While browsing newspapers of long ago, I came across a reference to Dr. Stephen A. Douglass, who was a prominent tuberculosis specialist in the United States in the first half of the 20th century.
The author of numerous important papers on the subject, he was also a noted administrator in charge of various facilities across the country. It was in the Ohio State Sanatorium in Mount Vernon where he got his start, first as a lung disease doctor, and then as an administrator.
The facility opened in 1909 after Mount Vernon was chosen out of a field of over 100 contenders. Designed by architect Frank L. Packard, the complex divided up living quarters into cottages, seeking to give the place a less institutional feel than some of the massive buildings of the 19th century, such as the castle-like Ohio State Reformatory in Mansfield.
The sanitarium featured a central building for gatherings and special events, while patients lived in the cottages. All of the residential buildings were equipped with sleeping porches, which in those pre-antibiotics days were the best defense against the advancement of tuberculosis, which thrived in stagnant air. Thus, no matter the temperatures, patients would be found sleeping on these open-air porches year-round.
The unusual spelling of Stephen Douglass’ last name grabbed my attention at first because it’s fairly rare. Longtime readers of this column, or of my historical true crime books, may recognize that spelling just like I did, because it is also seen in the surname of Richland County prosecutor Augustus Douglass, better known as Gus, who figures prominently in two of my books (“The Ceely Rose Murders at Malabar Farm” and “The Witch of Mansfield.”)
Gus Douglass was the prosecutor saddled with the unenviable task of trying to obtain a conviction against the insane Ceely Rose for premeditated murder in the cases where she attacked family and community members in 1896. Failing in that mission, Gus found himself defeated when he sought re-election.
But he remained prominent in Mansfield society, where he was notably one of the few close friends of the notorious eccentric Phebe Wise, being one of the few who saw past her strangeness to the genius of her frank insights.
And well that spelling may have caught my attention, for it turns out that Stephen was Gus’ nephew, one of many members of this prominent family. In fact, he was apparently named after him, for Stephen’s middle name was ‘Augustus.’ Stephen’s father Silas (Gus’ brother) was a justice on the Ohio Court of Appeals, and Silas and Gus’ father, John Douglass, served as both Richland County auditor and treasurer before becoming an early casualty of a new technology:
He was struck by an automobile while crossing the street, which killed him at the age of 72.
Stephen went to medical school in Columbus at Starling Medical College, which we’ve also mentioned previously in these pages. He was employed as a doctor at the tuberculosis sanitarium in Mount Vernon, but when the director left, he became interim director.
He performed this job so well, he was promoted to an official leadership role. He spent a decade in charge of the facility before returning to college to get degrees in administration, fter which he continued to work as an administrator at facilities in Indiana in New York.
Outside of work hours, he pursued an interest in birdwatching. He retired to Florida, where he passed away in 1950. He is buried in Mansfield Cemetery.
As for that surname, whether Douglass or the more common Douglas, it is a name that comes from Scotland, where it originally meant “dark water.” That turns out to be appropriate in connection with the sanitarium, for the spring on its property was once operated as a health spa in the early to mid-1800s, also detailed in a previous column. With a name like that, it seems destined that Douglass would have crossed paths with the place.
