1 MARY ELIZABETH GARRETT Equity and Excellence
Mary Elizabeth Garrett might seem an unlikely figure to ignite a revolution that transformed the way American physicians are educated and, indeed, what sorts of people become medical doctors in this country. Garrett walked with a limp and was lonely as a child. She never attended college, despite her keen intellect, and she was almost completely absorbed in her fatherâs business affairs from the time she was a teenager. Yet, Garrett was an extraordinary figure, possessed of both the vision to conceive an entirely new future for the education of women and the tenaciousness to make that future a reality.
To understand Garrettâs seismic impact on the teaching of medicine in the United States, we need to go back to the late nineteenth century, before the 1893 opening of the Johns Hopkins School of Medicine. In those days, as we noted, medical schools were essentially for-profit trade schools. One pundit quoted in the famous Flexner Report, which looked at the state of US medical education, opined that medical schools were filled with young men âtoo stupid for the Barâ and âtoo immoral for the Pulpit.â1 When Harvardâs president Charles Eliot proposed in 1869 to hold written examinations for the degree of doctor of medicine, he was quickly rebuffed by members of the schoolâs faculty. The renowned professor of surgery Henry Bigelow declared, âHe [Eliot] knew nothing about the quality of Harvard medical students. More than half of them can barely write. Of course, they canât pass written examinations.â2
Bigelowâs objection to written exams tells us a great deal about medical education at the time. At least one hundred medical schools would accept anyone willing to pay. Fewer than 20 percent required a high school diploma.3 In 1870, a Harvard medical student could fail four of nine courses and still get a degree.4 Medical schools in those days often offered two-year programs, and the first yearâs curriculum was repeated in the second so that students who had failing grades after a year of study had another chance to earn a diploma. Even more alarming, most students could graduate without ever touching a patient, if only because it was the rare medical school that was affiliated with a university and rarer still one connected with a hospital. In 1893, only one medical school in the United Statesâthe brand-new Johns Hopkinsârequired students to have a college degree.5 Hopkins also required students to be fluent in French and German and, notably, to have a strong background in science, but such requirements were almost unprecedented.
When it opened, largely due to the foresight and generosity of Mary Elizabeth Garrett, the Johns Hopkins School of Medicine created an entirely new path in medical education. High admission standards ensured that the best and the brightest students enrolled. These students routinely visited the wards, so they could see and learn from and about patients. New scientific discoveries were one of the schoolâs primary goals, and these, in turn, were systematically applied to the treatment of patients. In short, Hopkins rather quickly became âa model of its kindâ in the training of physicians and the practice of scientific medicine across the nation and throughout the world.6 The full unfolding of these advances in science-based medicine still lay in the future at the end of the nineteenth century, but with this perspective on medical education at the time, we can turn our attention to Mary Elizabeth Garrett, the woman who made the Johns Hopkins School of Medicine possible and set it on its historic course.
A Lonely Childhood
Wealth and influence were Mary Elizabeth Garrettâs birthright. Yet, like many American success stories, the Garrett family saga had a humble beginning. Mary Elizabethâs paternal grandfather Robert Garrett was a poor immigrant from northern Ireland. In 1790, when Robert was seven, the family sailed to America aboard the brig Brothers. Robertâs father died on the lengthy voyage, and his remains were buried at sea. (Ships like these, jammed with emigrants, were rightly dubbed âcoffin ships.â)7 Despite this tragic start, Robert prospered in his adopted country. He made a fortune hauling goods in Conestoga wagons over the National Road, the first federal highway, which linked the Potomac and Ohio Rivers. The transition from wagons to railroads was swift. By 1858, Mary Elizabeth Garrettâs father, John Work Garrett, had been named president of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, the nationâs first commercial railroad. Through relentless hard work and keen entrepreneurial ability, he soon became the most powerful man in Maryland.8
Mary Elizabeth Garrett was born in 1854. If privilege was part of her inheritance, good fortune was not. As she later described it, âwhen I was about eight months old, a very serious trouble with the bone of the right ankle developed.â9 For some years, Garrett wore a brace, first made of iron and later of whalebone. The brace made her feel unattractive, and she became shy. She wrote, âI was heavy and the lameness made me less active than ordinary children and also more solitaryâ10 (figure 1.1).
FIGURE 1.1. Mary Elizabeth Garrett as a young girl, circa 1865. (Photo by J. H. Dampf & Company, Baltimore.)
Garrett had a private education, studying mainly at Miss Kummerâs School for Girls on Baltimoreâs desirable Mount Vernon Place and with private tutors when she traveled abroad with her family. She was an intelligent young woman, but as was typical in the nineteenth century, she was thwarted in her desire for a higher education. Maryâs two brothers were sent to Princeton, but she was prevented from going to college. âI begged my father that I should be allowed to go to college.â11 He was adamant in his refusal. When Johns Hopkins University opened its doors in 1876, Garrett again tried to pursue a higher education, but the schoolâs president, Daniel Coit Gilman, declined to admit her, allegedly on grounds of caution. Gilman had made up his mind that young women should ânot be exposed to the rougher influences which I am sorry to confess are still to be found in colleges and universities where young men resort.â12
The Friday Night
Garrett joined forces with a group of friends, several of whom were similarly thwarted in their aspirations for an equal education. They were the daughters of prominent Baltimore leaders. All but one of their fathers were trustees of the newly founded Johns Hopkins University. M. Carey Thomas, Mamie Gwinn, Bessie King, Julia Rogers, and Mary Elizabeth Garrett met on the second Friday of each month for serious conversations. They called the group âthe Friday Night,â or âthe Friday Eveningâ (figure 1.2). Their focus, Garrettâs biographer Kathleen Waters Sander writes, was on the âwoman question.â13 Could women succeed and contribute to society at the same level as men? According to one Thomas scholar, âThe Friday Evening gave [the group] a context in which to think out some of the dilemmas of choice⊠an occasion for these talented women, in their early twenties and living with their families, to meet and talk seriously about life, religion, vocation, and, not incidentally, marriage.â14 Thomas and Garrett would develop their own solution to the marriage dilemma, but not before Thomas had declared, âit is difficult to conceive [of] a woman who really feels her separate life work to give it all up when she marries a man.â15
FIGURE 1.2. The Friday Night with Garrett in the center. The others are (clockwise from the upper right) Elizabeth King, Julia Rogers, M. Carey Thomas, and Mamie Gwinn.
Mary Elizabeth Garrettâs brothers, Harry and Robert, were given powerful positions in the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, but they would ultimately fail to live up to their fatherâs expectations for carrying on his legacy.16 Mary was relegated, as she put it, to being âPapaâs secretary.â17 She often traveled with her father on railroad matters. Though she never attended college, Garrett readily absorbed the details of the family business and learned a great deal about the railway as her father met with his colleagues and contacts, including giants in American business like Andrew Carnegie, J. P. Morgan, and Cornelius Vanderbilt.18 In his later years, John Garrett may have come to regret his decision to deny his daughter a college education and a career. He was known to have remarked to a close friend, âI have often wished in these last few years that Mary was a boy. I know she could carry on my work, after I am gone.â19
Equally important were the lessons Garrett learned from her father about how to use great wealth and influence to shape the course of events. She would later draw liberally on these lessons to advance her goals.20 As her fatherâs health failed, Garrett took over more of his affairs. John Garrett died in 1884. At the age of thirty, Mary Elizabeth Garrett inherited one of the largest fortunes of the day. Though he had not made it known to his daughter before his death, John Garrett had bequeathed Mary one-third of his fortune, which included $2 million and three lavish estates.21
Garrettâs use of her huge inheritance was remarkable in its scope and impact. From the start, she set out to right the wrongs of unequal access and unfair treatment that society had imposed on women. Her gender had denied her a college degree. Step by step, she built a path for womenâs education. In one of her first philanthropic acts, Garrett helped to fund the establishment of the Bryn Mawr School for Girls, an institution in Baltimore founded by the women of the Friday Night, whose purpose was to prepare girls for the rigors of a postsecondary curriculum. She wrote that âthe prescribed course will be so arranged as to include the highest requirements for entrance made by any college.â22 Bryn Mawr was, in the words of the former headmistress who spoke at the schoolâs seventy-fifth anniversary celebration, âthe only School for girls in those days from the Atlantic to the Pacific where every girl had to take the college preparatory course and every graduate had to pass the college entrance examinations.â23
Garrett and the other women of the Friday Night fought long and hard to create a school to prepare girls for a college education. With only rare exceptions, the men who controlled the levers of power and decision-making in Garrettâs day simply saw no purpose for such an institution. As we noted, Daniel Gilman had been named the first president of Johns Hopkins University a decade earlier. Garrett wrote t...