Nineteen Forty-Six. The Bogomolets Serum

18 Dec

When he returned from France after V.E. Day, Captain John Weik was greatly pleased with his new assignment.

Medical duty at Fort Custer in Michigan, close to Battle Creek, provided him the opportunity to become acquainted with the famous health sanatorium in that town, the House of Health and its founder, Harold Gley. This champion of unconventional therapy drew John like a magnet. The old man soon became fond of this disciple from the world of conventional medicine. But the Captain learned of serious problems behind the placid facade of the distinguished health facility.

He always visited the House of Health in civies, never in Army uniform. With his cyanine blue eyes and flaxy blond hair, the doctor appeared a husky warrior of Nordic descent.

Harold Gley, strong and energetic at eighty-two, was the perfect advertisement for the methods and style of life he preached. His dusky amber eyes glowed with vivacity. Silver-gray hair of a lyard shade was still thick. Lean and tall, he gave off an aura of vigorous stamina unusual for his years.

The pair met and conversed at the rear of the roomy sanatorium, in the simple, plain office of the founder of the institution. By early 1946, Gley spoke freely, without inhibition to the Army medic.

“I was born on a large farm in Wisconsin in April of 1863. My parents were pioneers in what had been Indian country a few years before. I was the ninth of eleven children. My mother and father both taught me the value of the wild herbs, nuts, and fruits that grew around us. As a child, I learned what leaves, barks, nuts, and berries could heal sickness. God provides a remedy for every disease and affliction, but we have to learn how to find it. The Creator foresaw our wretched conditions of health and made provisions in Nature for all such ills. If our scientists would make a grand effort to uncover these true remedies, they could eliminate the chemical drugs now used. Then, sickness could become a rare event.”

John Weik heard the story of the early years of the naturopath.

“At twenty, I went to Florida and worked in the orange groves. In a short time, I owned one of my own. But there came about a complete collapse of my health. A physical breakdown, it was called back then.

“I spent over three months in bed. Doctors could do nothing at all for me. They said I’d be an invalid for life if my condition continued. I often saw lightning in my eyes when there was none at all. Total exhaustion, they labeled it. I was so depressed, that I wrote out my own will. The medical profession of the time gave up on me. There would never be a recovery, they concluded.

“But then I began to read the works of vegetarians like Ellen White. Do not eat food robbed of its life-giving elements, she taught me. There was a flash of enlightenment in my mind. I remembered the home remedies that my parents used. I returned to the old foods of Nature: the nuts of the forest, the fruits of the orchard, the grains of the field. My health came back. It was astounding. I told everyone I could what happened to me. God’s ways are simple enough for everyone to use on themselves.

“When a typhoid epidemic struck, I became a nurse of the stricken. My methods succeeded and doctors began to hire me. I became a missionary for natural therapy. Moving to Battle Creek, I got a job as a nurse at the sanatarium of Dr. John Kellogg. My further education occurred there. I learned modern methods of electrotherapy and hydrotherapy. Dr. Kellogg taught me the dangers of the strong medical drugs in common use. I was made the operator of an early branch of the Battle Creek Sanatarium, permitting me to marry and start a family in 1901.

“I crossed the country many times, giving lectures on health topics. My dream was to have the Sanatarium expand into the entire spectrum of health food, beyond breakfast cereals. Differences grew, until I was forced out.

“It came as a revelation to found a sanatarium of my own, where my ideas could be carried out. In 1907, I opened the doors of the House of Health.

“This building was set up like a small hospital. There is a men’s ward, a women’s ward, and private rooms. From the beginning, there has been a sanitary operating room for outside surgeons to use. I myself learned to administer anesthetics. Electrotherapy and hydrotherapy facilities, as well as masseurs, were provided. But since natural diet is the core of healthy living, I set up a food factory on the outskirts of Battle Creek. A retail store was opened and a system of mail shipments created. I began with cereals and crackers, going on to meat substitutes made from soya. By 1940, there were over thirty soya products with the House of Health label.”

Grey listed from memory the substitute foods from the factory: soya milk, bread, pie, cake, buns, cookies, buttermilk, coffee, cottage cheese, cream cheese, yellow cheese, soybean sauce, pancakes, broth, butter, mashed potatoes, mayonnaise, and ice cream.

“Early on, I opened an X-Ray Unit. Syntatic high-frequency current generators, galvanic and sinusoidal devices are utilized. Even ultra-violet treatment is offered our patients. We have Turkish, Russian, and electric baths. I believe we have to be up-to-date in methods that apply natural energies.

“While I concentrated on running the health food factory, Dr. Falta came in as medical director of the clinic. His background seemed perfect. A medical doctor, he also had training in nursing. He studied electrotherapy in Germany before World War I. He hired a team of nurses from the finest schools in America.”

All at once, horizontal lines crossed the shiny forehead of Harold Gley.

“I nearly forgot to mention what is going on today. The House of Health is at a crossroad. A big decision is necessary very soon.”

The older man said no more. Weik dared not ask any question. Though his curiosity had been raised to a peak, he had to wait patiently. Explanation would come in time, when Gley was ready to reveal what he had hinted at as a cause of a problem.

John had met Dr. Paul Falta a few times in passing, but the busy manager of the sanatarium clinic was still a stranger to him. What had happened to disturb old Harold so seriously? This remained a mystery until the first week of March 1946, when Falta suddenly invited John into his office one morning.

The director was a heavyset man with pale stramineous hair and grayish green eyes. He had the briskness of manner of a general.

“Come in, Dr. Weik. Come in and have a seat. I just had a  telephone call from Harold. He is indisposed and won’t be in today. Nothing serious, I believe. Just a virus or bacterium one is apt to catch at the end of winter in Michigan.”

John took a chair with a soft green cushion on it while the director went behind his dark desk and seated himself.

“You have made a strong impression on our founder,” began Falta. “He talks of his new friend continually.” He paused and made a small smile. “Harold lives alone, all to himself. His wife died long ago. The children are married and far off. All that interests him is the House of Health. I suppose he talks his head off to you.”

Falta stopped, studying the face of the other for reaction to his words.

“I enjoy his reminiscing,” said John. “Everything he says is fascinating to me.”

The director then spoke slowly, in a deeply serious tone.

“Science goes on and does not stand still. We must progess forward on the frontier, or we fall behind. There are historic developments in the world in our time, beyond our own country. In the Soviet Union, for instance. Are you familiar with the work in Kiev of Dr. Alexander Bogomolets?”

Weik could not hide his start of surprise. “I have read articles about his work on longevity. He produced a serum that the Russian Army used in the war, didn’t he?”

The weighty man nodded his huge head.

“Anticytotoxic serum, abbreviated to A.C.S. It was used to treat the wounds of soldiers. The Russians claim that it swiftly heals lesions and fractures. Before the war, some studies claimed it could treat conditions like arthritis, hypertension, and even arteriosclerosis. Dr. Bogomolets himself refuses to call it a cure for cancer, but research shows it can prevent deterioration of tissues and helps to reknit breaks in them. That is its miraculous healing power.

“What is especially of interest for the House of Health is what Dr. Bogomolets claims that A.C.S. can contribute to longevity. Amazingly, he holds that the span of life should extend to 125 or 150 years with his serum. This genius thinks that A.C.S. can be applied when aging results in damage to connective tissue. Together with a natural diet and exercise, the serum will add decades of life.”

“That is interesting,” said Weik. “But does anyone in this country know how to make the serum?”

For a time, Paul Falta made no reply. His face appeared frozen, as if he were considering how much to reveal to an unknown person.

“I have been in correspondence with the Ukrainian Academy of Sciences, whose president is no other than Dr. Bogomolets himself. Can you imagine what happened? He has offered to sent the House of Health a supply of his serum for testing in the U.S.A. Can you envision the possibilities? It would place us in the forefront of geriatrics in this country. We would become, overnight, the leader in that new area of medicine.”

The two stared at each other in silence, neither one sure what to say next.

“I have, for several months, attempted to convince Harold that it is to our advantage to cooperate with the Russians. But he has stubbornly refused to give me permission to forge an agreement on the supply of the serum.”

“Why is that?” asked John Weik, a gleam of curiosity in his eyes.

Falta pursed his mouth on one side.

“It’s an old story. His fear of medical chemicals and minerals extends to serum extracts like A.C.S. He calls it artificial, not natural enough for him. Harold fears possible toxic effects. I tell him that it protects and builds up body cells, as an anticytotoxin. But he suspects there are unseen side effects.”

John was uncertain what to say next. He decided to smoke out what it was that the director of the clinic was after from him.

“There must be a reason you are revealing all this to me, Dr. Falta. Do I dare surmise what your intention is?”

The other grinned slyly. He realized that he had to be candid with the Army medico.

“If you talk with him about the serum, it may help change his mind. That is all. I can lend you several favorable articles about A.C.S. What do you say?”

A sense of discomfort struck the visitor. He suddenly bolted to his feet.

“I must think over the matter, sir,” he declared. “You can give me those articles you mentioned. For now, I make no definite promises. Do you understand why? This matter will take me time to decide.”

“Very well,” grumbled Falta. “But tell me when you have decided to bring this subject up with him.”

Saying not a word more, Dr. Weik hurried out of the director’s private office.

John drove back to his barracks apartment on Fort Custer. There was much for him to think over that evening. How could he be a true trusted friend of Harold Gley unless he told him about the proposal the director had made to him? But what would then follow such a revelation?

Caution had to be his watchword concerning the serum.

He picked up the afternoon newspaper, sat down in his easy chair, and began to read.

Winston Churchill, former Prime Minister of Britain, had given a provocative speech in Fulton, Missouri. With President Truman present, he had described an Iron Curtain descending through Europe, a result of Soviet expansion.

This brought to mind for John the scientist in Kiev. How would the Soviets perceive Churchill’s statement? Were they still willing to provide A.C.S. to the House of Health? he wondered.

He decided to telephone the home of Harold Grey to find out how he was.

The housekeeper informed him that her employer was indisposed and unable to talk to anyone at the present time.

“Tell him when he awakens that Dr. Weik called,” said the Captain, a little perturbed. But at least he knew the nature of the problem troubling the man who had become his mentor.

A call came the next morning, from Grey himself. He was stronger, but not well enough to go out. If he wished, John could stop by to see him. The Captain promised to visit after completing his duties on the base.

Periodically during the day, Weik considered his dilemma. Would he be causing tension between the two men through candor with Grey? Honesty was best, regardless of consequences, he decided. Nothing was to be held back. He could only guess at Harold’s reaction to the director’s maneuver.

The small, humble dwelling of the founder of the House of Health was located near the food plant that Gley had spoken of so glowingly. John parked his pre-war Ford in the street, walked up onto the porch, and rang the door bell. The housekeeper admitted him into the bungalow. In the plain living room, Harold sat in a stuffed chair. He wore robe and pajamas.

John stepped close to him and shook his hand, noting it was limp and soft. What was happening to the old man? he asked himself.

“How do you feel, Harold?”

The latter made an uncharacteristic grimace. “Better, I suppose,” he responded, pointing to a nearby chair where the guest understood he was to sit.

When John was comfortable, he gave the host a steady, fixed look.

“Yesterday, when I went to the sanatorium, Dr. Falta invited me into his office to talk. I learned from him the nature of the disagreement between the two of you.”

Harold gazed directly at the younger man. “You know about Bogomolets, then?”

“Yes. The director wants me to try to convince you to approve the serum for trial here.”

“What did you say to him, John?” demanded Gley with unexpected energy.

“Nothing, one way or the other. I was too astounded to turn him down. Perhaps it would have been best to stalk out, considering the rage I felt inside me.”

“I suppose you’d like to know why I have misgivings about the serum from Russia,” said Gley.

“Indeed,” grinned Weik. “But only tell me as much as you think necessary.”

“You have heard me describe what, for me, is a true and a false therapy. It is the difference between the artificial and the natural. Can there be any question but that the Bogomolets serum is a manmade compound of simpler materials? That it did not exist in nature before a scientist put it together?

“To me, this Russian is a conventional allopathist. That makes him a descendent of the fakers and alchemists who once prescribed minerals like mercury. Even today, medicine suffers from quicksilver quacks. What good ever came from that poisonous stream? They long ago abandoned Hippocrates and Galen.

“I believe this serum cannot possibly extend human life. It is an empty nostrum, not given to us by Nature or her God.”

John searched his mind for what to say next.

“I’d better go now,” he said. “There is no need to tire you. Can I return tomorrow?”

“Certainly,” replied the naturopath. “I appreciate your attention and concern. Thank you for telling me what Falta is up to. I am in your debt, my friend.”

John rose, came over, and shook hands with the ailing Gley. Then he left, concerned about the situation of the creator of the House of Health.

On March 7, 1946 Secretary of State James Byrnes sharply criticized the Soviet Union, accusing Moscow of going back on its promise to remove all troops from Iran. He called on the Russians to keep their word and withdraw.

That same day, Dr. John Weik took his sick friend for a ride in the country, hoping to restore his strength with fresh air.

“I’ve been taking red clover blossoms,” revealed Harold. “They always have beneficial effects when the body has troubles.”

“Has the director stopped in to see you?” inquired the driver.

Gley smiled to himself. “We are no longer as close as we once were. I must admit that he has changed, completely changed. No, this is not the man I knew when he first came to Battle Creek. Paul is now a different person. I can’t understand what happened to him.”

John’s mind moved rapidly. An idea taking form subconsciously leaped forward. “Can’t the director be replaced, Harold? You, as the president, could call the trustees together to boot him out. I am sure of that.”

The passenger became excited. “Yes, there is a way to do that, and put an end to the business of the Bogomolets serum, once and for all. The majority will support me. But there must be a specific candidate to replace Dr. Falta. And I can think of none to propose.

“What do you say, John? Are you willing to leave the Army and take the post of director?”

The driver felt a jolt from the steering wheel in his hands. He instantly knew this was his own unrecognized wish, secret until now even to himself.

“What can I say, Harold? Of course, I would be overjoyed to be working with you, helping to continue your mission. I believe the Army could let me go in a few weeks if I request discharge. That would not be a problem at all.

“What is my answer? Yes. A thousand times, yes. But will it be difficult? Won’t Paul Falta create problems? He is not one to go willingly.”

Gley remained silent a short time.

“Give me a couple of weeks. I need to talk in private with each member of the board of trustees. Then, we can make our move to replace him.”

The passenger, Gley, seemed revitalized and re-energized as they returned to Battle Creek.

John promised to start the process of leaving military service.

Harold began organizing his arguments for firing Falta.

On March 13, 1946, Premier Joseph Stalin denounced Winston Churchill as a warmonger for his speech at Fulton, Missouri. It was called a “dangerous act” aimed at causing conflict among the wartime allies. He warned that incendiaries like Churchill were agitating the West with future war in mind.

That same evening, John Weik received an unexpected telephone call.

“I need to see you as soon as possible,” explained Paul Falta. “Could you be in my office late tomorrow? This is an important matter that involves us both. I must talk to you face-to-face.”

John agreed to be there the following afternoon. He hung up with trepidation. Had Falta uncovered the plan to unseat him? Probably.

The next day he saw the patients at Fort Custer with his attention elsewhere. What did this foe want to say to him? It was late when he arrived at the House of Health. The secretary led him directly into the office where Falta sat, leaving them to themselves.

After perfunctory greetings, the man behind the desk got down to business.

“If you recall, over a week ago I asked you to assist me in persuading someone we both know to agree to the testing of a serum being used in Russia. So far, you have told me nothing. So,I must conclude that you do not wish to make any effort on the matter. There is nothing I can offer you in exchange for cooperation. But think of this: becoming my assistant director. That would make you the primary candidate to be my eventual successor. Your future here would be assured.The only thing that I require is helping me win the president’s consent to using A.C.S. on our patients.”

As Falta stared at him, John tried to explain himself as carefully as he could.

“I have thought much about this serum. There remain certain concerns in my mind about the effects on your patients. If a new substance is to be introduced into their bodies, we have to be sure about their physical strength. I realize, of course, that I am not on your staff and they are not my patients. But is it possible for me to carry out some examinations of my own on them? I promise not to become a nuisance. My interest lies in their glandular secretions. I have read some of the writings of Bogomolets in translation in recent days. He emphasizes that the foundations of longevity lie in the endocrine organs and their hormones. Those are the characteristics I would like to have a look of my own at.”

Weik studied the director intently. Would he buy such a contrived delay? Would he concede him the requested time?

“You are interested in the glands and their secretions of our patients here?” asked Falta with a degree of unconcealed suspicion.

“They have always intrigued me, and I find the same interest in Dr. Bogomolets.”

“Alright, then.” decided the director. “Do as you wish.”

That evening, John found the president of the sanatorium in a depressed mood.

“I do not have the votes to oust him,” moaned Gley. “I’ve lost the support of my own trustees. They can see no reason to dismiss and replace Falta. The majority did not believe me when I claimed that he is betraying my principles. I can see no way of convincing enough of them.”

“Do you still plan to hold a formal vote on him?” asked a disconcerted Dr. Weik.

Harold bit his lip in frustration. “Yes, and when I lose my own resignation follows at once. All will be over and that will be my acknowledgement of the truth.”

A profound quiet fell over the living room. Neither of them spoke until an idea occurred to John.

“Could an outsider like me address the trustees’ meeting?”

The old man gave him a look of surprise. “Why not? If I requested it, I am sure that they would allow you to address them. What are you planning to say, may I inquire?”

John proceeded to outline the desperate plan he had only just conceived of in his mind.

On March 15, a member of the Canadian Parliament was arrested as part of a Soviet espionage ring. Churchill called for “fraternal cooperation” between Britain and the U.S. and claimed Russia was not ready for nor wanted another world war.

Dr. Weik received a surprise call on the telephone from Paul Falta. Could they meet at the House of Health after work? Yes, John promised to be there.

It was darkening when the Ford drew up near the sanitorium. John was surprised to see a large, familiar figure exiting the building and approaching his car. What did Falta mean by coming out?

“Good evening, my friend. It’s getting warmer every day, isn’t it? I thought we might take a short stroll together. We can converse at ease outdoors, without walls around us. What do you say?”

John reluctantly accepted this proposal and climbed out of the Ford. The two ambled along the sidewalk as the dusk thickened. Their pace became a vigorous, energetic one.

“I have talked to several of our trustees,” reported Falta. “They have the impression that Harold is going to propose that I be fired over our serum disagreement. Has he revealed anything like that to you?”

No reply followed, but the silence communicated as much as words could have.

“I know something that you are certainly unaware of,” whispered the director. “Harold Gley will not be with us too much longer.”

John stopped in his tracks and turned toward his walking companion, forcing the latter to do the same.

“What are you saying?” demanded Weik with manifest anger in his voice.

“I will not give him more than a year at most. He does not know it, but he is a swiftly dying man. It will do you no good to join up with him and battle on his side. He shall soon be gone from us. Future decisions will not be in his hands. That is certain.”

Captain Weik felt his head spin and whirl.

“What are you saying?” he protested. “There is nothing beyond exhaustion afflicting him.”

Falta seemed to be searching for inoffensive words. “I took a blood sample and analyzed it. There are early warning signs of Addison’s.”

The listener gave a start as darkness gathered about them.

“Addison’s disease arises from malfunction of the adrenal glands,” mumbled John as if to himself. “You mean to say that he suffers an endocrine disorder of which he is unaware?”

“Exactly,” confirmed Falta with a sarcastic expression on his face.

“If Harold doesn’t know, why haven’t you told him, or anyone else?”

The director shrugged his thick shoulders. “What could anyone do for him? Medicine has no answer yet for that ailment.”

They started to walk forward again. Only after a time did Falta speak again.

“If you help me keep my position, I will make a new research post for you here. My idea is to have you develop new therapeutic uses for Bogomolets serum in coming years. Remember, Gley will not be around much longer. Prepare yourself for a position in that situation.”

John made no response to that, but instead excused himself and rushed back to his car.

On March 19, the government of Iran notified the U.N. Security Council that it had no hope of convincing the Soviet Union of removing its troops from Iranian territory.

Late in the afternoon that same day, the trustees of the House of Health met at the bungalow of Harold Gley, due to the illness of the founder.

John arrived early. Was he right to withhold his knowledge about the adrenal disease from Gley? There was no way of telling him without causing distress. Until the crisis with Falta ended, his lips had to remain sealed. In his mind, he went over the arguments he would be permitted to present to the board that governed the sanatorium. His mind had to be prepared and focused.

A lawyer, two storeowners, two natural pharmacists, and a minister arrived one by one. They had the final decision in their hands. Harold, having arranged chairs for them in his living room, introduced them to John Weik.

When the door bell rang after a time, everyone knew who it was. John rose and opened the door for Dr. Falta. The latter said nothing to John, as if they were strangers.

“Sit down, Paul,” called Gley, without a word of greeting to the director. “If everyone is now here, we can begin.”

The lawyer read the minutes of the last meeting, in December of 1945.

John, sitting beside the founder, eyed Falta across the room, opposite himself and Harold.

The trustee finished and then turned to Gley, asking him if he wished to add anything to the record.

All at once, the ailing oldster rose to his feet, his umber eyes focused far away. What is he going to say? wondered all the others present.

“I have something to say before we approve the minutes. There is a matter that should have been brought up at the last meeting. It was not done, and I find that wrong. It is the question of the Russian serum that may soon be tried out on our patients.

“The steps already taken were not authorized by the board of trustees. Only after the meeting was I myself informed of the plan. I have always opposed artificial, unnatural concoctions. I can see no good coming from injection of foreign substances into the body. The House of Health uses what God and Nature has granted us, not artificial laboratory products.

“Let me confess this: I am an angry man. There is no place in our therapies for such imports from the Soviet Union. Our patients are too precious to be turned into guinea pigs.”

At that point, Harold began to shake with emotion. His hands and head became unsteady and mobile.

“Anyone who does not accept only natural methods has no place with us,” he firmly stated.

All the trustees and John Weik turned to stare at Falta. The latter gazed at Gley as if not understanding the reference to himself by the founder.

When Harold spoke again, all eyes focused upon him.

“I wish to introduce a physician who believes in natural therapy and understands my principles. My dream is to bring him into the House of Health as soon as possible, for he is still part of the Army Medical Corps. I propose that we allow him to outline for us his ideas about the future of this sanatorium in the years ahead.”

Slowly, John rose to his feet and did as indicated by his mentor.

“I am near the end of my military medical duties at Fort Custer and considering what I should do next. Since my earliest years the House of Health has fascinated me. It has been a frustration that through medical school and my Army service I have never been allowed to use naturopathy. In the last year, though, I have grown acquainted with your founder and the sanatorium he created. Let me confess that the idea of collaboration with him seized hold of my mind and all its thoughts. It developed into my most intimate passion.

“There is one central area of treatment that I know depends on Nature.It remains mostly undeveloped, but it is the great frontier of the future. I speak of endocrinology and the hormones. All the glands are interconnected and affect each other. But that is all still a mystery to us. We suffer profound ignorance concerning those many secretions in our bodies.

“I can foresee the House of Health as a center for endocrine treatment. A research wing will study the natural hormones and their use in therapy.”

All of a sudden, Paul Falta lifted himself from his chair. John stopped speaking and all eyes turned on the director. What was about to happen next? everyone wondered.

“I do not relish interrupting, but it has become necessary,” roared the large, heavy man. “It seems that an interloper has pushed himself in our midst and sees himself as our new boss. I protest against such an unfounded usurpation. Let me explain what I fear is about to happen.

“For months, since the end of the war, I have corresponded with the head of the Academy of Sciences in Kiev, the Soviet Union. Dr. Bogomolets, its president, is the creator of an astounding serum that heals wounds and broken bones. It holds promise against many illnesses. But most of all, it can serve as an elixir against aging. My idea is this: if we can win the right to control it here in America, our institution will reap untold benefits. With the trust of the Russians, the House of Health will have unlimited prospects ahead. But the negative ideas just voiced by a stranger would preclude taking advantage of the miraculous serum.

“All of life is a matter of choice. Tonight, the board must choose. Either keep me as the director of the clinic and allow me to introduce the Russian serum, or follow a wild-eyed gambler who wants to venture into hormones. Decide, choose right now. There cannot be two ways about it.”

As he finished, all the trustees turned and stared at Harold Gley, who pronounced judgment with swift, terse deliberation.

“I propose we select Dr. Weik to become director immediately. The board will then meet with him at once to hear the details of his promising research plans.”

No one looked at Paul Falta until he reached the front door and opened it wide. He suddenly turned and faced the founder of the sanatorium.

“You fool!” he screamed. “You’ll be gone within a year. Nobody told you yet, but you have Addison’s disease. Let your new director explain how awful an illness it is.”

He stepped away and slammed the door closed with brutal force.

Stunned, the trustees turned to Harold, noticing that the stranger had placed a hand on his wrist.

Dr. Weik whispered gently to him. “He told me a while ago, but I believed the man was lying. There is no way to be certain without more testing. Addison’s results from malfunctioning of the adrenals. I have long believed that the pituitary hormones coming out of the brain are in control of all the glands and secretions. They are our central physical controls. If we start research in that area results will surface in time, I think.”

“But not for me,” reflected Gley. “There is not time enough. But so many others may benefit. Our hope must be for them. And all the others with glandular illnesses.”

John then spoke loudly, so that the trustees could hear.

“I plan to study pituitrin and antuitrin, produced by the anterior hypophysis of the pituitary gland. This has to be the master gland. The House of Health will be first to explore that unknown territory. Think what we can achieve in forty or fifty years. We may be gone, but this enterprise will go onward.”

One of the trustees rose and nominated Weik for director. This was seconded and unanimous approval was instantly given. In a few minutes, the entire process was completed.

Harold Gley then spoke. “John and I will draw up a new endocrine program. Tomorrow morning, at the sanatorium, it will be presented to the board for approval.”

Every trustee promised he would attend. A proposal for adjournment passed and the participants dispersed homeward.

Gleg and the new director alone remained.

“I guess that Paul Falta will be gone now,” grinned the old man with glee.

“There are articles coming out this spring in the medical journals, I’ve heard, exposing the Bogomolets serum as unsound and ineffective. They all but label it quackery,” said John. “There is no future for it anywhere in this country.”

“That’s it,” nodded the founder. “We arn’t the quacks. Official, conventional medicine is the fraud. Nature is always true and honest. She will never disappoint.”

John noticed that the face of Harold was unusually pale. The man had gone through a lot that evening. The new director suggested that he get some rest at once. There was much work ahead for both of them. They would need all of their abilities and energies.

On July 19, 1946, Dr. Alexander Bogomolets died in Kiev, his famous serum attacked and discredited in American medical periodicals as useless.

By then, Dr. John Weik had left the Army and taken the post of sanatorium director.

Harold Gley lived till late December, long enough to see the hormonal research program launched and underway.


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