My Virtual Reading Room

(Cross-posted to jwatsonmd )
I have just finished reading "Conan Doyle's Tales of Medical Humanism and Values" and would like to share with you an excerpt from his speech, "The Romance of Medicine", which he gave to the graduating class of Yale Medical School in 1910.  It was quite a long speech--about an hour and a half.  I have seen an excerpt from this speech in his "Biography in letters" and had wanted to see the entire speech; I am happy to say it did not disappoint. One can certainly see the origin of Dr. Watson's views, for instance...but here, I shall let the excerpt speak for itself; this is the opening of the speech:
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"I believe that the opening address of your Session is usually delivered by some medical man of distinction. You can imagine, therefore, how highly honoured I feel in being asked to occupy so exalted a position. You can also, I am sure, sympathise with me in my difficulties, since I have no possible claim to be regarded as a successful medical man. An unkind chairman in America once remarked that the most sinister feature of my career was that no living patient of mine had ever yet been seen.  As a matter of fact, I could point to a few survivors, but I admit that they are not a numerous band.

But though my actual practice of the profession was never either very profitable or very glorious, I think I may claim that at least it was very varied, and that I have seen it from several points of view. My experiences go back to the days of the unqualified assistant--a person who has now been legislated out of existence, with I have no doubt, an excellent result upon the death rate.

I served in that legion of the lost before I ever attained to the regulars. I have been an assistant in country practices of rural England. I have served in the slums of Sheffield and of Birmingham. I have been the unqualified surgeon of an  Arctic whaler, and the qualified one of a West African mail-boat. I have taken temporary military duty at Portsmouth. I have been for eight years in general practice at Southsea. I have migrated to the exalted neighbourhood of Cavendish Square, where I started a waiting-room--which is a room where a doctor waits for something to come along.

The only thing which came along to me was a rent collector, so I left my profession, only to return to it for six months of South African service. There is my humble record, and it will serve to show you what poor credentials I have for standing here. At the same time it will also show you that I am not an amateur, and that there are few phases of medical life, from the sixpenny dispensary to the two-guinea prescription, of which I have not had personal experience. So perhaps if I bring but little learning, I may at least bring a fresh point of view to this task of addressing you today."
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And this is the closing paragraph:
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"...Now I have spoken long enough. Let my last words be personal to yourselves. The great Abernethy, when he was asked to give such an opening address, and when he saw the lines of students before him, cried out: 'Good God, gentlemen! what is going to become of you all?' I think that under modern conditions one can say: What will become of you all? You will find your work ready to your hand.

Some will find their way into the great Services, some into the Over-sea Empire, many into private practice. For all of you life will offer hard work. To few of you it will give wealth. But a competence will be ready for all, and with it that knowledge which no other profession can give to the same extent, that you are the friends of all, that all are better for your lives, that your ends are noble and humane.

That universal goodwill without, and that assurance of good work within, are advantages which cannot be measured by any terms of money. You are heirs to a profession which has always had higher ideals than the dollar. Those who have gone before you have held its reputation high.

Unselfishness, fearlessness, humanity, self-effacement, professional honour--these are the proud qualities which medicine has ever demanded from her sons. They have lived up to them. It is for you youngsters to see that they shall not decline during the generation to come."