Honor Makes Gray Hairs

By Steven E. Murdock

US Navy Lieutenant John Rush, firstborn son of American founder Dr. Benjamin Rush, shot and killed his best friend in a duel October 1, 1807. The lieutenant was later admitted to the lunatic ward of Pennsylvania Hospital on February 10, 1810, with a diagnosis of insanity. Dr. Rush later became known as the father of American psychiatry. Later serving as his son's attending physician, the doctor eventually would label the diagnosis as a melancholy derangement, a diagnosis which would probably be recognized in today's psychological taxonomy as schizoaffective disorder bipolar type.

Whatever John Rush's diagnosis, his story is one that provides invaluable insight to the evolution of mental health care in America. A closer look into the case study of John Rush affords the reader a better appreciation of the evolution of parenting and a more intimate understanding of the everyday life of one of America's most consequential founding fathers.

Honor Makes Gray Hairs is essentially a biographical novel chronologically designed to depict the life and times of John Rush who represents the succeeding generation of the founders of the United States. The reader in mind for this work would be anyone interested in American history, psychology, family dynamics, parenting, and the etiology of mental health disorders.

The work should be especially interesting for those who live with family members or other loved ones who struggle with what is still referred to as severe and persistent mental illness (SPMI). Most of the stories included in the novel actually happened in the life of John Rush, and those that did not could easily have happened to one degree or another, based on an understanding of the times and personalities involved.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Covenant Books, Inc.
• Release date: Jun 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9798886446777

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Introduction

Prologue

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

Epilogue

About the Author

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Honor Makes Gray Hairs

Steven E. Murdock

ISBN 979-8-88644-676-0 (Paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88644-677-7 (Digital)

Copyright © 2023 Steven E. Murdock

All rights reserved

First Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Covenant Books

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Murrells Inlet, SC 29576

www.covenantbooks.com

Introduction

Inevitably parents of school-aged children will get that dreaded call: Mr. Jones, can you please come to the school as soon as possible? There's been an accident, and Timmy may need to go to the doctor. This type of call is not out of the ordinary. It happens to parents every day. There's nothing extraordinary about it at all.

But what about when this ordinary type of call happens to people in extraordinary roles, such as heart surgeons, members of congress, the president? How do they handle it? Most likely they have designated individuals (family, close friends, trustworthy assistants) who take care of such situations. But as soon as feasible, the child's responsibility falls back on the parent, no matter how important their position, right? So how do people in extraordinary roles handle ordinary family needs, such as their everyday health and well-being?

Answer? The best they can, just like everybody else.

The interesting thing is that parenting children with acute physical and mental health needs is something that has been done for centuries. When we think about the founding of the United States of America, we typically do not imagine the founding fathers as being real fathers, as in parents. News flash! Almost all of them were, and just like today's family, taking care of kids with less-than-stellar behavior was nothing foreign to the founding fathers either.

Ironically, the Father of our Country, George Washington, had no children of his own, so biologically, he was not actually a father. Nevertheless, the general assisted Mrs. Washington with the raising of the children of her previous marriage: John Parke, Martha Parke (Patsy), and Daniel and Frances Custis. In other words, even the childless Father of our Country fathered the fatherless.

It turns out that the vast majority of the rest of the founding fathers were fathers in the traditional sense of the word as well. What is also ironic is the fact that one of the founding fathers, who was also known as the Father of American Psychiatry, had a son who lived out more than half his life in what is known today as a psychiatric ward of a state hospital. In the early 1800s, the term most commonly used for such a department (definitely considered politically incorrect today) was the lunatic ward. This is the term used in this book in italics for the sole purpose of maintaining historical authenticity.

Dr. Benjamin Rush, one of the fifty-six signers of the American Declaration of Independence and pioneer in many academic fields such as education, medicine, politics, and philosophy, oftentimes got a call about his firstborn son's maladaptive behavior. John Rush, the spes gregis (hope of the flock), was the firstborn son of Benjamin Rush and was admitted to the lunatic ward of Pennsylvania Hospital in Philadelphia on February 10, 1810, with a diagnosis of insanity. Later his father would informally label the diagnosis more specifically as melancholy derangement, which would probably be diagnosed in today's taxonomy as schizoaffective disorder bipolar type. Then again, diagnosing across two centuries, half a continent, and in absentia is never a recommended pursuit. John Rush remained a mental health patient for twenty-seven years in Pennsylvania Hospital in Philadelphia, where he died on August 9, 1837.

Whatever John Rush's official diagnoses may or may not have been, his story is one that provides invaluable insight to the evolution of mental health care in America. This alone would warrant serious consideration of his story, but a closer look into the case study of John Rush affords the reader a better appreciation of the evolution of parenting and a more intimate understanding of the everyday life of one of America's most consequential founding fathers.

Honor Makes Gray Hairs is essentially a biographical novel chronologically designed to depict the life and times of John Rush who represents the succeeding generation of the founders of the United States. The reader in mind for this work would be anyone interested in American history, psychology, family dynamics, parenting, and the etiology of mental health disorders. The work should be especially interesting for those who live with family members or other loved ones who struggle with what is referred to as severe and persistent mental illness (SPMI).

Written primarily in today's English, the reader may encounter some words and phrases foreign to today's vernacular. These unfamiliar terms come directly from the eighteenth or nineteenth centuries. Most, if not all, are explained by the author. Also included are excerpts or entire historical letters to or from Benjamin Rush, John Adams, Abigail Adams, Thomas Jefferson, and others. The aim was to take a snippet of American history, place it in vocabulary of today (with few exceptions), and allow it to open a window to a better understanding of mental health, family, and American history.

I hope you enjoy reading the work as much as I genuinely enjoyed researching the subject and writing the novel. Most of the stories included in the novel actually happened in the life of John Rush, and those that did not could easily have happened to one degree or another, based on an understanding of the times and personalities involved.

Works accessed most extensively for background information are Rush by Stephen Fried and Benjamin Rush and His Insane Son by Erick T. Carlson and Jeffrey L. Wollock. Other very helpful sources were Benjamin Rush by David Barton; The Selected Writings of Benjamin Rush, edited by Dagobert D. Runes; Old Family Letters by Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, Benjamin Rush, and Alexander Biddle, published by Franklin Classics; and Letters of Benjamin Rush, Volume II, edited by Lyman Henry Butterfield.

This book was about two years in the making, mostly due to something called life that happily kept getting in the way. Special thanks go to my beautiful wife Digna Murdock; my children, Alex Murdock, Stephanie Murdock, Gabby Herrera, Amy Herrera, and Sally Herrera; as well as parents Gene and Laverne Murdock; sisters Tina Murdock and Jeanne Lawrence; and other family, friends, and coworkers who encouraged and supported me along this bountiful journey. Soli Deo gloria.

Prologue

1807

The scent of warm afternoon rain filled the air as a light mist rose hazily from the wooden planks of USS Gunboat No. 18. Anchored in Port New Orleans, her sails were lowered for docking, as the fixed masts swayed slowly in the gentle breeze. Atop the yardarm, a red, white, and blue flag with fifteen stars and fifteen stripes blew softly in the air, as the massive flowing waters of the Mississippi coursed lazily beneath the ship and steadily downriver. A few miles farther, it would pour its massive muddy currents into the vast expanse of the Gulf of Mexico.

Any other day of the week, the gunboat's main deck would have been a bustle with weary but excited young sailors, hurriedly chatting and enthusiastically disembarking down the gangplank, headed for the gay nightlife of Vieux Carré. This day was different: October 1, 1807. All that was heard on the ship on this day was the caw of the occasional seagull overhead that had found its way upriver from the gulf. The earth's elements themselves seemed to have calmed in eager anticipation of the perilous event about to take place. The rain had brought with it a slight cooling of the day, as the hushed crowd gathered on the gunboat's main deck.

The unmistakable peal of the bronze bells of St. Louis Cathedral about a mile away ominously reverberated downriver the count of one, two, three, four, five o'clock. The two brothers-in-arms now stood squared off for their appointed fateful hour on the floating field of honor. The crew stood to one side as two ship commanders stood ready to engage in mortal combat.

Gunboat No. 18 was commanded by Lieutenant John Rush, proud son of the renowned Dr. Benjamin Rush of Philadelphia. At this moment, titles and pedigree mattered little as the younger Rush was simply seen as the aggressor in the imminent duel by pistols. The challenger in the duel was Lieutenant Benjamin Turner, Rush's equal in rank, pedigree, and, by all indications, in temperament as well. Turner, Rush's junior in age only, was a third-generation American naval man, previously highly respected among the ranks, and a decorated officer for his brave performance during the second Battle of Tripoli in 1804. What the two officers held in common more than their similar curriculum vitae seemed to be an innate desire to please their peers and families. When the ability to save face and reputation became impeded, Turner became distraught and desperate, looking for any viable opportunity to redeem his reputation among the ranks.

Standing erect at a distance of twenty yards, the gentlemen followed the code duello to the letter. Turner's countenance was determined and resolute. Rush appeared regretful and uncertain. The two stood staring across the rain-covered deck, awaiting their chosen seconds to provide them their weapons of choice.

All seamen and officers, out of respect for the somber occasion, were in full-dress uniform, with utmost reverence for the practice of the code duello, the ubiquitous manual for duels, created in Ireland and revered universally. Breeches pressed, white vests cleaned and buttoned, and blue coats perfectly donned and straightened, the sailors stood solemnly in the at-ease position, wearing full insignia and best dress out of respect for their commanding officers.

The look in young Rush's dark eyes was one of anguish and dismay. He couldn't believe he was about to fire a pistol at his best friend. He recalled how it had been only a few weeks prior that he spent the evening trying to convince his mate not to go through with another duel in which Turner was the challenged. The night before the mortal encounter, he implored Turner to reconsider, that the bloody contest of honor and courage was totally unnecessary, not to mention a bad decision. He had begged his friend not to persist, and finally, Turner acquiesced and abided by Rush's impassioned persuasion and sense of morality.

Due to Turner's refusal of the previous challenge, he had become the laughing stock of the fleet. His peers and subordinates alike called him a coward, and most would no longer associate with him. Only a few loyal crewmen stayed by their commander's side.

The art of the duel was deeply ingrained in the naval culture and had become an entrenched, unwritten code of honor. For a naval officer, honor and respect among their troops were crucial. For Turner, coming from a family of strong maritime tradition, a naval career was one of honor and prestige, one he couldn't afford to lose. In order to be successful in the Navy, he had to regain the respect of his men. Any remotely reasonable challenge for a duel was an opportunity for Turner's redemption, a chance to reclaim respect among his crew. Any such opportunity that presented itself was one he was determined not to miss.

Any slight, any minor affront, any perceived insult was enough to convince Turner it was time to throw down the challenge. Societal norms and the code duello itself required that an officer never challenge a man of inferior rank, but an equal in social class and rank was a prime target. For days, Turner had been waiting and hoping for an opportunity to challenge any of his peers in order to show his bravery by throwing down his glove and challenging the alleged affront. Due to the model behavior of most ranking officers, it was difficult to accuse any of his peers of engaging in offense or character injury. The one he was around the most, however, Lieutenant John Rush, was bound to lose his tongue sooner or later. He knew Rush at times tended to have a long tongue and a short temper. It was only a matter of time until he could trap the predictably impulsive officer with his own words.

One day it finally happened. The night of September 30, at a card game onboard Gunboat No. 18, came Turner's opportunity. Late into the evening, most of the crew was back from a night on the town in Vieux Carré. Rush happened to be walking through the lower deck on his way to attend to a matter on the main deck. Passing through the galley area, he smelled the beer and tobacco before coming upon a friendly card game. One of the officers politely asked the commander if he would like to join. Being somewhat in a hurry, Rush impetuously countered with a relatively obscure quote from a Shakespeare play to which Turner, himself steeped in the writings of the bard of Avon, took issue.

To win is no easy match played for a crown, quipped Rush as he turned to make an exit.

One moment, Lieutenant Rush! yelled Turner, surprising his fellow sailors. Just what did you mean by that quote? Do you think you're a king?

Rush was caught off guard by Turner's comment and stopped in his tracks, obviously startled by the confrontation. Turning around, he made his way back to the card table. After a moment of tense silence, the sailing master attempted to defend his statement saying it was simply a line from Shakespeare's King John V. Turner was having none of it and accused Rush of insolence and condescension on those over whom he considered inferior. Words were exchanged, most being beneath the dignity and expectation of officers.

Rush had hoped to dismiss the seemingly trivial matter, but Turner had begun the spectacle. The Navy was the lieutenant's therapy, keeping his troubled mind focused and his temper out of trouble. Nevertheless, Navy culture required that no challenge go unanswered, so he stood his ground awaiting the next move from his troubled friend.

Before any more could be said, Turner stood up, hastily drew his glove from his belt, and threw it defiantly on the galley floor. The challenge was on. Turner promised that Rush would rue the day he hurled such an insult onto a fellow officer in front of his men. Rush looked at his friend and colleague as if he were mad and, without a further word, turned, and made his way up the stairs to his duty on the main deck. Turner looked around the table at his men and some of Rush's subordinates still sitting in amazement, with cards in hand. Slowly he sat back down and calmly called the hand. All he had were a pair of deuces and a king high, losing the hand and his bet. Throwing down the cards, his face was still red from the encounter with Rush. After a moment, Turner composed himself, excused himself from the game, and returned to his ship. Turner would spend the rest of the evening planning the challenge against Rush and meticulously cleaning his pistol.

*****

In the art of dueling, there were titles for participants and assistants. Each principle (dueler) had three selected men known as seconds. In Navy duels, seconds were traditionally those fellow shipmates, who as instructed by the code duello, stood by their comrade's side to assist with and give moral support to their brother-in-arms, come life or death. The weapon of choice was the US Navy standard issue .54 caliber smoothbore flintlock.

Now aboard Gunboat No. 18 that early October evening, the two officers stood squarely across from each other on the crowded deck. The seconds had marked off the officers' proper places and had readied their pistols.

About ten minutes before the appointed time, one of his seconds informed Lieutenant Rush that not only had Lieutenant Turner refused any sort of last-minute gentlemen's settlement of the matter, but he had informed his seconds and all within earshot that this duel would be to the death. Kill or be killed! insisted Turner, which had spoiled Rush's unannounced plan of firing his shot to miss his friend, thus fulfilling the obligation for the duel, and yet avoiding any unnecessary loss of life or limb. He knew his aim was truer than that of his friend's on most occasions.

The profound silence aboard the ship was haunting. No one aboard moved, and all eyes were on the two officers about to engage in a battle of personal honor. The two friends stood across the deck from each other, each holding their US Navy-issued flintlocks aimed at the other. Turner's words kill or be killed were resounding in Rush's mind as he pulled back the hammer and awaited the signal to shoot. It all seemed so otherworldly to the young lieutenant. At least three times in his life, he had been involved in the challenges of honor that result in the grisly custom of the duel between gentlemen, but none had come to fruition. The irony was not lost on the young lieutenant that the encounter he finally experienced on the field of personal honor was between himself and one of his best friends.

John knew what he must do, but the very thought of it turned his stomach. Going through Rush's mind were the challenges of yesteryear. The men he challenged in years past were his sworn enemies, at least in his estimation. At the time of the previous challenges, he was ready and happy to kill his opponent on the field of honor, even though it never came to that. This was in spite of his father's warnings and orations. Over and over the words of his father were now going through Rush's head: Dueling is nothing more than private murder! It is immoral and irrational and not the way true gentlemen settle their discords.

More than anything in life, he had always wanted to please his father, though he never knew for certain if that would ever be possible. He loved and respected the man more than anyone, and had as long as he could remember. Possibly more important than his love and respect for the man was the importance his father placed on primogeniture. Being the firstborn is not a trivial responsibility, John. You are next in line of accountability, right after your mother and me. If anything ever happens to me, you are the man of the family.

Benjamin Rush placed full value and high expectations on the firstborn, due partially to the fact that it was a tradition seen in ancient Hebrew culture, which he knew well from time spent with family in church, but more vividly from years of study at West Nottingham Academy in Maryland. Under the academy's direction of his uncle, the Reverend Samuel Finley, a young Benjamin Rush learned the Bible extensively, with close detail to biblical backgrounds, theology, and the original biblical languages, all before the age of thirteen. Reverend Finley taught and administrated West Nottingham with a firm hand and a soft heart, a trait that apparently took hold in the young soul of Benjamin Rush and had a profound effect in every aspect of his life, especially parenthood.

Dr. Rush had spent ample time with his family, especially his firstborn son. Always the doting father, he made sure he taught his son all the disciplines he found interesting or the abilities in which he excelled so that his firstborn would be sure to do well in life. He shared Bible verses, words of wisdom, stories of his time in the war, pithy sayings and earthly wisdom he had picked up from Benjamin Franklin, and especially how to defend himself and his family. While serving as General Washington's physician general of the military hospital of the Middle Department in the Revolution, Dr. Rush would also drill with the troops, and through those exercises, he learned from the best how to aim true so as never to miss his mark. Later as a father, elder Rush passed on this skill to his son. Aim true. Aim to kill, or you may not get another chance, were his father's words that ran through his mind just before the call to arms. He knew he must hold his pistol steady. He knew to aim true. He knew he must aim to kill.

His father's words rushed through John Rush's mind as he stood in his designated position, exactly twenty paces counted by two of the chosen seconds shortly before the duel. The spot was marked by an X someone had painted on deck, and now after years of threatening and challenging others to the gentleman's skirmish, John suddenly found himself the challenged instead of the challenger.

*****

Now in this moment of peril, standing next to him were his loyal and trustworthy seconds who had prepared his pistol and negotiations with their counterparts on the other end of the deck. They stood faithfully ready to tend to any less-than-fatal wounds that might result in the ensuing conflict. According to the long-standing tradition, this was the gentlemen's fight to defend their good names, honor, and dignity. Protocol would allow no less, especially among the ranks of the US Navy.

All the thoughts in John's mind came to a screaming halt as he heard the call for make ready. Now only one mantra dominated his thoughts, the resounding words of his opponent: Kill or be killed.

Ready! the second called out.

Kill or be killed.

Aim!

Kill or be killed.

Fire!

Kill!

John pulled his trigger. The explosion of gun powder echoed in his ears for what seemed like an eternity. Flames and smoke billowed from the dueling pistols as the two officers, gentlemen of good standing and stately families, came to brutal mortal combat in matter of seconds. John heard the grapeshot from Turner's pistol whirl by his ear as it miraculously missed its target. The shot from John's gun, however, flew a little lower than that of his opponent's, but in this case, it didn't miss. As his father had taught him, he aimed true.

I am a dead man! Turner cried as Rush dropped his pistol and ran across the deck, just in time to catch his friend in his arms.

Within seconds, Turner stopped breathing. With hope that his friend could still hear him, and with tears in his eyes, Rush called out, My dear friend! Why would you force me to do this? I did not wish to meet you today, and I shall mourn your death as that of a brother!

John gently laid down the corpse of his friend, fell to the deck, and wept bitterly in a moment that appeared to be frozen in time. No one made a move. No one said a word. The crew simply watched the boat commander grieve in agony. After a few minutes, John wiped his tears, regained his composure, and slowly raised himself up from the ship's wet deck planks. Silence was still strictly observed by the sailors.

Wiping away a tear, Rush held out his arms straight in front of him and requested he be handcuffed. Turning himself directly over to his second-in-command, the lieutenant relinquished to him full authority of the gunboat.

Take me to the brigantine, the lieutenant called out to his crew. For today I have killed my friend, and I have committed a private murder.

1

Nothing More than a Doctor

1786

Little Jacky Rush noticed how close the hospital beds were beside each other as he walked down the main aisle of the infirmary of Pennsylvania Hospital beside his busy father, Dr. Benjamin Rush. He also noticed the drab color of the walls, the extra high ceilings, the nurse's untidy station, and just about every other minor detail of the hospital.

Looking up at his father, he closely observed how the doctor made the rounds, stopping at each patient's bed and taking the time to cordially converse with each one. Rush would look at the chart, listen to the nurse describe the patient's progress, and then take a moment or two to listen to each one's complaints or questions.

Dressed in his finest Sunday clothes to look more like his father, John held his own commonplace book (notepad) and pencil to take notes as the father and son team visited each patient one by one. Nurses would look down at the nine-year-old and smile, as the young man maintained his stoic determination he had so often observed in his father when he was at work.

He looks a lot like his mother, one of the nurses blithely whispered to her coworker. The two young ladies smiled and admired the boy.

Yes, but look at that serious face, said the other after father and son passed by. All business, just like his father.

One by one, Dr. Rush would stop by the edge of the bed, shake the patient's hand, and ask how he or she was feeling. After listening at length, the good doctor would order the nurse the next course of treatment, be it an intestinal purge, bloodletting, cold compresses, a salt rub, or whatever the most effective method that eighteenth-century medicine would prescribe.

As the doctor would listen, diagnose, and prescribe, his young apprentice dutifully made notes of each patient in his commonplace book to save for later to consult with his mentor-father. At each visit, most patients would look down at the little boy and smile, or wonder at his aptitude for medicine and his serious dedication to the vocation for such a young age. Most of the patients in the women's ward would smile and remark about the fine-looking young lad with the serious face that resembled his father. Dr. Rush never seemed to grow tired of the adulation heaped upon his son as they walked together down the halls of Pennsylvania Hospital.

The boy's dark brown eyes matched those of his father and mother. The boy's countenance resembled that of his father with the broad forehead and