Saranac Lake and the Tubercle Bacillus

In which the author reveals the connection, (stay with me people…)

     Death, it seems, does not occur as it does in the movies wherein portentous last words are spoken as the last glimmer of light disappears from the eyes. Adios.  The young often die suddenly and the elderly linger far longer than even they would want. People die despite the best medicine has to offer and regardless of the fervent prayers of the long-time faithful and newly minted religious. A fellow nurse and I decided that if we had to have a horrible disease, we would like to have consumption, which is what tuberculosis used to be called.

     The main benefit was, besides having a legitimate reason to call in sick, was you would lose weight no matter how much you ate. A holy aura would emanate from you and give gravitas to your every utterance.  The treatments were varied but all involved a complete lack of stress, and that was mainly accomplished by getting away from one’s family. You would have a choice of fresh mountain air, seashore air (loaded with oxygen) or pure desert air.

     When you finally left this mortal coil you would be remembered as young and tragic, perhaps you might leave miracles in your wake as did St. Therese de Lisieux who infused the battlefields of The Great War in France with the scent of roses.

     This was our ridiculous romantic notion; I know the reality was far from Camille and Mimi in LaBoheme. My father’s cousin died of TB at age 17 and her mother would never admit she had it, since it was considered a disease of poor immigrants, a situation from which they escaped a mere generation prior.

              The tubercle bacillus, an aerobic bacterium, was isolated by the German physician and microbiologist, Robert Koch in 1882. It was revealed as the cause of the terrible disease which led to death often by a blood vessel rupturing in the lung and drowning the victim.  This was sometimes known as “shooting a ruby.” The tubercle bacillus is a hardy little devil and anyone studying guerilla warfare tactics could learn something from its hide- and- sneak attacks.  So it was with great surprise that while wandering through the Adirondacks a few years ago I came across a town whose very expansion, if not existence, was due to that little bugger.

     It seems that in 1873 another person fell in love with the little lake town on the Saranac River and his name was Edward Trudeau.  He was a doctor suffering from TB and decided to spend the last months of his presumably fatal illness in snowy peace.  To his astonishment, he did not die. Every time he went back to the city he became ill and once this pattern was discovered he stayed in Saranac Lake and set up a lab, the first one in the country devoted solely to the study of tuberculosis.

     Dr. Trudeau and his colleagues set up a colony of “cure cottages” wherein the sufferers were given all the food, rest and quiet they needed. In those days it was common practice to have a Greek Cottage or an Italian Cottage as it was noted that people were more comfortable eating familiar foods and speaking their native tongues. The main architectural features of the cottages were the many porches.  It was thought that cold, fresh air would help kill the bacilli.  I have seen pictures of the “curers” bundled up against the close to zero temperatures with only their nose and eyes visible.

     Some of the practices may seem quaint now, but real science took place in the lab and many people including celebrities of the day such as Robert Louis Stevenson and Bela Bartok, the Hungarian composer, came to cure. The lab has been well maintained, and I have toured it.  So perfectly has it been preserved that it is being used in a movie about George Washington Carver, another scientist from that era.

     Many of the cottages remain and some are designated “historic” while others have been chopped into multi-family dwellings.  The town is justifiably proud of its reputation of science and healing. I was drawn to it in the way all little towns that cross a river and have “river walks” appeal to me.  But something else captured my heart as well, and that is it felt very much like home.

     Many Adirondack tourist areas celebrate the days of the Great Camps where the railroad barons and other industrialists built big houses on the lakes. This is not relatable to me. But Saranac Lake seems almost like my home of Huntington Station, having areas for people of many different income levels and welcoming them all, unlike the upscale and trendy Lake Placid.

     Although Saranac Lake refers to itself as a “city”, it is a 3 or 4 traffic light town with many motels and restaurants that are affordable for the middle class. One mile out of town and at night you are in complete darkness, with stars visible that we can’t see here on Long Island.