Doctor Sews Up Gash In Heart

Printed Jan. 1908

Negro Injured During Brawl, Subject of Remarkable Operation

New York. — A few days ago the remarkable feat of sewing up a cut in a man's heart was successfully performed by two surgeons, Drs. Blake and Dwight, at Roosevelt hospital. The patient, William Johnson, a negro about 35 years old, is still in the hospital, ill with pneumonia, but, so far as his heart is concerned, he is all right. It has healed completely.

Johnson was stabbed in the course of a saloon row with a long thin knife, which severed the fourth rib two inches to the left of the mid line, and entered the heart. He left the scene of the stabbing without telling anyone of it, and strolled about the streets for three quarters of an hour. The wound appeared to be a slight one, and, as it was not bleeding, externally at least, Johnson did not worry about it.

By and by, however, he began to feel drowsy, and sat down on the curb and put his head in his hands. Here an acquaintance found him, drew from him the fact that he had been stabbed, and telephoned for an ambulance, which carried him to Roosevelt hospital.

Dr. Dwight, the house surgeon, diagnosed the case, and at once telephoned Dr. Joseph A. Blake. Within an hour and a half after the stabbing Johnson was on the operating table. Dr. Blake performed the operation with Dr. Dwight assisting.

First the surgeons made an incision along the upper border of the third rib, cutting from the sternum outward to the nipple line, thence down to the lower border of the fifth rib, thence inward to the sternum again, along the lower border of that rib.

This cut was deepened to the ribs, and then the third and fifth ribs were severed at the nipple line, the fourth having been cut through by the weapon that caused the wound. The operation to this point had resulted in the cutting of a sort of a trap door, which was easily raised, and turned back over the sternum with the costal cartilage as a hinge.

When the trap door was lifted and the pleura exposed, the left lung collapsed, and a pint of blood was found in the pleural cavity. It was found that the lung itself was not injured, but a small wound was discovered in the pericardium, or shell which incases the heart, from which the blood was running. The pericardium was then opened, and the heart itself exposed. This exposure of the heart showed the exact nature of the wound.

In the right ventricle, close to the anterior coronary artery, there was a wound in the heart about one half an inch in length, from which, at every contraction or beat of the heart, a little stream of blood spurted to a height of four inches. Examination showed that the wound extended to the central cavity of the heart.

The heart was grasped in the hand to steady it, just as one would clasp a fluttering bird in order to examine a wound. Four stitches with silk thread were then taken in the heart, it being necessary to sew entirely through the wall of the heart for that purpose. The wound was then drawn together and the flow of blood entirely checked.

Since that time, over a week ago, there has been no further bleeding from the wound in the heart, which is apparently entirely healed. Nor has there been any sign of blood poisoning. On the morning after the operation, however, the patient had a high temperature, and signs of pneumonia appeared in the lower lungs.

Traces of this pneumonia still persist, and it is this, and not the condition of the man's heart, that is causing the attending surgeons anxiety. The difficult and rarely attempted operation of sewing up the heart has apparently been performed with complete success.

Asleep on Card Table, Man Has Coughing Fit, Dies

Iowa, 1901

DIES ON A CARD TABLE

WILLIAM HANNAH'S DEMISE IN DELMONICO CLUB ROOMS

So Sudden Was His Passing That Those In the Room With Him Knew Nothing of It Until the Man Was In His Death Struggles — Leaves the Text of a Sermon Written In His Note Book

Several men were gathered in the club room over the Delmonico early yesterday morning. One was lying asleep on the table. Several others had just been out for a lunch, and on returning to the room one of them had brought in with him a very large Newfoundland dog, the big shaggy animal making himself at home near the stove. Suddenly a loud coughing or choking was heard, and Osborn Reynolds cried "Put that dog out. This room is too warm for him."

"It's not the dog; it's 'Ditch,' answered one of the men.

"Wake him up, boys," and two or three of them hurried over to the table to do so.

"My God! He's dead," they cried and the limp form was allowed to fall back. The face was of chalky whiteness, and it was not necessary to call a physician to learn that life had fled, though, of course, a physician was speedily, but uselessly called.

Thus, lying on a card table in a saloon club room, William Hannah died. Not the slightest warning had he; probably not a moment of conscious suffering. His heart had filled up with blood and then refused to work. It was all so sudden that the men about the corpse could hardly realize what had happened.

There was considerable difficulty yesterday in identifying the dead man. He was known to several people but only as "Ditch," this peculiar nickname coming from the fact that he worked at laying tile when he worked at all. The remains were taken to the Boies' undertaking parlors and during the forenoon Coroner Fred Lambach conducted an autopsy. In the afternoon the coroner's inquest was held and a verdict was rendered that William Hannah came to his death by cardiac paralysis. The coroner's jury consisted of M. J. Scandrett, William Schwarnweber, and O. K. Wilson.

A Dead Man's Sermon

"There's no fool like an old fool," wrote Hannah in his note book not long ago, and the quotation is the text of a sermon that the dead man is preaching to his fellow creatures. The rest of his sermon is found in the story of his life. It developed at the inquest that not many months ago William Hannah had come into the possession of some money, inherited from an eastern relative. He came to Davenport and spent most of his time about a card table. At first he was successful. He did not play heavily, but he won, and he grew to love the game. Men who knew him say it was a study to watch the face of "Ditch" when he was handling the pasteboards. It often made them forget their own game. But there came a time when "Ditch" didn't win. Every bit of his money was gone. He had been known to the police for the past two weeks as "broke," and when Dr. Lambach examined his stomach at the autopsy yesterday morning it was learned that no food had been eaten in the last 24 hours. It was probably during this period that the text was written in the note book.

System Much Deranged

Though to outward appearance Hannah was a healthy man, the autopsy showed that his system was very much disordered. His stomach was what is known as a "whisky stomach," though there was no testimony to show that he was a hard drinker. His kidneys were in bad shape. His right lung had grown to his side as the result of an attack of pluerisy. His liver gave evidence of a disease from which few men recover, and all tended to weaken his heart.

At the inquest testimony was taken from Captain Fred Hitchcock, Michael Rourke, P. Phelan. Ed Neils, W. H. Costello, John Cahil, Dr. Porter, who was called at the time of Hannah's death, and Os Reynolds, the proprietor of the place where the man died. From the testimony it was learned that Hannah had been in Gallagher's place in the early evening, that he had gone to the Delmonico about 12 o'clock, and had fallen asleep upon the card table, a habit that he had been more or less regular in of late. No one took any particular notice of him until the fatal coughing fit attracted them.

Hannah had previously lived at Williamsburg, Ia., where it is understood he has a sister. He carried photographs of two men, one young and the other old. He had told some of his acquaintances that they were his brother and father, and lived in California. The dead man was about 35 years of age.

—Davenport Daily Republican, Davenport, Iowa, Feb. 17, 1901, p. 7.

Man Falls Dead By His Mother's Coffin

New York, 1899

Fifth Member of the Family to Die Within Three Months

By the side of his mother's coffin John F. Murphy, a retired fireman, apparently in full health and strength, fell dead, says the New York Times.

The mother, Mrs. Mary Ann Murphy, died on Wednesday afternoon, after an illness of only two days, at her home, 219 Harrison street, Brooklyn. She was the fourth member of the family to die within three months, and the sudden death of her son brings the number up to five.

John F. Murphy was 37 years old. He had been a fireman for thirteen years, and was retired on half-pay a short time ago. His home was at 521 1st avenue, Manhattan. He went to Brooklyn on Friday night to attend his mother's wake, and sat up with the body all night.

At 1 o'clock the next afternoon, when the body was about to be taken to Calvary cemetery, Murphy and a few friends were sitting in the room with the coffin. Murphy was talking. Suddenly he hesitated in his speech and clapped his hands to his heart. "Boys," he gasped, "I'm sick!" He attempted to rise from his chair and fell unconscious. His friends thought at first that he was joking, and then, becoming alarmed, sent for an ambulance.

Surgeon Smith of the Long Island college hospital responded and Dr. Walter Kean, of Clinton and Congress streets, was also sent for. The two physicians pronounced him dead and ascribed heart disease as the cause.

—The Lima News, Lima, Ohio, Feb. 11, 1899, p. 3.