T. Mitchell Prudden

Dr. Theophil Mitchell Prudden was one of our greatest pathologists; tireless in investigation, convincing in exposition, and with a contagious enthusiasm for the bacteriological work, in which he was one of the pioneers, that sent out from his laboratory a long succession of notable practitioners in the same important field. Prudden was one of the initiators of the Rockefeller Institute of Medical Research and for nearly a quarter-century a director in it; he taught in the College of Physicians and Surgeons during thirty consecutive years.

Possibly even the pupils of Dr. Prudden’s laboratory were not aware that this dignified instructor had a picturesque record as a good outdoor man, a comrade of Navajo Indians and ragged camp followers. He was as skilled in making a lunch from canned goods and in producing coffee of acceptable quality from a newly-opened tomato can as in his city laboratory analyses. His interest in the discussion of the yearly budget for the Rockefeller Institute alternated with relish for a boxing bout of well-known contestants in the Athletic Club.

This recluse of the Winter months became an altered person on his western tours. When the train halted at a station in the plains, the doctor would always be seen making for the side lines where his disreputable Indian friends were silently looking on. “How” was the beginning of a guttural interchange of sounds, accompanied with gesticulating which seemed to suffice for conversation. Near his camp an Indian was once reported to be in a chill and in great agony. Dr. Prudden was induced to compete with the medicine man, and cured the Indian. An Indian girl was bitten by a rattler while gathering corn. Luck was again with Prudden, and the girl recovered. Then trouble began. The medicine man displayed highly professional resentment at this invasion of his preserve. Finding him sitting alone one afternoon, the doctor approached with the usual “how,” but met with no response. He sat down by the Indian and joined him in a smoke. During four hours they sat and smoked. Nothing happened till Prudden brought from his pocket a small biconcave lens. This meant nothing until, when a fresh pipe had been filled and with a ceremonial passing of the hand and lens, the glass came to rest in such way as to focus the sun on the pipe of tobacco and to start it burning. Not a word had been said, but an achievement so much in line with the medicine man’s own methods ended the misunderstanding. They were fast friends thereafter.

Alexander Dana Noyes
1925 Century Association Yearbook