(Author: Glenda Woolf, Vol. 72, #2, Rosh Hashanah 2017)
The first Jewish doctor in South Africa was Moshe ben Sechel – Sechel Fraenkel – known as Siegfried Fraenkel. In 1808, he received a license from the Supreme Medical Committee to practice as a surgeon, and set up practice from his house in Roeland Street, Cape Town.1 Since then there have been many South African Jewish doctors, whose contribution to the care of their patients, the growth of scientific knowledge, and the teaching of medicine has been enormous.
Books have been written about the South African Jewish contribution to business, mining and politics, but none to record the achievements of these men and women of healing. There was, however, a special issue of Jewish Affairs (Winter 2001) on the theme of “South African Jews and Medicine”, with articles devoted, among others, to Nobel Prize winners Drs Aaron Klug and Sydney Brenner. Mention was also made of Drs Sidney Kark, Walter Phillips, Issy Segal, Philip Tobias, Jack Penn and Leo Schamroth. But that journal issue only touched the surface. There are many other South African Jewish doctors whose lives and contributions are worth recalling.
To mention but a few who attained fame in England: Two were knighted – Baron Solly Zuckerman, OM KCB FRS,2 a nd endocrinologist Sir Raymond Hoffenberg, President of the Royal College of Physicians. Hoffenberg left South Africa after being banned under the Suppression of Communism Act as he was the chairman of the Defence and Aid Fund. Others who attained high positions in the UK were the surgeon George Sacks, editor of the Lancet, Hen r y Walton, Professor of Psychiatry, Edinburgh, and Siamon Gordon, Professor of Pathology, Oxford. Other Jewish South African doctors became well known in America. They include anatomist Ronald Singer, Professor of Anthropology, Chicago, Aubrey Milunsky, Adjunct Professor of Obstetrics, Gynaecology and Reproductive Sciences, Tufts University School of Medicine, and founder and Co-director of the Center for Human Genetics, Boston, Hymie Gordon, Professor emeritus of medical genetics at Mayo Medical School3and behaviour therapist Joseph Wolpe, Professor at Temple University. Wolpe’s many awards include the American Psychological Association’s Distinguished Scientific Award and the Association for the Advancement of Behavior’s Lifetime Achievement Award.
In South Africa too, Jewish doctors made distinguished contributions to medicine despite the difficulties Jews had because of unspoken antisemitism. It was said that the most important advances to come from the UCT medical school were the frog test for pregnancy (Prof Hillel Shapiro and Prof Harry Zwarenstein) and the heart transplant – both advances involved Jewish doctors. The South African textbook on pharmacology was written by Prof Norman Sapeika. Pharmacologist Prof Peter Folb was President of the Medicine Control Council, Prof Jack Metz was Director of the SA Institute of Medical Research and Prof Ralph Kirsch was President of the SA Medical Association. UCT’s Professor of Medicine was Solly Benatar and Wits Professor of Pathology was Charles Isaacson.4
When I worked as a pharmacist at Groote Schuur Hospital in the sixties, I was aware of the high regard held by everyone for the surgeon Dr Toddy Schrire and the cardiologist Dr. Val Schrire, who was part of Dr Chris Barnard’s heart transplant team. In the dispensary we made up bottles of a mixture for pain relief called “Mist Mirvish”, developed in earlier years by the first gastroenterologist in South Africa, Dr. Louis Mirvish, son of Rabbi Moshe Chaim Mirvish. He was one of the first two medical graduates in South Africa.5 In the field of teaching and diagnosis, Prof Frankie Forman’s name was renowned. In that of welfare his wife, Golda Selzer, a doctor in the field of pathology, began the free clinics in the coloured township of Windermere in 1943. This enterprise became known SHAWCO, and was run by medical students.6
The list can go on and on and there will be many complaints about missing names. However, that is not the point of this article. Rather, my intention is to write about my father, the dermatologist Prof Walter Gordon, zt”l, with particular reference to an incident that occurred during his years as a general practitioner in Bloemfontein.
My father Walter Gordon was born in Cape Town to parents from London and Vilna. He graduated from the University of Cape Town Medical School in 1939 at the age of 21, having entered medical school aged sixteen. Some country locums were followed by service in the army as a doctor during the war. After some years as a general practitioner in Thaba Nchu, he sold his practice and, leaving his wife and two young daughters, he studied at Edinburgh University. There, he speedily passed his exams and, in 1949, returned to South Africa with an MRCP. However, unable to find a post as a Registrar, necessary to register as a specialist, and needing to support his family he began to work as a general practitioner in Bloemfontein.
Professor Walter Gordon (1917-2002)
My father built up a large practice, which kept him busy from morning till late at night and sometimes all through the night as well. Yet somehow he found time to referee hockey matches at the Ramblers Club – at UCT he had been on the Western Province hockey team. He also made time to serve the Jewish community on the shul board. He disagreed with the rabbi who wanted to build a massive new shul and hall, believing the money would be better spent on education. However, when the vote went against him he worked with everyone and eventually the beautiful old shul was knocked down, the land sold and two expensive new edifices erected. Today, Bloemfontein has little more than a minyan and those new shul buildings now host an evangelical group’s church and hall. As for the Jewish community who once lived in the city, their children and grandchildren are scattered through the world. My father was correct – money for education would have been more sensible than for large buildings for a shrinking community.
The story I want to tell is of the Jewish mitzvah relating to the saying, “He who saves a life is as if he has saved the whole world.” It concerns an incident involving one particular patient, which made the headlines of the Afrikaans newspaper, Volksblad.7 My father’s handwritten notes record the story as follows:
One day as I walked into the entrance of the building housing my consulting rooms I was offered a newspaper by a newsboy who was in a squatting position and appeared blue. Realising what was wrong with him, I phoned the editor of the newspaper (who happened to be a friend, and a patient) to send the boy and his mother to see me in my surgery. The appointment was duly kept.
The Volksblad tells the story slightly differently. According to the article the doctor said: “Listen boy, come on Monday morning at eleven o’clock to my surgery, above, in this building and we will see if we can’t help you with your tiredness. But Foena was afraid. He had too many times been through the injection needles of the doctors. On Monday he didn’t appear. But the doctor didn’t forget the boy. He immediately contacted Mr. D.F. Blignault of the circulation department of the Volksblad to be in touch with the mother. The next day Foena was taken by his mother to the doctor….”
My father’s notes continue the tale:
And he turned up with his mother. I informed her that he had a deformed heart valve. She said she knew that but doctors had told her that nothing could be done. The boy was now twelve. I informed her that now [1953] there was an operation and she agreed to the procedure. I referred her to the local provincial hospital with the request that she be sent to Johannesburg for surgery. The consultants refused to authorise this.
Why did the doctor refuse this request? Was it because of the cost? Was it professional pride at the thought that another hospital could do what they could not? Was it, to be charitable, a feeling that the boy would be given false hope? We will never know. However, my father was not prepared to take ‘no’ for an answer, knowing that the new surgical techniques in the Johannesburg Provincial hospital could help. According to his notes, he “told the mother to go to the Johannesburg General Hospital and give her sister’s address in Benoni (the appropriate Province) as she was poverty stricken and could not afford to pay for the procedure”.
I was amazed at this act of duplicity on my father’s part. Even white lies were difficult for him. He used to say that the story of George Washington was not suitable for Jewish children, since simply because he told the truth, his father had not punished him. “A Jew tells the truth no matter what the consequences” he would say. Yet, here he actively encouraged a woman to tell a falsehood. The aim, of course, was to cure the boy. If the woman gave her sister’s address in the Transvaal instead of her own in the Free State, as a resident of the Transvaal the medical attention at that hospital would be automatically given and without payment. He clearly thought this justified the action.
The operation was duly performed and was a great success, but when it was discovered that the mother was from another province, the authorities in the Transvaal sent her a substantial account, which their Orange Free State counterparts refused to pay. My father then called his friend, the editor of the Volksblad, who published the relevant facts in the paper. The article appeared on the front page on 19 November 1953 under the headline ‘Gegrypende Optrede van Stadsdokter’ (The gripping actions of a local doctor). It told in great detail of the meeting on the street, the journey to Johannesburg and the successful outcome of the operation. It then went on to describe the difficulties the family now faced:
But now….there is an account that must be paid. The friendly doctor in Bloemfontein didn’t ask for anything for his services, and the hospital services were also free. But for the surgeon and the accessory services £115 must be paid, although this is a lot less than half the normal price. Then there is £5 for the x-ray photos. The parents have five other children and in the past they had doctor’s bills to pay. The father is a worker in a furniture factory and his salary is not enough to cover these costs.
The Volk sblad launched an appeal for funds to assist the family. My father’s notes continue:
Many braaivleises were held, raffles were organised, items were auctioned and at last the account was paid in full, with some left over for his education. He suddenly gained in height, became a full bowler in the cricket team and eventually found work in the civil service. He married happily and had three children.
I was at school at this time. One day I was writing a composition for homework. The title was “The Little Newsboy”. The teacher had told us to write about the poor child, his heavy burdens and how he should be doing homework and not selling newspapers. My father looked at it and said angrily. “No, start again. Write about how brave he is, how he knows his family needs money and so he goes out and earns it. Write he is a hero. He is to be admired, not pitied.”
Well what could I do? I wrote as instructed. The teacher was not pleased. She gave me a low mark. In those days the teacher’s word was law. Free expression was as yet an unheard of concept! I understand my father’s anger. Here was this little boy, blue from lack of blood pumping correctly, sitting on the ground from tiredness, still trying to help his family.
Thirty years later, Foena needed another operation – this one was not successful and he died. My father was devastated by the news. I think it was after this that he sat down and wrote the words I now have before me:
Thirty years later I decided I must look him up. He was sick again. He was now about 39 years of age. I advised another operation, and confirmed that Prof Barnard had seen him and recommended this. I persuaded him to have this. Since his first operation a new technique had been developed – besides which he was now so bad that he had only a short time to live. He then agreed to have the operation, but never recovered.
Joy and happiness followed by sadness, all part of a doctor’s life. But joy was my predominant feeling. As doctors we see patients and tell then there is no known treatment, and that is where we fail, because daily advancement in medical science brings cures where none previously existed, and it has since become my approach, when telling patients there is no treatment, to phone me every six months asking if anything has been discovered.
Now all these years later, as I look at the old notes and faded newspaper article, my thoughts are filled with admiration at this brave little boy, at the few good years he did have, at the family he left behind. Where are they? Do they have children and grandchildren now?
Our stay in Bloemfontein stay came to an end after sixteen years when an advertisement for a registrar in the Dermatology department of Groote Schuur Hospital appeared. My father applied and was accepted. He completed his years as registrar and rose in time to become head of the department. As the departmental research gained an international reputation, he was made the first Professor of Dermatology at Groote Schuur Hospital.
Groote Schuur at that time was an exciting place to be. The heads of most departments were in the forefront of research. It was also a very complex place as the laws of what was termed apartheid began increasingly to affect the organization of the hospital.
Black doctors or students were forbidden to attend to white patients. Rather than humiliate the black students by excluding them from white wards, my father avoided such wards altogether. He regretted this, since certain skin diseases appeared only on white skins.
One incident from that time stands out in my mind. The doctors were told by memo that since Black doctors required less money to maintain their standard of living, their salaries would be reduced. My father led a delegation to the local government Administrative Head of the hospital. He later told me of the conversation. It went like this:
WG: You say that we must be paid according to our needs.
Administrator: Yes. Black doctors, they eat pap. Their houses in the locations cost less. They need less money.
WG: Well I am surprised that you want to introduce communism here.
Administrator: Communism! [To be a classified as a communist in apartheid South Africa came with severe consequences as the afore-mentioned Dr. Hoffenberg had experienced].
WG: Yes, that is what they believe, from each according to his ability and to each according to his need. But anyway, if that is what you believe, then who am I to argue? But of course then we will have to double the pay of black doctors.
Administrator: What nonsense is this?
WG: No, you see a white doctor has to care for his direct family, his wife, and his children. In the Black community it is different. When a man achieves such status, then he is obliged to all his family, his brothers and cousins and their children. He must see that they are properly fed and clothed and educated. So clearly he needs a salary larger than the white doctors, if he is to be paid according to his needs, rather than the standard set down for everyone.
After that, the change in salaries was never referred to again. Caring for his black colleagues was to my father a part of his obligation as a doctor.
The strange thing at that time when apartheid at its height, and people were classified by skin colour and having a light skin colour meant privilege the white community was fixated on getting a tan during the summer. This was a world-wide trend, but in the South African context it is more than a little odd.
The black community, meanwhile, were attempting to whiten their skin colour using cosmetics containing harsh, potentially harmful, substances. The result was that the Dermatology Department dealt with many cases in its non-white out-patients’ clinic of the bad effect of the ingredients in these whitening agents, while in its white out patients’ clinic they dealt with cases of bad sunburn during the summer months. After a newspaper article extolled the benefits of large doses of Vitamin A to enable suntan without sunburn, white people started appearing at the clinic suffering from Vitamin A overdoses.
My father decided to study the effects of sunlight on the skin. The beginning of his doctoral thesis on ‘Sunlight Photosensitivity Testing’ states, “Artificial light sources had thus far been used in these studies, and since the effects of sunlight might be due to the synergistic or additive effects of the different wavelengths (Runge and Watson 1962) Magnus (1960) suggested that ‘the sun should be the light source of choice.’”
He arranged for a technician to construct boards to fit on a patient’s back on which different colours of glass had been inserted into holes. The patient would happily sit and talk to the doctor, while wave lengths of sunlight penetrated through the glass. Photos were taken, comparisons were made and slowly a pattern emerged. As well as investigating the effect of sunlight on normal skin, the effect of sunlight on certain types of skin diseases, and the effect of specific drugs on the degree of sensitivity of the skin to sunlight were investigated.
In 1964 we all watched proudly as my father, in a red gown, went onto the stage to receive his doctoral degree.8 Later an international dermatology conference was held at Groote Schuur. After my father had read out the results of his research, a distinguished doctor from England, Dr. Magnus, began his talk with the words: “I am in the difficult position of giving precisely the same lecture as the one before. Our results tally precisely. However, what he did with pieces of glass I did with a Rolls Royce.”
Dr Magnus had made use of an expensive machine that was able to focus different wavelengths of light onto a patient. The fact that these experiments on actual sunlight and artificial sunlight were so perfectly matched was a “eureka moment” in dermatology. Now it was known precisely which rays caused tanning, and which were harmful. The fact that sunshine could be harmful was a new concept.
From there research followed. The result has saved lives. Today we have a mass of products with sun protection factors. School children in Australia wear sunhats as part of their uniform. The advertisements of sun tan lotions have totally changed in character. Advice is given to people living in hot climates on how to avoid being hurt by harmful rays from the sun.
The little news boy in Bloemfontein is the story of one life saved. The story of research into the effect of sunlight on the skin is the story of many lives saved. What of the confrontation with the Administrator and the issue of discriminatory pay? Who knows what the effect could have been if he had been allowed to proceed with his plan?
But this is only part of the story. Over the years, in England and now in Israel, I have met doctors who trained as students under my father. They have told me amazing stories about him, his diagnostic skills, his lectures, what they learned on his clinical rounds and how valuable they regarded the time spent with him. In many different places people have come up to me and said, “I just heard that you are Walter Gordon’s daughter. You know he saved my life when…..” and then a story would follow.
Oh, but why did I not write all this down then? My hope is that others will tell the story of the history of Jewish doctors in South Africa. I, however, want to tell the full story of my father, Professor Walter Gordon. Dr Sarina Drusinsky, a dermatologist in South Africa, will join with me in this project. We plan to write about the contribution of this one man, about his medical work, about Bloemfontein and Groote Schuur, and times and events long gone, but hopefully not forgotten.
- I thank Dr Zelda Isaacson and Dr Sarina Drusinsky for their advice and support and Gwynne Schrire for her assistance in editing this article. Readers who have any information they would like to share about Walter Gordon in Bloemfontein or Groote Schuur, please contact us at: gmwoolf1@gmail.com, sarinablechinger@gmail.com or charlesi@worldonline.co.za.
Glenda Woolf is a novelist and essayist whose articles and stories on Jewish themes have appeared in Jewish publications worldwide. Her novels, published under the name Gita Gordon, include: South African Journeys (2002), Flashback (2007), Mystery in the Amazon andScattered Blossoms (both 2008) and Guest House (2012).
NOTES
- Louis Herrman (A history of the Jews in South Africa, 1930, p91) incorrectly stated that “The earliest Jewish settler who actually professed and practiced the Jewish religion was Dr. Siegfried Fraenkel, who settled in the Cape in 1808”. In fact, he did not practice the Jewish religion – he was married out of the faith, baptised his children by his wife and mistress, and was not buried in the Jewish cemetery. He did attend services once a Jewish congregation was established until he fell out with them so badly that they did not even mention his death, although their records mentioned the deaths of all the other members. Furthermore he did not call himself a doctor as he had not completed his medical qualifications; however, he had worked as a ship’s surgeon and was recognised by Cape authorities as a doctor. Friedman-Spits, Clara, The Fraenkel Saga, South African Medical Association, Pinelands, 1998, p93.
- His parents were keen Zionists. His father started the Bnoth Zion Association whose life time president was his mother. Solly was enrolled as the only boy in the girls’ Hebrew nursery school established by the association.
- The son of the Rabbi of Woodstock, he also had a vast knowledge of the works of Maimonides.
- I would like to thank Dr Ashley Robins for his assistance in compiling this list.
- Julian Mirvish, in association with Gwynne Schrire, ‘Dr Louis Mirvish: Doctor, Philanthropist, Art Lover’, (Jewish Affairs, 2004, 59. 1)
- Van Heyningen, Elizabeth, The History of SHAWCO 1943-1975, SHAWCO. 1975. ed. Ralph Kirsch and Catherine Knox, (ed) UCT Medical School at 75, UCT Dept. of Medicine, 1987.
- Volksblad, Bloemfontein, 19-11-1953, XLIV no.41.
- Sunlight and Photosensitivity Testing, Dept. of Medicine UCT, Walter Gordon. 1964.
