Baltimore Evening Sun (22 May 1913): 6.


Sixty cents cash for the name and address of any anti-suffragette who has ever objected to being mentioned in the newspapers.--Adv.

Old Doc Tintoff, secretary and catchpoll of the American College of Mechano-Therapy, of 81 West Randolph street, Chicago, is still determined to get me on his roll of medical freedomists, dead or alive. Ever since the summer of 1911 he has been sending me letters and circulars showing the large profits to be made out of mechano-therapy, and with each letter he has reduced the price of the course. At the start he wanted $100 cash, or $37 cash and $23 a month for three months. But now, under date of May 13, he offers to send me the whole course for $3 down and $3 a month for eight months, or $27 in all.

According to Doc Tinthoff, mechano-therapy is the science of the future, and has already put a deep dent in osteopathy. It has made more progress in the last three years, he says, “than osteopathy and kindred cults did in ten.” And with progress has come profit. The American College now has “thousands of graduates” and they are “actually making from $5,000 to $10,000 a year.” A large number of them “make from $25 to $30 a day, working seven days a week.” Putting the average at $27.50, this works out to $10,037.50 a year. How many clergymen, or journalists, or bartenders, or even burglars make as much? I myself do not average more than $9,000 a year, helping out industry with graft. The judges of our Court of Appeals get but $5,800 a year, and are no longer permitted to accept trinkgeld from litigants.

Doc Tintoff is of the opinion that the old-style doctors, with their pills and boluses, are on their last legs. “Every intelligent man and woman,” he says, “knows that the day of drugs is past. A wise old doctor said: ‘More murders are committed in drug storos than in any other place on the face of the earth.’” Mechano-therapy will put an end to this butchery. A few discreet taps along the vertebræ and the worst case of colic will be cured. Mechano-therapy is osteopathy with artistic trimmings--osteopathy lifted from the lowly estate of pugilism to the high estate of piano-playing.

This Doc Tinthoff, though not a graduate, I believe, of any medical college, is a man of large experience in the healing art. In association with his brother, the Hon. S. J. Tinthoff, he formerly operated the “Physician’s Institute” of Chicago, a foundation devoted to th development of the human bust by correspondence. He was also interested, unless I err, in the Aurum Company, which sold Vestro, “the only true bust developer on the market today.” It was while engaged in these benign enterprises that the Doc conceived the idea of establishing the American College of Mechano-Therapy--with what benefit to suffering mankind his own literature modestly reveals.

Like the estimable Maryland Anti-Vivisection Society, the Tinthoff College is utterly opposed to the use of vaccines, antitoxins and all other such hellish inventions of allopathic roguery. The mechano-therapist’s remedies are “not drugs, but scientific combinations of food, circumstances, idea, water and motion.” The hydrophobia sweat-bath of “Bath House Jean,” so eloquently approved by the Maryland Anti-Vivisection Society, is probably one of these “combinations.” The various grand lodges of medical freedom are on amiable terms and swap secrets. Doc Tinthoff, I hear, used to sell his bust developer at cut rates to theosophists, anti-vaccinationists and Emmanuel Movers.

The boomers! The boomers! They’re each and all live wires! Oh, hear their gallant bugles sound, and see their beacon fires!

Unless my spies lie, subscriptions to the Hot Towel’s Domesday Book are coming in with gratifying copiousness. The opportunity, indeed, is one that no sane Prominent Baltimorean can afford to overlook. For $100 cash he gets a paid write-up and an elegant photogravure, and, in addition, he is sure of the “reciprocal favors” of the Towel itself. That is to say, he is sure of an eloquent and adequate defense whenever the more ribald newspapers libel him. The Towel devotes itself ardently to such defenses, and has all the apparatuus needed to conduct them properly. In its archives are voluntary testimonials from the Hon. Dashing Harry, the Hon. Sol Warfield, the Hon. Joe Goeller, Old Doc Munyon, the Hon. Sunday-School Field, the Hon. McCay McCoy and many other heroic victims of a licentious press. All of these victims will be oiled and immortalized in the Domesday Book.--Adv.

The estimable Evening News on the proposed investigation of the Hon. McCay McCoy by the Hon. Calvin W. Hendrick, C. P.:

But will he recommend that in reconstructing the engineering staff and in filling all subsequent vacancies the politics of the appilcants for office shall not be consideded? * * * Will he tell Mayor Preston flatly that the indorsement of a ward executive is not the best proof of fitness of a would-be inspector?

Answer: he will NOT. The Hon. Mr. Hendrick has hitherto favored many a woman’s club and Sunday-school with his reverent and flattering view of the Hon. Dashing Harry. He is not going to change that view now.

Watch Anderson, gents! When he is quiet he is up to something! Keep your eye rolling in every direction!

How prohibition works in North Carolina, as described by a traveling Baltimorean:

Walking into a Greensboro drug store one day, I saw the colored porter tapping a barrel of whisky. Half a dozen men were waiting to have prescriptions filled. Each prescription was for a quart. The drug stores are also busy at Charlotte. It is on the official records, I am told, that one Charlotte physician wrote 1,400 prescriptions for whisky in one month. A hotel at Hickory used to work the following scheme: When a guest wanted something to drink, he cleared out of his room, and it was “reset.” When he went back he found what he wanted. Charge: $1 a pint.

Boil your drinking water! Watch the old-fashioned School Board put over McCarthy! Observe the return of Paving Bob! Don’t let Anderson go!