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A letter from the battlefront
Moments in surgery A letter from the battlefront Chad J. Davis, MD, Indianapolis, Ind From Nagan, Arregui, & Davis, Indianapolis, Ind
William (Bill) McConahey (Fig 1) and my father, Joseph Davis (Fig 2), graduated from medical school at Harvard and Indiana University, respectively, in May of 1942. They started their rotating internships at Philadelphia General Hospital about a month later. Until its closing in 1977, Philadelphia General Hospital was the oldest institution in the country providing continuous care to hospitalized patients. It was founded in 1729 under a different name with the purpose of caring for the indigent of Philadelphia. Moved from the center of the city to Blockley Township in West Philadelphia in 1834, “it was renamed the Philadelphia Almshouse and Hospital and became affectionately known as Old Blockley” (See Dr McConahey’s reference to Blockley in the last paragraph of his letter). In 1919, it was officially named Philadelphia General Hospital (PGH), and in the 1920s and 1930s care was given to ⬎8,000 patients annually. Resident physicians, so called because they actually resided at the hospital, were said to gain more experience in 1 year of service at PGH than of 10 years of private practice.1 World War II truncated the usual 2-year internship to 1 and decimated the house staff to about half of its normal size. (Dr McConahey once told me he had never worked as hard as he did his internship year, either before or after.) Dr McConahey was drafted in 1943 after 1 year of internship, and my father stayed on at PGH as a surgical resident because of his “4F” status due to a previously injured knee. A year later, Dr McConahey was on his way to Normandy as a medical officer, and
Accepted for publication July 18, 2007. Reprint requests: Chad J. Davis, MD, 8402 Harcourt Road, Suite 815, Indianapolis, IN 46260. E-mail: [email protected] Surgery 2007;142:773-5. 0039-6060/$ - see front matter © 2007 Mosby, Inc. All rights reserved. doi:10.1016/j.surg.2007.07.011
Fig 1. Dr McConahey in battle uniform.
my father was still at PGH, continuing his residency in surgery. He successfully enlisted in the Navy that summer and headed to the Pacific in August to serve on the hospital ship Solace, but at the time the letter was written he was still in Philadelphia, and so it was sent to him there (Fig 3). In a few short paragraphs, Dr McConahey captures the “war is hell” experience of the soldier on the ground and the difficulties of caring for him medically (Fig 4). Both men have passed on now, as have many other members of that “great generation.” They SURGERY 773
774 Davis
Surgery November 2007
Fig 3. Envelope from the letter Dr McConahey sent to Dr Davis.
survived the Great Depression, fought and won a world war, and came home to start families, businesses, and medical practices. They left a worthy legacy. REFERENCE 1. www.phila.gov/heath/history
Fig 2. Dr Joseph Davis in his hospital “whites”.
Davis 775
Surgery Volume 142, Number 5
Fig 4. A, B. Letter Dr McConahey sent to Dr Davis on June 24, 1944. France 24 June 1944 Dear Joe, For the last two weeks we’ve been over here in France slugging it out toe to toe with the Nazis. It’s been heavy and vicious fighting. War is all the flaming hell they say it is, and then some! I hate this bloody mess with all my heart, but I believe firmly in our cause, and some one has to do the job. I have clawed the earth while all around me rocked under the explosions of German artillery and mortar shells, I have hugged the ground while machine gun bullets whizzed over me, I have dodged countless snipers’ bullets, and I have led my litter squads up under fire to within fifteen feet of the German lines at night to bring out wounded. It’s all a nightmare I hope I can forget if I live through it, but sometimes I wonder if I will live through it. Losses have been heavy and I’ve been extremely busy. Recently, a couple of German shells hit an aid station, killing a couple of men and wounding a medical officer. Our American doughboys are fighting magnificently and our medical soldiers are doing a superb job. Plasma enables us to save the lives of hundreds of our wounded boys. When under fire, everyone is scared, but somehow you keep going. Soon you get used to it to some extent, and it doesn’t bother you so much. As we advance, the Germans leave a lot of snipers behind in trees, which are a pain in the neck! They shoot wooden bullets, which have no effect at long range but which tear a hell of a hole in a fellow at close range. I’ve been sniped at a lot, but they’re poor shots so I don’t pay any attention to them. Say hello to all my Blockley friends, and let me hear from you. By the way, I haven’t had a bath for eighteen days. Sincerely, Bill
William (Bill) McConahey (Fig 1) and my father, Joseph Davis (Fig 2), graduated from medical school at Harvard and Indiana University, respectively, in May of 1942. They started their rotating internships at Philadelphia General Hospital about a month later. Until its closing in 1977, Philadelphia General Hospital was the oldest institution in the country providing continuous care to hospitalized patients. It was founded in 1729 under a different name with the purpose of caring for the indigent of Philadelphia. Moved from the center of the city to Blockley Township in West Philadelphia in 1834, “it was renamed the Philadelphia Almshouse and Hospital and became affectionately known as Old Blockley” (See Dr McConahey’s reference to Blockley in the last paragraph of his letter). In 1919, it was officially named Philadelphia General Hospital (PGH), and in the 1920s and 1930s care was given to ⬎8,000 patients annually. Resident physicians, so called because they actually resided at the hospital, were said to gain more experience in 1 year of service at PGH than of 10 years of private practice.1 World War II truncated the usual 2-year internship to 1 and decimated the house staff to about half of its normal size. (Dr McConahey once told me he had never worked as hard as he did his internship year, either before or after.) Dr McConahey was drafted in 1943 after 1 year of internship, and my father stayed on at PGH as a surgical resident because of his “4F” status due to a previously injured knee. A year later, Dr McConahey was on his way to Normandy as a medical officer, and
Accepted for publication July 18, 2007. Reprint requests: Chad J. Davis, MD, 8402 Harcourt Road, Suite 815, Indianapolis, IN 46260. E-mail: [email protected] Surgery 2007;142:773-5. 0039-6060/$ - see front matter © 2007 Mosby, Inc. All rights reserved. doi:10.1016/j.surg.2007.07.011
Fig 1. Dr McConahey in battle uniform.
my father was still at PGH, continuing his residency in surgery. He successfully enlisted in the Navy that summer and headed to the Pacific in August to serve on the hospital ship Solace, but at the time the letter was written he was still in Philadelphia, and so it was sent to him there (Fig 3). In a few short paragraphs, Dr McConahey captures the “war is hell” experience of the soldier on the ground and the difficulties of caring for him medically (Fig 4). Both men have passed on now, as have many other members of that “great generation.” They SURGERY 773
774 Davis
Surgery November 2007
Fig 3. Envelope from the letter Dr McConahey sent to Dr Davis.
survived the Great Depression, fought and won a world war, and came home to start families, businesses, and medical practices. They left a worthy legacy. REFERENCE 1. www.phila.gov/heath/history
Fig 2. Dr Joseph Davis in his hospital “whites”.
Davis 775
Surgery Volume 142, Number 5
Fig 4. A, B. Letter Dr McConahey sent to Dr Davis on June 24, 1944. France 24 June 1944 Dear Joe, For the last two weeks we’ve been over here in France slugging it out toe to toe with the Nazis. It’s been heavy and vicious fighting. War is all the flaming hell they say it is, and then some! I hate this bloody mess with all my heart, but I believe firmly in our cause, and some one has to do the job. I have clawed the earth while all around me rocked under the explosions of German artillery and mortar shells, I have hugged the ground while machine gun bullets whizzed over me, I have dodged countless snipers’ bullets, and I have led my litter squads up under fire to within fifteen feet of the German lines at night to bring out wounded. It’s all a nightmare I hope I can forget if I live through it, but sometimes I wonder if I will live through it. Losses have been heavy and I’ve been extremely busy. Recently, a couple of German shells hit an aid station, killing a couple of men and wounding a medical officer. Our American doughboys are fighting magnificently and our medical soldiers are doing a superb job. Plasma enables us to save the lives of hundreds of our wounded boys. When under fire, everyone is scared, but somehow you keep going. Soon you get used to it to some extent, and it doesn’t bother you so much. As we advance, the Germans leave a lot of snipers behind in trees, which are a pain in the neck! They shoot wooden bullets, which have no effect at long range but which tear a hell of a hole in a fellow at close range. I’ve been sniped at a lot, but they’re poor shots so I don’t pay any attention to them. Say hello to all my Blockley friends, and let me hear from you. By the way, I haven’t had a bath for eighteen days. Sincerely, Bill