A man for all ailments: Dr. Bradford Walker

CORNWALL — He was without a doubt an accomplished man: a hospital chief of staff, a local health officer and medical examiner, a fellow of the American College of Physicians and president of the Connecticut Medical Society.But what made Dr. Bradford “Brad” Walker a great man was the care he gave to generations of Cornwall residents for more than 55 years, from the moment he delivered them at birth. Even his imperfections just made him more real and approachable. At the June 24 opening of the Cornwall Historical Society’s summer exhibit, Care to Cure: Medicine in the Era of Dr. W. B. Walker 1923-1978, Doc Walker’s “babies” were the special guests. Even while they recalled the cigarette that dangled from his lips during exams, or his often rather unorthodox approaches, their love and respect for the man was clear and evident.In his welcome speech during the reception, Historical Society Vice President Jeff Jacobson talked about the year that volunteers devoted to this project, and said it was difficult to overstate Doc Walker’s importance in the community, “especially for those of you he delivered.”Amid the seriousness of chronicling the life of a traditional country doctor, who carried his black medical bag to house calls and converted his family’s home to include his medical office, there was plenty of humor. Walker’s dry wit was well-remembered. The exhibit includes an original cartoon sketch by author/artist/patient James Thurber, among lots of other ephemera and memorabilia. Handwritten notations in a ledger show who borrowed crutches — and when they returned them. There is also a replica of his office and artwork by his wife, Mary Walker, including two very large hooked rugs. Back when children could spend a summer’s day wandering in the neighborhood, moms in the village were assured there was a safe haven. Following the inevitable mishap, a child could head straight for Doc’s office on the corner across from the Green. And they did.Lori Blakey Welles recalled the time she was helping her brother with his paper route and he was bitten by a Siamese cat. Home may have been just as close by, but, “I just walked him to Doc Walker’s office, and in to the doctor we went.”There was no question of having an appointment, getting parental permission or needing insurance or payment. He was the doctor, and a patient needed care.Welles and her sister, Karen Fisher, talked to The Journal about the things they dreaded, and said how impressed they were by the way their parents, Pat and Jerry, trusted Doc.Fisher recalled a windup monkey with clashing cymbals that she believes Doc Walker used in place of the anesthesia he elected not to use.“One time, I had a big gash in my head and he wouldn’t even give me Novocain. I became hysterical and he finally hauled off and slapped me in the face. I didn’t make a sound after that. Later, I asked my mom why she didn’t say anything, and she just said, ‘Because he’s the doctor’.”“He had two kinds of cough syrup — the good one and the bad one,” Welles recalled. “One was cherry and very sweet.”“The other one made you gag,” Fisher said.Was there some meaning behind who got which one? “No, he just reached around and whichever one he grabbed you got,” Fisher said.When Doc Walker was driving, you got out of his way, Welles said. But when you went to his office, you sat in a waiting room that was really a living room. Sometimes a hallway door was left open and one could see his family in their part of the house.“It was like going home, only scary,” Welles said.“And you always knew he was there if you needed him,” Fisher added.Jerry Blakey said it was a little weird to have his children see the same doctor, but they didn’t even consider another option. He appreciated Doc Walker’s practicality and common sense.“One thing you quickly learned is that you didn’t go to Doc Walker if you weren’t sick. He would tell you not to bother him when he could be treating other patients.”When Blakey’s back bothered him, the doc told him he was too small to handle the heavy lifting his job entailed. “He joked that he was putting me on a beer diet,” Blakey said.Denis Curtiss was a Doc Walker baby, who continued to see him until the 1970s. “We always trusted and respected him, and he always had a cigarette in his mouth,” Curtiss said.Doc Walker always charged $50 for a birth. It didn’t matter who it was or whether or not they had insurance. The joke of the evening was always, “You get what you pay for.”Tim Prentice said he always assumed he was a Doc Walker baby, even though he was born in New York.“I guess I never really thought it through. I think I thought my parents came up here for my birth because Doc Walker was so cheap. They called it rural free delivery.”He repeated the story making the rounds, of the woman who was charged $50 for the birth of her twins.“As the story goes, when she asked why he didn’t charge her double because she had two babies, he said, “It’s not my fault.”A photo of about 20 of the “babies” who came, including state Sen. Andrew Roraback, was taken for posterity. Welles was the youngest, born in 1963. Forrest Woodman, who has lived in Cornwall all of his 83 years, was the oldest, born in March 1928, followed closely by Janet Wildman, born in November of that year.No comprehensive birth records have been found, and the society welcomes hearing from anyone with information.