The Heritage Museum in Troy is seeking funds to move the Doctor's office to Alparon Park.
This is an edited version of an article was written by Ruth Campbell Summers.
Since he left no diaries, no collection of letters, nothing but old stained ledgers and a memo or two of old political campaigns. I could write only of events as I recall them or as they were related to me some time ago. I could not write with the perspective of a third person for I could not portray his personality and work as a country doctor without drawing upon my own personal experiences, the life of our family and that of the community so inextricably woven into the pattern of his life.
Doc was a man who left his mark on a community because he was a man, big, warmhearted, generous, and understanding, but not without his faults.
Several years after he had passed away, a dedication service was held on the village green with a plaque set in place in his memory.
Several people read poems and spoke about him and the experiences they shared.
In late April of 1942, newspapers in Sayre and Towanda carried the story of Dr. W. R. Campbell widely known Bradford County physician and former Democratic leader who was seriously injured when he car he was driving let the road and struck a tree. He was on his way to make a professional call when the accident occurred.
Dr.. M.B. Ballard of Troy was called to treat him and he was sent to the hospital via ambulance.
On April 27th Dr. Campbell died as the result of multiple injuries suffered in his automobile accident.
As there was no funeral home in East Smithfield, the funeral service was held in the home.
The county offices were closed that day and friends and colleagues from all over the county came to show their respect.
For some reason, Dad chose to be laid to rest in the little cemetery in Ulster. Near his father and mother and other relatives.
A few years later a group of young women, members of the VFW Auxiliary in East Smithfield, decided that it would be appropriate to erect a memorial to him on the village green. The committee consisted of Lucinda Potter, Marian Beach, Elizabeth Nichols, Ruth Mitchell, and Mildred Smith began a bronze plaque cast and mounted on a marble base.
For years his team of black trotters carried him over the hills night and day, through the dust and heat of the summer and the storms of winter.
It was a comfort to many to hear the click and rattle of their harnesses in the night or their hoof's spink-spanking down a farm lane ahead of the stork. Thus it seemed fitting to those who planned the memorial to dedicate it to the "horse and Buggy Doctor."
His parents, Andrew H. and Mary Emily Lent Campbell, were descendants of two pioneer families who settled in Bradford County between 1790 and 97. The sturdiness of both families combined to produce the physical and mental stamina with which he was endowed. From the Lentshe inherited a love of fun and a wonderful sense of humor, black hair, and warm brown eyes. His broad shoulders, magnificent head and generous nose were typical of his father's family. Altogether he was a handsome, rugged man, well equipped to endure the life of a country doctor.
Until he was five he had been a healthy, merry child. Then he had a sever illness, nausea and abdominal pain. After he became a doctor, he realized that he must have had an attack of acute appendicitis. In those days, few people survived a ruptured appendix or even a severe attack as castor oil was the standard medication for "inflammation of the bowels."
Through some miracle, he survived. But it was a long time before he was completely well. To the end of his days he suffered from digestive trouble.
Undoubtedly his parents pampered him ore than was good for him. His grandmother Campbell, with whom he was a favorite, once remarked, "Willie is as good a boy as a body could ask for as long as he isn't crossed and he gets his own way."
He could remember the boyhood fits of temper when he would throw himself on the ground and tear up grass by the roots. That was probably the origin of the family expression, "Mad enough to pull grass."
Somewhere during the process of growing up he must have learned to govern his temper. However, there were occasions when it burst forth and he gave somebody a good "dressing down", which was probably long remembered.
When his brother, Job, blond and blue-eyed arrived, he was no longer the center of attention and stopped throwing tantrums to get his own way. Though he was delighted to have a brother, his grandmother remarked, "Willie's nose is out of joint."
There was too much difference in age to make the boys ever playmates. Jobie grew and amused himself for hours building roads and bridges in the chop yard where the fuel wood was cut into proper lengths. Dad rode around the country-side with his father buying horses and cattle. He had become painfully shy and self-conscious so that when farmers invited them to have a meal with them, he would go hungry rather than eat with strangers.
Nobody new him as a man would have guessed that he was shy. He felt that he could never speak in public. As he once expressed , "I an afflicted with diarrhea of thought ad constipation of words." When he asked to speak at a Red Cross rally during World War I about the value of the Red Cross in the army camps, nearly all he managed to say was, "it is a fine thing, dam fine."
His knowledge of army camps came from the few months he served as 1st Lt. in the medical corps at Ft. Ethan Allen. Boys who drew their first breath in his capable hands was hard to keep formality of the army training when they came to his tent to catch up on hometown news. He would open the tent flap, return their salute and command, "come on in,," and they ducked inside.
He wasn't at Ft. Ethan Allen long before Camp Devin in Massachusetts was opened and he was sent there. Conditions were bad as far as adequate medical facilities were concerned. The hospital was only a dust ridden tent with a kitchen table-type operating table and one set of rust spotted surgical instruments.
Dad was really sick when a Major from the deep south, obviously wanting in surgical experience decided to operate on a young soldier with acute appendicitis. A suggestion that it would be better to send the boy to a hospital in a nearby town was brushed aside. Dad accustomed to the technique of Dr. Donald Guthrie at the RPH was appalled at the clumsiness of the would-be surgeon. The boy survived the surgery but died within a few days.
Being unable to prevent a needless death depressed him; consequently, when the citizens back home sent a petition to Washington to have him returned to them, he went. However, he always felt that he should have remained in the army for the duration.
It was good he went home, because the epidemic of Spanish Flu hit the town and he was able to give medical attention to residents.
He often arrived at a farm house that was without heat, the whole family huddled in their beds, fully clothed. Neighbors who were able to be about would go into the farmer's barn to care for his animals but did not dare come in contact with the sick.
Often dad would build a fire, heat some food and washed the hands and faces of his patients before he treated them. People were really grateful.
It must have been a deep satisfaction to him as he jounced over deeply rutted, frozen, dirt roads day after day that he was able to bring so many people through the epidemic which took the lives of countless people throughout the country. Dad lost only two.
We always suspected mother really enjoyed "putting up" medicines, giving first aid, or helping with minor surgery because she planned to go to medical college and was studying to meet the entrance requirements before she met dad.
When they first met, dad was a tenant farmer on the Charles Fraley farm north of the town. Mother rode her pony to the farm each morning to get the daily supply of fresh milk. So it was that dad used to tease her about catching him with a pail of milk She would dimple and reply, "It just goes to prove what a big calf you were."
Dad enjoyed farming and had never thought of following any other occupation until after he had nursed his mother through a severe case of pneumonia. Dr. H T. Kinsman, mother's father, noticed how skillful dad was and remarked "you are such a good nurse, you ought to study medicine."
The Fraley's, who were very fond of "Will", encouraged him to make application for admission to the Ecclectric Medical Institute, Cincinnati, OH and lent him $2000 toward his education.
Meanwhile, mother worked hard to earn money to pay for her tutoring and college wardrobe. Her father had promised to finance her college expenses. When dad was home on vacation, he rode with Dr. Kinsman to visit his patients and gain knowledge of diagnosis and treatment.
About a month before the fall semester was to begin, a friend of the family told mother that her father was going to disappoint her. He felt that women were out of place as physicians ad he would not finance her schooling.
Mother was crushed. Dad proposed and they married in the Church of Christ(Disciples) in East Smithfield. She could study in Cincinnati with him.
In those days student physicians went into the city slums and hospital wards to gain experience. Grandfather Kisman decided to move to another town, sold his home and practice to dad.
There are several amusing incidents which you can read in the Settler about his country doctor.
We had a lot of fun growing up. Mother did most of the disciplining. One day we decided to hold a medical experiment.
The lawn was yellow with dandelions. Honey bees buzzed from blossom to blossom. It was a perfect day for my experiment. I read in one of dad's medical magazine about a new treatment for rheumatism. The article was illustrated with pictures showing a physician holding a hone bee to the afflicted part and allowing her to sting his patient. Afterwards, a poultice of antiflagestine was applied to the area.
Dad had a five pound can of antiflagestine in the cool cellar. As soon as our playmates arrived, I enlisted them in my scheme. We brought empty jelly glasses from the cellar and found some thin pieces of shingles to use as a cover when we captured a bee. We quickly carried it to the cellar and put it in the can of antiflatgestine. I got caught, but luckily it was by dad. He took me and he explained the bee's part in the scheme. We felt bad.
Dr. William R. Campbell was more than a physician. He was a friend, counselor, and family advisor as well. He was a man to whom the whole community looked for leadership and that is why the museum board members want to bring the old office to the museum grounds to make sure that the story of a old country doctor would not be forgotten.
Raffle tickets are on sale now. See any board member or stop at the museum.