The time was coming, however, when it would be “Sink or Swim” for me, since it would not be many years until a sense of duty, if nothing else, would send me out to make my own way.  This time comes to all boys.  It was soon to be my task to face the world—­to make a living for myself.  And this was a thing which, strangely enough for a boy of my age, I began to think about.  I had some experience in meeting people and in trying to transact some of the minor business connected with our farm and I found out that I had no chance along that line as long as I stammered.

And yet it seemed as if I was to be compelled to continue to stammer the rest of my life, for my condition was getting worse every day.  This was very clear to me—­and very plain to my parents.  They were anxious to do something for me and do it quickly, so they called in a skilled physician.  They told him about my trouble.  He gave me a cursory examination and decided that my stuttering was caused by nervousness, and gave me some very distasteful medicine, which I was compelled to take three times a day.  This medicine did me no good.  I took it for five years, but there was no progress made toward curing my stuttering.  The reason was simple.  Stuttering cannot be cured by bitter medicine.  The physician was using the wrong method.  He was treating the effect and not the cause.  He was of the opinion that it was the nervousness that caused my stuttering, whereas the fact of the matter was, it was my stuttering that caused the nervousness.

I do not blame this physician in the least because of his failure, for he was not an expert on the subject of speech defects.  While he was a medical man of known ability, he had not made a study of speech disorders and knew practically nothing about either the cause or cure of stammering or stuttering.  Even today, prominent medical men will tell you that their profession has given little or no attention to defects of speech and take little interest in such cases.

Some time later, after the physician had failed to benefit me, a traveling medicine man came to our community, set up his tent, and stayed for a week.  Of course, like all traveling medicine men, his remedies were cure-alls.  One night in making his talk before the crowd, he mentioned the fact that his wonderful concoction, taken with the pamphlet that he would furnish, both for the sum of one dollar, would cure stammering.  I didn’t have the dollar, so I did not buy.  But the next day I went back, and I took the dollar along.  He got my dollar, and I still have the book.  Of course, I received no benefit whatever.  I later came to the conclusion that the medicine man had been in the neighborhood long enough to have pointed out to him “Ben Bogue’s boy who stutters” (as I was known) and had decided that when I was in his audience a hint or two on the virtues of his wonderful remedy in cases of stammering, would be sufficient to extract a dollar from me for a tryout.