A call for Hadacol

Today, We Honor The Overall Man Classic Bill Mead

Reprinted with permission

Not long ago I got to thinking about a patent medicine called Hadacol that I'm told has been off the market for a long time. I mentioned it to a friend and she said that when she was a young woman her middle-aged parents started taking Hadacol and soon presented her with a baby sister. Why would they quit selling something that magical?

As I remember, Hadacol was an invention of a master showman who called himself Judge LeBlanc and who hailed from Louisana. I first became aware of Hadacol shortly after World War II when it was touted by hired celebrities, among them the ebullient Mickey Rooney. Assuming that a lifetime supply of Hadacol was part of Mickey's compensation, it must have been good for what ails you because Mickey has survived with considerable aplomb an endless stream of not always happy marriages.

I'm not aware of any scientific evidence that Hadacol's ingredients would cure anything. That's not meant as an insult because it's true of dozens of patent medicines available over the counter today. Hadacol retains a particularly-warm spot in my heart because its merchandising philosophy was a throwback to the rollicking medince shows of the ninteenth century, which were little more than mobile saloons with vaudville acts.

It's no wonder the phony "doctors" dispensing 100 proof stuff from a wagon could guarantee that their wares would put roses on anyone's cheeks. If taken in sufficient quantity, their nostrums would also redden noses-often permanently.

Respectable druggists of a century ago weren't above selling 100-proof medications. One potion on their shelves, known as Lydia Pinkhams, was considered the ultimate treatment for so-called female problems. Although I'm told it's now free of any alcohol, the original recipe consisted mostly of booze. Upright Methodist ladies of the 19th century routinely spared themselves menstrual pains through the attitude-adjusting powers of Lydia Pinkham's. Druggists happily made home deliveries in bulk to customers who quickly forgot their symptoms along with their Christian names. Ladies who were unfortunate enough to have normal menstrual periods drank vast quantities of Lydia Pinkhams as a preventive.

I would be the last person to recommend alcohol as a universal picker-upper, so don't take this as a recommendation. On the other hand, problem drinkers make up less than ten percent of all those who consume alcohol. For the majority who are temperate tipplers, a modicum of corn squeezin's might be more effective than prescription stuff like Xanax, Prozac, Quaalude and the other zombie pills that some doctors hand out like popcorn.

As a way to streamline health care, has anybody thought of bringing back Hadacol? It might not be any better than the prescription stuff but it could make everybody feel better about their HMOs.

If you don't know Bill: Bill Mead was the longtime publisher of the Tehachapi News, along with Betty Mead, his wife and partner of more than 50 years. Known for his keen wit, which could be gentle or scathing or somewhere in between but was often self-deprecatory, Bill's writing won him a wide following among News readers. His column "The Overall Picture" ran in the News for more than 25 years, and in 1999 he published a collection of his columns in a volume entitled The Napa Valley Outhouse War. His book is currently available for sale at the Tehachapi Museum for $10.

Bill had a remarkable mind and because of his intelligence, humor and appearance he was regarded by many as Tehachapi's Mark Twain. As Betty used to remind him, he was "older than the oldest Model A Ford" and his wealth of life experiences and rural upbringing allowed him to bring a thoroughly American, 20th century perspective to his reflections and musings on the everyday. Bill passed away in 2008 but his writing lives on.

[Publisher's note: I read Bill's articles during the 80s and 90s and 20s and I am grateful to share them now with our current readers. I hope you enjoy this touch of nostalgia as much as I do.]