things happening in the legs and up the spine, as negative power came into balance with positive, and the flow ofpositivity was redirected
to
and
from
the cranial extremity, making vibrations in the peepers and leading to tremendous benefits that one was already beginning to imagine.
Word-of-mouth built Dr. Holter’s trade, and he took over the Albion House, which became the Holter Sanitarium. Three more electrical chairs were brought in and two trained magneticists to crank them, and by 1874, upwards of a hundred persons were taking weekly sittings. The treatment was especially popular among the New Englanders, Dr. Holter being a Maine man. The Germans and Norwegians, having recently arrived, couldn’t afford him, and so their health was not affected.
For the regular customer, the dosage of magnetism needed to make one feel things happen soon got to be quite a jolt, and then one noticed other things happening, such as headaches and fatigue. The doctor’s supporters grew pale and listless. One magneticist left and then another as trade declined, and finally Dr. Holter retired to Wyoming. Mr. Getchell was his last patient that day. He sat in the electrical chair, bound with straps and wound with wires, as the doctor cranked away, and for a moment, Mr. Getchell sensed that he was on the verge of feeling good again, and then he felt a numbness at the top of his head and briefly forgot his own name. When he stood up, he almost fainted. When he walked out the door, the town seemed dim, insubstantial, and filled with an ominous low hum. On the streets were strange people who spoke a foreign language.
New Albion became Lake Wobegone in 1880, a change voted by the City Council to celebrate the fact that Norwegians had gained a 4-3 majority. Then the City Council voted to become the Town Council. The New Englanders bitterly opposed both changes, arguing—even shouting—that they were undignified, unprogressive, and would make the town a laughingstock. “Woebegone means dismal, unhappy, dilapidated, bedraggled!” they said. “You can’t do this!” The Norwegians just sat and smiled. To them, Wobegone was the name of the lake they loved and nothing more. They liked the sound of it.
In 1882, Lake Wobegone became New Albion again, Mr. Fjeldehaving lost his seat to Mr. Weeks by two votes. Mr. Fjelde got back on the Council two years later, and then it was Lake Wobegone again. State statute permits four name changes, after which a name is considered permanent and can be changed only by the legislature, so the Council changed it one more time, from Lake Wobegone to Lake Wobegon. Mr. Getchell resigned in protest and was replaced by Mr. Oskar Tollefson. Businessmen didn’t order new stationery right away, however, not even those who favored the change, but used all their New Albion stock until it ran out.
* T he manuscript, subtitled “Thoughts, Composed A Short Distance Above Lake Wobegon,” was discovered in the Boston Library by Johanna Quist in 1916, who actually was searching for material on Manichaeanism for a class oration and had looked under “Mechanism” by mistake. She copied the poem out by hand and mailed it to her aunt Mary Quist, secretary of the Lake Wobegon Thanatopsis Society. The poem Henry wrote in loathing as he beat off mosquitos and dreamed of renown back East received its first publication, in Lake Wobegon, by the Thanatopsians (1921), who hailed Henry as “Our First Poet” and placed a picture of him, looking weary indeed, in the library. Five hundred copies of “Phileopolis” were printed, of which fifty remain wrapped in waxed paper in the library basement. For years, students of the senior class were required to read it and answer questions about its meaning, etc. Teachers were not required to do so, but simply marked according to the correct answers supplied by Miss Quist, including: (1) To extend the benefits of civilization and religion to all peoples, (2) No, (3) Plato, and (4) A
to
and
from
the cranial extremity, making vibrations in the peepers and leading to tremendous benefits that one was already beginning to imagine.
Word-of-mouth built Dr. Holter’s trade, and he took over the Albion House, which became the Holter Sanitarium. Three more electrical chairs were brought in and two trained magneticists to crank them, and by 1874, upwards of a hundred persons were taking weekly sittings. The treatment was especially popular among the New Englanders, Dr. Holter being a Maine man. The Germans and Norwegians, having recently arrived, couldn’t afford him, and so their health was not affected.
For the regular customer, the dosage of magnetism needed to make one feel things happen soon got to be quite a jolt, and then one noticed other things happening, such as headaches and fatigue. The doctor’s supporters grew pale and listless. One magneticist left and then another as trade declined, and finally Dr. Holter retired to Wyoming. Mr. Getchell was his last patient that day. He sat in the electrical chair, bound with straps and wound with wires, as the doctor cranked away, and for a moment, Mr. Getchell sensed that he was on the verge of feeling good again, and then he felt a numbness at the top of his head and briefly forgot his own name. When he stood up, he almost fainted. When he walked out the door, the town seemed dim, insubstantial, and filled with an ominous low hum. On the streets were strange people who spoke a foreign language.
New Albion became Lake Wobegone in 1880, a change voted by the City Council to celebrate the fact that Norwegians had gained a 4-3 majority. Then the City Council voted to become the Town Council. The New Englanders bitterly opposed both changes, arguing—even shouting—that they were undignified, unprogressive, and would make the town a laughingstock. “Woebegone means dismal, unhappy, dilapidated, bedraggled!” they said. “You can’t do this!” The Norwegians just sat and smiled. To them, Wobegone was the name of the lake they loved and nothing more. They liked the sound of it.
In 1882, Lake Wobegone became New Albion again, Mr. Fjeldehaving lost his seat to Mr. Weeks by two votes. Mr. Fjelde got back on the Council two years later, and then it was Lake Wobegone again. State statute permits four name changes, after which a name is considered permanent and can be changed only by the legislature, so the Council changed it one more time, from Lake Wobegone to Lake Wobegon. Mr. Getchell resigned in protest and was replaced by Mr. Oskar Tollefson. Businessmen didn’t order new stationery right away, however, not even those who favored the change, but used all their New Albion stock until it ran out.
* T he manuscript, subtitled “Thoughts, Composed A Short Distance Above Lake Wobegon,” was discovered in the Boston Library by Johanna Quist in 1916, who actually was searching for material on Manichaeanism for a class oration and had looked under “Mechanism” by mistake. She copied the poem out by hand and mailed it to her aunt Mary Quist, secretary of the Lake Wobegon Thanatopsis Society. The poem Henry wrote in loathing as he beat off mosquitos and dreamed of renown back East received its first publication, in Lake Wobegon, by the Thanatopsians (1921), who hailed Henry as “Our First Poet” and placed a picture of him, looking weary indeed, in the library. Five hundred copies of “Phileopolis” were printed, of which fifty remain wrapped in waxed paper in the library basement. For years, students of the senior class were required to read it and answer questions about its meaning, etc. Teachers were not required to do so, but simply marked according to the correct answers supplied by Miss Quist, including: (1) To extend the benefits of civilization and religion to all peoples, (2) No, (3) Plato, and (4) A
Similar Books
