Content provided by students of the Frontier Program at Kansas State University: Clara Wicoff, Danny Unruh and Sarah Jones, under the direction of Justin Kastner, Ph.D. Associate Professor, Department of Diagnostic Medicine/Pathobiology Faculty member, School of Applied and Interdisciplinary Studies
Who Was Dr. Samuel J. Crumbine?
19 Min Read
Jun 30, 2000
By
Kansas Health Institute
The state of Kansas, small in population and sometimes overlooked, has produced the likes of Dwight Eisenhower, John Brown, and Amelia Earhart. Another prominent figure is Dr. Samuel Crumbine, a public health advocate whose work had tremendous impact. Born in a log cabin in Pennsylvania on September 17, 1862, Samuel Crumbine became one of America’s noteworthy pioneers in public health1. Crumbine’s parents were Jacob Krumbine and Sarah Mull. Jacob Krumbine, a blacksmith, “died in Libby Prison at Richmond, Virginia, after being captured by the Confederate Army during the Civil War,” according to Samuel Crumbine’s autobiography. This meant that Samuel Crumbine’s mother, Sarah, was left to raise two children on her own. As a result, Crumbine lived with his maternal grandmother until he was eight years old2, when he was sent to the Mercer, Pennsylvania, Soldiers Orphan School (a boarding school)3. Crumbine graduated at the age of sixteen, and began working at a drug store in Sugar Grove, Pennsylvania.
It was at this drug store—owned by a pharmacist and physician—that Crumbine truly began to learn about human medicine. After working at the store for some time, Crumbine was offered a job in Cincinnati where he could officially begin studying medicine. Crumbine learned under the tutelage of Dr. W. E. Lewis, a professor of anatomy at the Cincinnati College of Medicine4. After graduating at the head of his class, Crumbine moved west and opened up his own medical practice in Dodge City, Kansas5.
Dodge City, one of Kansas’s most storied cowtowns, soon became the first home base for a number of storied public health initiatives led by Crumbine. In Frontier Doctor: The Autobiography of a Pioneer on the Frontier of Public Health, Crumbine describes his work in Dodge City as follows: “The daily life of the frontier doctor was usually interesting, sometimes difficult and occasionally hazardous.”6 During this period of time, Crumbine also served two terms as the county coroner.7 In 1890, Crumbine married Katherine Zuercher, whom he had previously met while studying in Cincinnati. They married on Crumbine’s birthday, September 17th, and went on to have two children, Warren and Violet.8
In 1899, Crumbine was appointed to the Kansas State Board of Health9 after being recommended by “a judge whose baby he had brought through a critical illness.”10 He moved to Topeka in 1904 to begin working as the Secretary and Executive Officer of the State Board of Health.
1. S.J. Crumbine, Frontier Doctor (Philadelphia: Dorrance & Company, 1948)., p. 11.
2. Ibid., p. 12.
3. Ibid., p. 13.
4. Ibid., pp. 13-18.
5. Kansas Historical Society, “Samuel J. Crumbine,” https://www.kshs.org/kansapedia/samuel-j-crumbine/12025.
6. Crumbine, Frontier Doctor., p. 29.
7. Ibid., p. 68.
8. Ibid., pp. 75-76.
9. Society, “Samuel J. Crumbine”.
10. Robert Lewis Taylor, “Swat the Fly! – II,” The New Yorker, 24 July 1948., p. 28.
Flies and Infectious Disease
Content provided by students of the Frontier Program at Kansas State University: Clara Wicoff, Danny Unruh and Sarah Jones, under the direction of Justin Kastner, Ph.D. Associate Professor, Department of Diagnostic Medicine/Pathobiology Faculty member, School of Applied and Interdisciplinary Studies.
While Crumbine did not carry a fly swatter in his hand at all times (as some supposedly thought!1), he was widely known for being “the nation’s most relentless worker in public health” whose “campaigns and inspirations have jarred the personal habits of every adult in the world.”2
In Frontier Doctor: The Autobiography of a Pioneer on the Frontier of Public Health, Crumbine wrote:
“In Kansas we had far too many cases of typhoid fever, far too many deaths from it and far too many flies. But people took flies for granted, considered them simply a nuisance and let it go at that. They had been doing this for years. How could we convince them that flies may carry typhoid germs, often caused epidemics? To get people to wage an unending war on flies was going to be some job.”3
To accomplish this task, Crumbine pioneered and distributed a “Fly Bulletin.” This bulletin included information about where flies bred, how to destroy fly larvae, and why flies could be dangerous to humans. This widely distributed literature encouraged people to have their houses screened and to clean up filth. In addition, each letter sent out by the Kansas State Board of Health was accompanied by a four-page leaflet with information about flies. Crumbine also displayed posters about flies “in every post office, city hall and public building in the state…[and] all the railroad stations in Kansas.”4
One inspirational event regarding the name of his public health campaign took place at a baseball game. While attending the opening baseball game of the season, Crumbine became confused while listening to fans yell “swat the ball” and “sacrifice fly.” This led Crumbine to coin the term “swat the fly.”5
In some ways, the “swat the fly” campaign was only the tip of the metaphorical iceberg of Crumbine’s storied efforts to reduce the spread of communicable illness. In this regard, an especially formative event in Crumbine’s life took place on a train in 1907. In his autobiography, Crumbine wrote,
“On board with me were a number of “lungers” on their way to the Southwest where they hoped to be cured of tuberculosis. Now the germs of this disease are readily transmitted, by an open case, to others who are well, and I was thinking of this danger when the heat began to make me inordinately thirsty. Getting up, I went to the water cooler at the end of the car where I found a man drinking from the common cup which in those days was part of the equipment of every railroad coach. The man’s emaciation, facial characteristics and hollow cough made it obvious that he was an advanced case of tuberculosis, so I went back to my seat without drinking. But the heat soon made my thirst such that I went into the next car, only to find that two people in there were also on their way to the water cooler. Of these two one was an adult obviously ill of tuberculosis, the other a tow-headed five-year-old girl who eagerly drank from the common cup after the tubercular adult had used it. This recalled what we had been trying to teach the public, how we had hammered home the idea that when anyone had tuberculosis he should be given separate eating and drinking utensils.
“But why urge people to do this, if so necessary a precaution was flouted every day on thousands of trains and in public places? Walking through the train, I noticed a number of people who seemed to me obvious “lungers” and several whom I questioned admitted that they were tubercular. While I sympathized with their search for health, the relief they hoped to find in the high, dry climate of Colorado or on the great desert plateau of the southwest, I could not help thinking of the endless chain of virulent organisms they were distributing across the country though the medium of the common drinking cup or glass… As I reflected, I realized that there should be a law, a law forbidding these common drinking utensils.”6
After returning to Topeka, Crumbine began the public health campaign that led to the common drinking cup being outlawed in Kansas in 1909.7
In addition to his activist campaigns against the fly and the common drinking cup, Crumbine led public health efforts that raised awareness of the health risks posed by the common roller towel and spitting on the sidewalk. According to a 1948 issue of The New Yorker, “the total effect of Dr. Crumbine’s blows at communicable illness was very encouraging; tuberculosis, smallpox, syphilis, and several more diseases fell off sharply in the next few years in Kansas. Another cheering result was that other states, and even other nations, began to follow his example.”8
Future public servants, especially those in public health, can look at Crumbine for inspiration and guidance. William Allen White considered Crumbine to be a true Kansas hero:
“Along with Kansas heroes – John Brown, Jim Lane, John J. Ingalls, Ed Howe, General Funston, and now General Eisenhower – the name of Dr. Samuel J. Crumbine should be written well toward the top, for his work was constructive, successful, and lasting. Kansas should honor him in its gallery of heroes.” 9
1. For more on this “absurdity,” see the 1948 letter from Samuel Crumbine to Miss Sylvia Covet; “Letter regarding absurdities to Miss Sylvia Covet,” 1948, Crumbine archives, Clendening History of Medicine Library, University of Kansas.
2. Robert Lewis Taylor, “Swat the Fly! – I,” The New Yorker, 17 July 1948.
3. S.J. Crumbine, Frontier Doctor (Philadelphia: Dorrance & Company, 1948). p. 157.
4. Ibid. p. 158.
5. Ibid. p. 159.
6. Ibid. p. 164-166.
7. Robert Lewis Taylor, “Swat the Fly! – II,” The New Yorker, 24 July 1948. p. 32.
8. Ibid. p. 32-34.
9. “Swat the Fly! – I.” p. 31.
Works Cited
Crumbine, S.J. Frontier Doctor. Philadelphia: Dorrance & Company, 1948.
Taylor, Robert Lewis. “Swat the Fly! – I.” The New Yorker, 17 July 1948.
———. “Swat the Fly! – II.” The New Yorker, 24 July 1948.
Water and Food Safety
Content provided by students of the Frontier Program at Kansas State University: Clara Wicoff, Danny Unruh, Sarah Jones and Kaitlyn Barnes, under the direction of Justin Kastner, Ph.D. Associate Professor, Department of Diagnostic Medicine/Pathobiology Faculty member, School of Applied and Interdisciplinary Studies.
Born in Pennsylvania in 1862 and later a physician who practiced in Dodge City, Kansas, Samuel Crumbine was a man of curiosity who addressed obvious as well as lurking, not-so-obvious public health problems. His activist campaigns—bearing such titles and slogans as “swat the fly,” “don’t spit on the sidewalk,” and “ban the public drinking cup”—all sought to stop the spread of transmissible diseases. Amongst his many interests, water sanitation was a topic of concern for the well-respected Dr. Crumbine. As a Kansan, he understood that rural water sources could be the source of sickness and disease. In a 1911 article on “The Pollution of Underground Waters” for the Transactions of the Kansas Academy of Science, he warned that the unwise placement of outhouses and cesspools could cause drinking water to become contaminated. Such contamination was occurring underground and, therefore, was not something that a typical Kansas homesteader would have contemplated. Crumbine warned that the contaminated water would soon find its place down the hill and into a neighbor’s well, which would then be used for gardening, cooking, drinking, and bathing—spread disease!1
A decade later, in 1922, Dr. Samuel J. Crumbine spoke publicly about water during a radio health talk. In his remarks, Crumbine said, “Water and air are so common and plentiful, and generally speaking, available in unlimited quantities, without cost, to rich and poor alike, that we are scarcely consciously aware that they are the most important factors in the maintenance of body health—indeed in the continuance of life itself.”2Crumbine lamented that “[o]ne of the mistakes that seems to be rather commonly made by many people is the belief that water from wells and from springs is particularly pure and wholesome.”3 He noted that wells and springs are, in fact, not inherently safe, for “the [well or spring water] may come through cracks and fissures of rocks from polluted sources—which is especially liable to be true in the case of springs.”4 A true public health practitioner and man of science, Crumbine insisted that “[e]very well and spring should be protected to prevent surface contamination” and that “if one suspects the water they are drinking is not safe, the easiest way of purifying it is by boiling.”5
Crumbine was concerned not only about water sanitation. During his lifetime, he advocated on a range of food safety issues. Milk safety was one such issue. In 1929, Dr. Crumbine authored The Most Nearly Perfect Food: The Story of Milk. In this book, he wrote the following:
“Milk has been called by its enthusiastic proponents the modern elixir of life. Without dealing in superlatives, it can indeed be said that milk is the most nearly perfect of human foods for it is the only single article of diet which contains practically all of the elements necessary to sustain and nourish the human system.” 6
While Crumbine was a proponent of drinking at least one quart of milk each day, his recommendations came with precautions.
“It is a strange thing that nature’s most valuable food may at times also be one of the most dangerous. We have long known that milk may become a medium by which serious infectious diseases may be spread, but only of recent years have we had a proper appreciation of the potential danger of disease distribution in uncontrolled and ineffectively supervised milk supplies. When milk is pure, that is, clean and safe, it is indeed the most nearly perfect food, but dirty and contaminated milk is certainly not in that category. The sanitary production of milk is an absolute necessity, not only to enhance its food value, but also for the general protection of the public health.” 7
According to Crumbine, this heightened the need for milk processors to embrace pasteurization.8
In addition to milk and milk products, seafood also presented food safety risks on which Crumbine shined a light. In his autobiography, Crumbine described Kansas’s early efforts to regulate seafood transportation:
“In Kansas we had our own experience with sea food at the time oysters were shipped from the East in wooden tubs. Refrigeration was provided by large pieces of ice put in the containers, cakes that melted during the 48-hour journey from the coast to Kansas. So they had to be replaced en route, a duty that devolved on the expressmen. Whether they used clean ice and clean hands was up to them! Meanwhile thousands of Kansans were refusing to buy oysters because of repeated outbreaks of food poisoning. Others complained that oysters were waterlogged and tasteless…”9
Crumbine, the master of anecdotal illustrations, shared the following colorful and alarming event:
“…a former patient of mine, a railway mail clerk, came to tell me about something he had seen happen in an express car, something he felt duty-bound to report… At a certain station it became necessary to re-ice the oysters; a dog was tied next to these tubs; one of them upset; its content spilled over the dog and the floor. One of the two expressmen said, ‘Here’s a hell of a mess! What are we going to do?’ The other replied, ‘They say oysters are dumb, so I guess they won’t tell if we put them back in the tub.’ After that the two scooped up the oysters with their dirty hands and a broom, put them in the tub along with a cake of ice that had been lying on the floor, then fastened the lid on the tub. After this they had a good laugh, rubbed down the dog, and washed their hands. By the time my friend had finished this story I was as mad as a hornet.”10
Crumbine was indeed as “mad as a hornet,” and charged those responsible with violation of food and drug laws; he decried the distribution of oysters adulterated by melting ice (and a non-hygienic “re-icing” of the same oysters). Meeting with the transportation agents later, he urged the use of metal containers (and no longer wooden tubs), insisted that oysters be properly refrigerated, and prescribed other sanitary practices. Thanks to Crumbine’s efforts, “For the first time Kansas consumers now became acquainted with the sea flavor of a fresh oyster.”11
Crumbine’s willingness to take a stand for the safety of water, milk, and other foods was part of his larger commitment to protecting consumers. He was genuinely concerned for the health of all citizens. At a meeting of food and drug officials in 1942 (during World War II), Crumbine reminded his peers, “One of the most important phases of our job is to protect the health of the nation, especially that of the children and soldiers, the future of America.”12
A Samuel Crumbine Award for Excellence in Food Protection is given annually to a local health department that exhibits exemplary food handling practices. The 2017 winner was Kansas City, Mo.
1. S. J. Crumbine, “The Pollution of Underground Waters,” Transactions of the Kansas Academy of Science (1903-) 23/24 (1911).
2. “Radio Health Talk No. IV: Water in Relation to Health,” (W.A.J.Q., 1922). p.1.
3. Ibid. p. 5-6.
4. Ibid. p. 5-6.
5. Ibid. p. 10.
6. S. J. Crumbine and J. A. Tobey, The Most Nearly Perfect Food: The Story of Milk (Baltimore: The Williams & Wilkins Company, 1929). p. 17.
7. Ibid., p. 110.
8. Ibid., p. 135.
9. S.J. Crumbine, Frontier Doctor (Philadelphia: Dorrance & Company, 1948). p. 120-121.
10. Ibid. p. 120-121.
11. Ibid. p. 122.
12. Samuel J. Crumbine, “Pioneering in Food and Drug Law Enforcement” (paper presented at the 46th Annual Conference of the Association of Food and Drug Officials of the United States, Hotel Pennsylvania New York, June 1-5 1942).
Works Cited
Crumbine, S. J. “The Pollution of Underground Waters.” Transactions of the Kansas Academy of Science (1903-) 23/24 (January 1911): 169-76.
———. “Radio Health Talk No. IV: Water in Relation to Health.” 1-12: W.A.J.Q., 1922.
Crumbine, S. J. , and J. A. Tobey. The Most Nearly Perfect Food: The Story of Milk. Baltimore: The Williams & Wilkins Company, 1929.
Crumbine, S.J. Frontier Doctor. Philadelphia: Dorrance & Company, 1948.
Crumbine, Samuel J. “Pioneering in Food and Drug Law Enforcement.” Paper presented at the 46th Annual Conference of the Association of Food and Drug Officials of the United States, Hotel Pennsylvania New York, June 1-5 1942.
Native Kansas Landscape Present in the Park
The design of this pocket park draws heavy inspiration from the native Kansas landscape. Some of the plants included in this park are the Frontier Elm, Red Twig Dogwood, Prairie Dropseed, Fountain Grass, and Purple Coneflower, which are all native to the Midwest and thrive throughout Kansas. Another plant included, and one that is central to this selection is the Little Bluestem, which is the state grass of Kansas. The limestone seatwall blocks are based directly on Monument Rocks of Kansas, which was the first landmark chosen by the Department of Interior as a National Natural Landmark. The patterns and colors represented in the paver design mimics the limestone strata that built up over millions of years to create the Monument Rocks.
About Kansas Health Institute
The Kansas Health Institute supports effective policymaking through nonpartisan research, education and engagement. KHI believes evidence-based information, objective analysis and civil dialogue enable policy leaders to be champions for a healthier Kansas. Established in 1995 with a multiyear grant from the Kansas Health Foundation, KHI is a nonprofit, nonpartisan educational organization based in Topeka.