN CROSSES By Shayna Matthews

     Someone asked me recently, "How on earth do you get your ideas for these stories of yours?" The truth is, I don't know where they all come from, nor am I always conscious of when an idea strikes. What I do know is this: stories come to me. Not all at once, of course; that would be too easy. But they do come in visual flashes; sometimes quick as a lightning strike, other times more like a slow, steady burn, like glowing coals from a perfect smores campfire. I fly by the seat of my pants when I write, and I begin each session wondering what my characters will reveal to me this time. Often, if the session goes well, I become lost within their world and lose all sense of time and place. Just last night my main character finally decided to reveal her story to a group of eager Texas cowboys, and before I knew it,I had written straight through the night and shut my light off at 5:00 a.m. Sure, I know where I went last night-1880's Texas- but I don't know how I got there. Where did these brand new ideas come from? My MC revealed details of her life I certainly knew nothing about, and I created her. Or, so I as the writer, would like to think. Sometimes I wonder, but that's for another post entirely.

      It's a funny thing, one's subconscious. We writers conjure up all manners of past experiences, conversations, people, places and faces. And yet, details show up we have no recollection of having experienced ourselves, in any sense of the word. So when someone asks me where my ideas stem from, I just smile and murmur an answer about knowing how to look for, and listen for, a good story. You see, my training in listening for stories began when I was three, and has sculpted me throughout my life to become what I am now, a historical fiction writer.

My training? I was essentially born into the world of living history. I suppose not many of us can boast experiencing life's day-to-day adventures of the 18th Century, but my fondest memories still bring me back to my youth...when kids still plugged into their own imaginations.
 

My favorite smells in the world are woodsmoke, leather and horse sweat. Combine the three and I'm a little girl again, running through meadows in moccasins and a little deerskin dress, dodging teepees while catching grasshoppers in tin lanterns and picking ox-eye daisies to decorate my braids. By 1986, (I was seven) I knew how to row a canoe, drive a team of mules, and con absolutely any man with a horse to give me a boost, saddle not necessary. When no horses were available, a bale of hay holding someone's saddle sufficed, and I imagined I was on my trusty steed, gallivanting off into the sunset. Ladder-back chairs made for the perfect train, and when enough of us kids got together around the woodpile, teams were chosen and a very serious game of "Patriots and Lobsterbacks" always followed. We were always the Patriots, and being that I was often the only girl, I was always the one tied up, time and again, waiting for my Patriots to break through enemy lines. Sometimes, the boys fighting over me got a little bit too real. Wielding fire-pokers, they dueled, and I wound up with the tip of a hand-forged fire-poker embedded in my shoulder. I still bear the scar, and it brings me nothing but bittersweet joy for the memories I've gained. I miss those times, terribly. Years have a way of changing things, and I do not often adjust well to change. Lifelong friends have been made and lost over the years. We still reenact, and I still sit around campfires at night, passing the jug, and quietly listen to my friends reminisce over the good old days.
 

In the old days, my solitude during the campfires was two-fold. If I was quiet enough, maybe my parents would forget I was there and I wouldn't have to retreat to the tent for the night. I wanted to stay up, because I wanted to hear the adults tell their stories. One can pick up on grand stories, if one knows how to listen. Over the years I learned to listen intently. To this day I am often labeled as quiet and shy, but usually I'm just listening for a juicy tidbit...a damn good story.

Sometimes, those damn good stories turn into scenes which, no matter how much you love them, you wonder if they are meant for the story. A decision must be reached...do I scrap the scene, or keep it?

One day I came up with the idea for a small, insignificant scene involving a small wooden cross. I could see the cross clearly in my mind. It was handcarved out of a wood with tiny mottled holes, and handwrapped with black sinew. I began jotting down the framework for the idea revolving around this cross to be gifted to my main character, a young woman from Philadelphia. (You’ll hear more of her later). The original scene didn’t seem to blend too well with what was going on in the story at the time, so I had decided, pretty much, to scrap it. Two days later, my uncle had an appointment in town and so he came for a short visit and a crash on our couch. The appointment also took him out of our place long before my husband and I rolled out of bed the next morning. I was going through my morning routine when I heard my husband ask “What’s that on the floor?” and I saw him bend down to pick something up. He carried the unknown object over to me and I held out my hand. He dropped the item in the palm of my hand; I looked down at it and the breath hitched in my throat. I started to quiver and I can only imagine the look on my face. There it was, the very same little wooden cross wrapped in black sinew… the very same mental cross I had written, and thought of scrapping, only days before.
 

You see, when my uncle found out about his illness, his brother carved that little cross for him, and he has worn it under his shirt ever since. This is why I have never seen it before. I gave the cross back to my uncle, shivering as I told him the story. And in case you are wondering? No, I did not scrap the scene. It will be there, bold as print, in my WIP  novel. I took a picture of my uncle's cross, the cross I envisioned my character wearing days before it fell into my reality...just to remind myself that the stories we write belong to our characters, it's their story as much as ours. Sometimes it pays just to stop, listen, and let them tell it.

Tell me, where do you gather your greatest inspiration for your own stories?

     ~Shayna Matthews

 

Story Behind the Story: Abigail Blake Stands Her Ground

By Richard Prosch

A few different elements, separated by time and space, came together to make up this month’s story.

They didn’t all come at once. First came Abigail Drake, the grizzled old constable of Willowby, Wyoming. In my Jo Harper stories, Abby Drake is cool and experienced. But it wasn’t always so, and I’ve been wanting to visit her early days for quite a while. 

Almost a year ago, I wrote most of a story called “Abigail Drake Stands Her Ground,” but I wasn’t satisfied with it, and I wasn’t sure why. 

Scrapped and forgotten, I tossed it into a junk folder.This month, in thinking about a story for the Western Fictioneers blog, I remembered that story and pulled out the title.  Thinking about the character anew, I recalled that Abby was a contemporary of Annie Oakley.

When I was a kid visiting my grandma’s house, I used to peruse the childhood books that belonged to my dad and his siblings. My aunt had a copy of Whitman’s TV Tie-In Annie Oakley in the Ghost Town Secret, and I read it one summer afternoon.  The book stayed with me not so much because of the story, but because it was one of the first TV tie-in books I read.  Later, I read others from Whitman: The Rifleman, Maverick, and Bonanza. Wouldn’t it be great, I thought, to write my own book based on a fictional TV show character?

What if Abby Drake was that character?  What would an episode of Abby Drake’s adventures be like? Surely she’d wear an outfit like Dale Evans with stars embroidered on the shoulders?  Easy enough! And wouldn’t she have a male side-kick?  Well, Abby’s already got one of those in the person of Clay Chandler.

Now all I needed was a plot. Something suitably dramatic, but sort of goofy too. Something like Beaver Cleaver getting his head stuck in a fence. Or Barney Fife getting stuck in his own jail cell.
 
Or maybe stuck in a bank safe… 

And so “Abigail Drake Stands Her Ground” came together in its second form after a couple hours and 1,800 words. Nothing too serious, but it was a fun story to write. Hopefully, you’ll have fun reading it.

Please read Abigail Drake Stands Her Ground here.

After growing up on a Nebraska farm, Richard Prosch worked as a professional writer, artist, and teacher in Wyoming, South Carolina, and Missouri. His western crime fiction captures the fleeting history and lonely frontier stories of his youth where characters aren’t always what they seem, and the windburned landscapes are filled with swift, deadly danger. In 2016, Richard roped the Spur Award for short fiction given by Western Writers of America. Read more at www.RichardProsch.com