Carter’s Pills, Betsy Bugs, and Tuberculosis

By Elton Camp

In early 20th Century Alabama, Mamie was a firm believer in the use of Carter’s
Little Liver Pills for herself and her children when they felt unwell.

Advertisement for Carter’s Little Liver Pills

“I took ’em ’n’ they clean’d off my liver,” she insisted. “I got t’ feelin’ a heap
better.”

The placebo effect is powerful. The pills were nothing but a mild laxative. Decades
later, the government forced the company to rename the product so as to exclude any
reference to the liver. “Carter’s Little Pills” it then became, but its marketing agents got
around truth in labeling by enclosing the new name in a massive capital “L” which
continued to convey the idea that they acted on the liver without actually making the
claim.

Ear ache was a common complaint, due to an infection in the middle ear. Then,
as now, most cases clear within days with or without treatment. Rural folks knew exactly
how to cure it.

Belle advised suffering Iduma, “Go t’ th’ woods ’n’ find a rott’n log ’r stump.
Brang me a Bessy bug.”

Iduma found a suitable location about fifty yards from the house. The large, black
bugs had a colony inside a decaying stump. The one she captured emitted loud squeaks
by rubbing its wings against its abdomen, but it didn’t bite or sting. She brought the
insect to her mother.

Betsy Bug
 “Lay on th’ bed wif yore hurtin’ ear turned up,” Belle instructed.

She tore off the Betsy bug’s head and allowed a drop of its blood to fall into the
ear canal. Because something was being done, Iduma immediately felt better. Within
about three days she fully recovered. The placebo effect combined with action of
immunity did the work, but the Betsy bug got the credit.

A chronic and serious health problem was tuberculosis, usually called “TB.” It
killed more people in the South than any other infectious disease. More women than men
were infected. It was more common from the middle teenage years through the mid-
forties. It didn’t respond to home remedies and could spread from one family member to
another. At the time, antibiotics hadn’t yet been discovered.

“Hit looks like Lige ez gonna half t’ go ’way fer a while,” Milas commented to
his wife. “He wuz doin’ tolerable well fer a spell, but he tuk a turn fer th’ worse here of
late.”

Lige was a neighbor who lived about a mile away. For months, the man
experienced nausea, weakness, fever, night sweats, chest pain, and weight loss. Most
ominous was his coughing up blood. A doctor in Albertville had diagnosed the dreaded
consumption. In view of his serious condition and the fact that the disease was highly
contagious, authorities were required to send him to the state TB sanitarium near
Gadsden.

The institution could provide no specific medication. Streptomycin was decades

in the future. What it did offer was rest, a nutritious diet richly supplying vitamins and
minerals, and plenty of fresh air and sunlight. If all else failed, surgery could be used to
collapse the diseased lung for treatment or even to remove a portion. The man might
rejoin his family within a couple of years. Confinement was mandatory.

“Whut’s his wif’ ’n’ chillen goin’ t’ do,” Belle wondered aloud. Lige was a
farmer with four youngsters.

“I’ll send th’ boys down t’ help ’n’ I’m shore others’ll do th’ same,” he assured
his wife. As he predicted, the community closed ranks and assisted the needy family
until the return of its head.

(More to follow on rural ills and folk medicine. Check back if you’re interested.)