A PAIR OF HANDS

Evening Post, Volume CXV, Issue 70, 24 March 1933, Page 6

A PAIR OF HANDS

FOOT SPECIALIST

NOT A " MIRACLE MAN "

(From "The Post's" representative.) VANCOUVER, February 16.

In the village of Williamsburg, Ontario, Dr. M. W. Locke, a native of the village, attends 500 patients a day, who visit him from various parts of Canada and the United States. His specialty is foot complaints—flat feet, fallen arches, and so forth. His fee is one dollar.

Dr. Locke has been the subject of so many: gullible ■►'articles in' American newspapers and magazines that the American Medical Association, in an "official" investigation, made admittedly without having seen Dr. JJocke or his work, refers to him as. '!the latest addition to the miracle men."'■-,'■

When the report was brought to his notice, Dr.-Locke made the first public pronouncement of his career. "I am a graduate," he said, "of Queen's University, a member of the Ontario Medical Association, in good standing, a licentiate of the Eoyal College - of Physicians and Surgeons, Edinburgh, and Glasgow. Ido not claim 'special technique. _ I use the system, taught in the medical schools. For twenty years I have devoted all my time to it, because Nature equipped me with a powerful pair of hands, that should give me facility in this work. A good many human ills spring from incorrect structure of. the"feet. ' There is no miracle about it. , Otherwise I would not have to work,'in the busy season, from seven in the morning till late at night." . . CLINGS TO THE COUNTRY. Dr. Locke does not choose to set himself up in one of the big cities. "I was brought up on a farm, and I like it," h^ said. "I dotft like the city. When I first started practice, success was not apparent, so I bought a farm. I'm still a farmer at heart. I raise Holstein cattle. " I have 30,000 pine trees growing. Why should Igo to the city? What city would let me gather three thousand people on one street? I am staying here because my home and my farm are here."

In the centre of that crowd, a sturdy, thick-set man, in shirt sleeves and rough tweed suit, goes from one patient to another, his eyes on those Of his patient as his .'powerful hands do their work. His is no gracious bedside manner. He is just a solid, undemonstrative, qniet man, going about his appointed task, and, when it is finished, slipping away quietly to sit in the kitchen of his home, that is no more pretentious than a score of other homes in the village of Williamsburg.