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MIRACLE MAX: JFK's Nutrition Physican


MIRACLE MAX
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Here, published for the first time, is the real story of "Camelot’s" Merlin, Dr. Max Jacobson, personal physician to President Kennedy, Jacqueline Kennedy and “a Who’s Who of the Twentieth Century.” Written by a former patient with exclusive access to the doctor’s files, this book delivers information previously unknown and exposes forty-five years of misrepresentation in the media plus those responsible for the lies. Following his escape from Berlin the night before the Nazis were going to arrest him to his rise to become the most sought after general practitioner in New York with a celebrity-studded list of patients and a hand in their greatest performances including the rescue of President Kennedy, Dr. Max Jacobson’s life is the stuff of legend. Finally, the real story of this humanitarian genius will be known. Those interested in learning about the development of vitamin-based therapies from one of its earliest proponents will be fascinated by his research and discoveries along with the history in the memoirs and testimonials from patients. This material offers vindication of the doctor’s judgment as well as those of his patients, famous or otherwise, for choosing him as their beloved physician. As the doctor liked to say, medicine made more progress during his lifetime than it had in the previous five hundred years. Herein lies his amazing journey and the stories of the lives he touched.


Scroll down this page for links to archived original documents.


MIRACLE MAX

by David Jeand'Heur with Andrew W. Saul


CHAPTER I. THE PRESIDENT’S (AND MY) FAMILY PHYSICIAN

I visited Max at his bedside in his apartment on December 15, 1979, two days before the end. Kidney failure. He knew how little time he had left. His eyes reminded me of Picasso’s self-portraits painted just before the artist’s passing. Max’s funeral took place at Park West Chapels, 115 West 79th Street at Columbus Ave., on December 22nd. The rabbi had not known Max and made a lame eulogy about not everyone approving of everything he did. It was attended by less than a hundred mourners, family members and loyal patients. Of the forty-four guests who signed the registry, myself included, the only name of renown was Claude Pepper.

Scientists ahead of their time often pay a high price. As the years went by, I had to admit with candor that my expectation to read about the real Dr. Max Jacobson had been pierced by doubt and ebbed to naught. Early book projects were abandoned, his dictated memoirs unfinished, and in their place, a misinformed media.

Many years later, I reminisced with a former patient and friend of Max’s, George Zournas. He remarked, “When I think of the doctor the first thing I’m reminded of is, my God, all those performances!”

I knew what he meant. President John F. Kennedy’s debates, speeches and press conferences; Van Cliburn at the Tchaikovsky Competition; Leontyne Price in Aida, Metropolitan Opera; Cicely Tyson, “The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman;” Paul Robeson, “Showboat;” Zero Mostel, “A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum;” Mabel Mercer, Town Hall; plays by Tennessee Williams, lyrics by Alan Jay Lerner, The Diaries of Anäis Nin. On and on.

Max’s celebrity patients included musicians Kurt Baum, The Everly Brothers, Maynard Ferguson, Eddie Fisher, Johnny Mathis, The McGuire Sisters, Pat Suzuki, Andy Williams; actors Eddie Albert, Carroll Baker, Roscoe Lee Browne, Yul Brynner, Bob Cummings, Marlene Dietrich, Tony Franciosa, Arlene Francis, Martin Gabel, Hermione Gingold, Ronny Graham, Hedy Lamarr, Peter Lorre, Burgess Meredith, Rita Moreno, Lee Marvin, Roddy McDowall, Patrick O’Neal, Anthony Quinn, Lee Remick, Chita Rivera, Edward G. Robinson, Elizabeth Taylor, Franchot Tone; directors Cecil B. DeMille, Billy Wilder, Franco Zeffirelli; the artist Salvador Dali, dancers Katherine Dunham, Maya Deren, producers Arnold Saint Subber, Leonard Sillman; writers Truman Capote, Henry Miller and Tennessee Williams; politicians Winston Churchill (not personally, Lord Moran requested medication), UN Secretary General Henrik De Kauffmann, Ambassador Eusebio Morales and Senator Claude Pepper. Without knowing it, Kennedy wasn’t the first president Max treated. Former Democratic Party Treasurer Nathan Lichtblau informed Max during Kennedy’s birthday party at the Waldorf that he used to share his bottle of vitamin drops with Harry.

Max dictated his memoirs during the Seventies intended for publication when interest was high. From the time he was a teenage physician’s assistant in Berlin, he strove to learn and discover as much about medicine as he could in order to become a very good doctor.

Due to the articles in The New York Times, speculation that Dr. Jacobson abused amphetamines and addicted his celebrity patients, possibly including Jack and Jackie Kennedy, circulated through the media and tainted the Kennedy biographies.

Max’s injections were customized for each patient as he saw fit consisting of vitamins, amino acids, select hormones as needed, and live cell therapy enzymes from a process Max invented decades before the rest of the medical profession would catch up to what is now a multi-billion dollar industry. Back when Max was ahead of the game, although generous with his formulae to other doctors, live cell therapy was only available from a few physicians like Dr. Jacobson and Dr. Paul Niehans, its accidental discoverer, who founded his clinic, La Prairie, in Montreux, Switzerland, which also attracted many celebrities, including a Pope. Dr. Jacobson’s method of extracting enzymes from red cells, tissue, brain and bone marrow was more sophisticated and safer than those at La Prairie. The advantages of injected vitamins and these invigorating, restorative medicines, especially for geriatric patients, are often overlooked in place of expensive alternative pharmaceuticals and surgery. Many pharmaceuticals are barbiturate-based and dangerously addictive. When designer drugs appear in television commercials, they have to list so many contraindications it is hard to remember what they are supposed to cure.

In addition to uncovering the real story behind the lies, I wished to learn more about the medications his patients, myself included, accepted on faith. I knew Max better than my own grandfather and could not imagine a more scientific, honest and dedicated physician but he rarely had time for an explanation for a patient that most doctors could not fathom. Dr. Jacobson’s persecution was not patient-driven. He had zero malpractice complaints when the New York Times began its investigation. That this beloved doctor was subjected to a smear campaign in the first place appalled his patients who owed him their lives. The Kennedy secrets helped make him a target of speculation and the family would keep hidden the severity of President Kennedy’s illnesses until 2002. That was the first cover-up. The number of celebrities who flocked to Max also made him a target as did turning Nixon down.

My father was a young minister at his first church in Oceanside, Long Island, when he met Max. One of his parishioners, Archie Bleyer, arranged his first appointment. Archie, a bandleader and arranger, had been the conductor of the Arthur Godfrey radio show and owned a record company, Cadence. His wife, Janet, was one of the Chordettes with hit songs like “Mr. Sandman.”

Archie also discovered Andy Williams and the Everly Brothers. Their daughter, Jackie, married Phil Everly. Archie’s biggest hit on the Cadence label was Vaughn Meader’s, “The First Family.” The major record companies had turned the comedy ensemble down but Archie thought they might have a chance. It became the fastest selling LP in history up to that time. Archie made so much so quickly that Cadence shot up to the highest tax bracket, he said around ninety-five cents on the dollar, and he wound up selling the company to Andy Williams.

One morning while greeting Dad after the church service, Archie noticed his discomfort and asked what was wrong. Al mentioned a constant ringing in his ear — tinnitus — that the doctors he had seen were unable to treat successfully. Robert Schumann had suffered from the same malady — especially bad for a composer. Shortly thereafter, Dad headed into Manhattan for his first appointment with Max.

My father realized he was in the presence of a special personality of great insight and ability. Max treated him successfully. Like Max's other patients, for the long-suffering to experience a sudden return to normalcy often met with near disbelief. Why hadn't the other doctors known about this? Here was a G.P. who knew more than the specialists. What did you give me, they would demand to know? Max would shrug and bolt for the next patient. Better one take their medicine and pay attention to his advice.

One reason Max inspired such devotion is that so many patients had a similar experience as my Dad. Max was rarely the first doctor they had seen. For twenty years in the course of encountering many of his patients, I heard variations on the same theme over and again. "I had been everywhere. None of the doctors could help. Then I found Max."

I only rarely had cause for treatment while growing up. However, my father battled depression and Max’s office would mail vials after we moved upstate for him to self-inject. Some even had rocks in them. I observed Dad when he injected himself in the hip and he remained very much the same person but clearly felt better and more energetic. Afterwards, sometimes he and my brother would do a routine from the then-popular Royal Canadian Air Force Exercise book.

Along with being a patient, my father and Max developed a friendship. Max and my father sometimes discussed religious ideas. Max, of course, had been flown to Egypt by his patient, Cecil B. DeMille, and witnessed the most overblown Biblical extravaganza of all, the making of “The Ten Commandments.” “It’s what God would have done if he had money,” Max joked. Max once introduced me with a laugh saying he knew me before I was born. It was no secret that Max enjoyed the company of children, athletes, artists and performers, who uplifted his spirit and gave him respite from tending to the sick and infirmed. He asked to meet us. I was only three or four years old the first time my father drove my younger brother and me from Long Island to Max’s office. Just walking the streets of Manhattan was exciting compared to suburban Oceanside. Being ushered into his laboratory for the first time remains a vivid memory.

The strangest machines we little guys had ever seen percolated behind him in the lab which was chiefly lit by a swing arm lamp on a desk surrounded by shelves of bottles. The smell of vitamins was strong. With his jet black hair combed back, blackframed glasses, lower lip thrust forward, powerful wrestler's build and heavy German accent, Dr. Jacobson was easily the most intriguing and unusual person we had ever encountered.

He didn't talk down to us like other adults but plainly and directly in a manner we responded to immediately. He performed magic tricks such as closing a little sponge rabbit in his hand and opening it to reveal a family of rabbits. He showed us rocks glowing under ultraviolet light. One of the nurses brought us glasses of milk mixed with ginger ale. Milk and ginger ale? We left the office delighted and impressed, not an unusual reaction at any age. In fact, everybody I ever met who actually knew the doctor, including other physicians, was somewhat in awe of him.

Max’s friendship with my Dad was evidenced in that he rarely had to wait more than a few minutes, if at all, to see him. It was not unusual for patients to wait many hours. Once the Kennedys became patients, Max’s schedule became totally unpredictable. In the summer, we visited Max at his home at Point Lookout, just fifteen minutes from Oceanside, for a swim in the ocean. One day at Point Lookout Max invited a professional magician (I should say another professional magician). The magician fanned a deck of cards and had my Dad pick one then put it back. He shuffled and held up a card. It was the wrong one. Flustered, he shuffled again and held up another. Again the wrong card. In frustration, he threw the deck against the wall. All the cards fell to the floor except the correct card hanging by a thumbtack. I am glad we only visited there in the summer. Max and his son, Tommy, once drove out to Point Lookout in the dead of winter when snow covered the dunes. Tommy jokingly suggested, “How about a swim?” He would quickly regret it. “Ya, let’s go,” Max replied. And swim they did.

My father met a number of Max’s patients during the time we lived in Oceanside. He was invited to Max’s surprise sixtieth birthday party which was held in a TV studio that had been decorated to look like an Italian restaurant with checkered tablecloths. In a roomful of celebrities, Max was the center of attention — a star’s star. My father didn't know who many of the guests were other than being fellow patients and treated them the same as anyone else. I think the celebrities must have liked that they could be themselves around him. After my family moved upstate, we would see Max during the summer when we drove in from our vacation house in Mt. Sinai.

Visiting his office was always faxcinating. I was a teenager when our family stopped by and were ushered into his lab where Max introduced Alan Jay Lerner. Lerner found Max fascinating to watch and listen to at work. He spent a good bit of time at the office. Max apparently enjoyed his company. I have to confess that the great Alan Jay didn’t make much of an impression on me. Perched on a stool behind Max, he reminded me of a parrot on the shoulder of Long John Silver.

As a kid, I was exposed to two contrasting schools of medicine —— AMA medicine and Max’s medicine. Fortunately, I was healthy and rarely needed treatment but remember the first time I received an injection from Max while in elementary school, his version of a flu shot. I hated getting injections, but this time was different. I didn’t feel the needle. Nothing. “So this is how the pros do it,” I remember thinking. Medicine is an art as well as a science and Max was a gifted diagnostician. An article he wrote for the layman, “A Doctor Asks, ‘How Are You?’” explained some simple body language and verbal signals. Beneath the larger than life blunt speaker once described as having “the bedside manner of a billy goat,” one discovered the immensely warm personality of a caring and dedicated healer. As Ruth told me, if you saw the sensitivity and kindness he gave to someone in the last stages of a terminal illness, it would melt your heart. He also had a great sense of humor. The banter at the dinner table was quick and witty and kept the guests on their toes. JFK loved his Jewish jokes. Max once told President Kennedy that he would have to resign because he had run out of them.

Max adopted us, like many of his patients, as extended family. Down through the years, on the rare occasions I had a medical question, I would phone Max, grateful to hear him say something like, “Ya, that will do you no good,” and give an alternative. After graduating from college, I moved to the Upper West Side. Not long after, I made a call to Max about a friend’s questionable diagnosis. Before he put the receiver down, gracious Ruth took it and extended an invitation. “Now that you are living here, why don’t you join us for Friday night dinner?” Like Max, Ruth was born in Germany and also, like Max, escaped the Nazis during the Thirties. She was only six years old when she was sent to live with a foster family in London. Ruth loved her two foster brothers and adopted family and would remain close through the years. When she was a teenager, her parents called for her to leave England and join them in Haifa, Israel. She could not remember her parents and didn’t want to go.

When Ruth became Max’s office manager in the mid-Sixties, she discovered that nobody had been billed in three months. She restored order around the office where they nicknamed her “Ruthless.” Ruth and Max shared fluency in several languages and being multilingual in Max's world was decidedly an asset. I would discover their communication was such that if one made a triple entendre worthy of Nabokov that spanned three languages, the other got the joke. Max shared his knowledge with Ruth and her love and support gave him many wonderful years. Friday night dinners with Max, Ruth and their guests were always fun. East 86th Street was still known as Germantown during the Seventies. I used to stop at Café Geiger on the way and pick up an elephant head, a delicious chocolate-covered concoction filled with cake and marzipan, a favorite of Ruth’s, before heading up to 18P West, their modest apartment.

Max had chosen the apartment building at 86th Street between Second and Third Avenues because of its Olympic-sized pool in the basement. We used to take a swim and a turkish bath (“schvitz”) before dinner. Well into his Seventies, Max would swim thirty laps, but he didn’t pay much attention to who else was in the lane as I found out during a head-on collision. I kept my eye out for him after that. More often than not, Max and I met Bill Levi at the pool, another tenant and frequent Friday dinner guest. Bill was a salesman who had been incarcerated in Dachau during WWII until a relative bribed his way out. Max insisted on treating anyone who had been in a concentration camp for free.

One Friday afternoon, I entered the apartment and discovered Max and Ruth chortling over a stack of papers. Max had requested his file under the Freedom of Information Act. Nearly all of it was redacted, but someone had taken a stab at the composition of a Jacobson injection. It was totally off-base. They were laughing because, Max said, the shot would have killed a horse.

A cocktail at the Jacobsons was either a cup of chicken broth or a combination of cranberry juice, grapefruit juice and water. Max was a teetotaler and strongly anti-alcohol. I recall one of his dinner guests asking him why he was so opposed to alcohol. Max replied, "You know what sugar does to the body... so fermented sugar?"

I was a little embarrassed one Friday evening and didn’t let on that I had a slight hangover. When I was offered a slice of chocolate cake for dessert, I turned it down. Max looked right through me and said, “You want that cake, but you have a headache.” He gave a whistle and motioned me to follow him from the table. He had me hold up a fist, sprinkled a few drops of a pale pink liquid on my knuckle and told me snort it up my nose. In two seconds, the headache was gone. Although I didn’t feel any numbness, the liquid had numbed a cloverleaf of nerves behind the nose, short-circuiting the pain.

“That’s amazing,” I remarked.

“That’s amazing?” he replied.

“You’re amazing,” I answered. Then I got to have my cake and eat it too.

Agnes Clark, who had a beautiful Jamaican accent and a smile like sunshine, prepared dinner which was either chicken or brisket or both. On some of the Friday evenings I was in attendance, there were just a few guests. Other nights, the folding tables and chairs had to come out. The conversation was always convivial and entertaining. Depending on who dropped by, dinner could morph into something like an an episode of The Merv Griffin Show as it did the night Ronny Graham showed up. I recalled the wacky songs he used to sing while playing piano on the real Merv Griffin show.

Ronny told the dinner table how he first met the doctor. When Max walked into the crowded waiting room to speak to one of the nurses at the desk, Ronny made his move. He got down on hands and knees, crawled over and grabbed Max around the legs. "Doctor, Doctor, please you have to help me!" Max picked him up, gave him a little slap and said, "Sit down and shut up, you psychosomatic son of a bitch."

"How did that make you feel?" we asked Ronny.

Ronny hugged himself and beamed, "I was in love!"

Ronny was a creative for M*A*S*H, the most popular show of the day. A small TV on a metal cart with rollers was often tuned to M*A*S*H before dinner. Max commented one time that the light banter accompanying the gravity of surgery was realistic. When Max and Ruth were in Los Angeles, Ronny brought them to the set to meet the cast. Apparently, they had already heard of Max’s fame so when he was introduced, Alan Alda said, "So you're the one!" Max made a little joke at his own expense. He told Alda, "You know we have something in common. You, like your father, became an actor and my father was a kosher butcher." Speaking of surgery, when Max mentioned performing an operation, one of the dinner guests teased, “I didn’t know you were a surgeon, too. Were you any good?” (He was. He had been the assistant to Berlin’s leading surgeon, Professor Auguste Bier.) Max’s cousin, Phillipe Waldberg, who was visiting from France, answered for him. “I hope so. He gave me an emergency appendectomy on my kitchen table.” We roared at the best line of the night.

Ronny became such a fan of the doctor that he invited Max and his family to visit one summer in Massachusetts and Max accepted, but it turned into a typical Jacobson vacation. As soon as they arrived, he was called to work. It was during the time of the Berlin Crisis and the office left word there was an emergency and to phone Hyannis. Since it was only twenty minutes away, Max drove over and Kennedy was surprised and relieved to see him so soon.

Max treated people from all walks of life. It was an exaggeration that the waiting room was like visiting the William Morris agency. But surely, it was a shock to the patient who walked in and found Marlene Dietrich mopping Max’s kitchen floor. Dietrich was apparently obsessed with cleanliness and couldn't stand a dirty floor. My father, who rarely watched movies and had little interest in pop culture once sat next to Dietrich in the waiting room without recognizing her. When Dad went in to see Max, Max asked, "What did you think of Marlene?" My father replied, "Who?" Max said, "Marlene Dietrich! You were sitting right next to her!" Dietrich’s file includes letters mostly in German and a request that he send medicine to Europe to rescue a seriously ill eight-year-old boy, which Max did. His patient records include telegrams requesting medication be sent from around the world.

Max drew plenty of female attention and it wasn’t lost on him. When he left the table to take a phone call, a German lady complained, "The other patients didn't like it when the doctor's girlfriend was Marlene." The artist, Lou Haddad, replied, "They liked her better than the next one."

"What...? Who?"

"Hedy Lamarr."

"Oh yeah."

Also a brilliant scientist, by the way. Most of Max’s celebrity patients would abandon him with the bad press but some notables remained loyal. I was at Max’s apartment one afternoon when Franco Zeffirelli stopped by. Zeffirelli is brilliant, of course, and I enjoyed our conversation when it was cut short by a phone call with Faye Dunaway. I never heard so many “darlings” in my life. He knew how to talk to an actress, how to soothe a ball of nerves.

Back in the Seventies, it was not a question of if but when a book would appear. Max had begun dictating his memoirs. When I stopped by the apartment, I was handed the opening chapter and immediately became intrigued. Max introduced David Diles of ABC Sports who was putting together additional material for his book and was in touch with the prestigious Scott Meredith Agency. Max had previously been contacted by the famous book agent, Swifty Lazar. When Lazar phoned Max, he said, "Hey Doc, I hear you want to be a millionaire." Exactly the wrong approach to take with Dr. Jacobson. Max replied that he wouldn't wish that on anyone and hung up on him. Max didn't care about money. "It's like chasing a runaway horse," he would say.

A reporter interested in Max’s relationship with JFK had begun taping interviews for her book, which turned into another abandoned project.

JFK’s name came up occasionally, but not often. Max once mentioned Kennedy’s Berlin speech with amusement since “berliner” was the name of a popular local pastry. According to Max, Kennedy should have said, “Ich bin Berliner,” without the “ein” but the roar of the crowd clearly wasn’t dissuaded by the President’s declaration, “I am a jelly donut.”

President Kennedy’s confidence in Dr. Jacobson’s ability would lead to a great friendship. As Max came through again and again for the Kennedys when their other doctors disappointed them, JFK’s awe and respect for Max’s wisdom also grew. Kennedy had been hawkish when he took office. Max had a very different view of war than the military brass, having spent a good part of his career repairing its damages and rescuing lives broken by war or the Holocaust. I am certain his influence pulled Kennedy to the left as well as gave him the strength to stand up to the Joint Chiefs when they voted unanimously to invade Cuba, which would have proved disastrous. Although he rarely discussed politics with JFK, Max clearly did so when he felt the need, as in the following excerpt from his memoirs.

"The New York Times reported that George Lincoln Rockwell was recruiting youths for the American Nazi Party. I was outraged when I read they were staging a protest, wearing the uniforms of S.A. and “Swastika” arm bands. I remembered with horror the first storm troopers roaming the streets of Berlin and the indifference of the populace. Although I had never discussed politics with the President I decided that it could happen here. I walked into the President’s room, said hello and told him about Berlin in 1933 and the beginning of Hitler’s Germany. I told him that the easiest way to suppress a terrorist movement was in its infancy. Kennedy nodded his approval and, without further comment, we switched to the purpose of my visit."

For Max, America’s tragedy had been deeply personal. Six months after President Kennedy was assassinated another devastating loss followed, the death of Max’s second wife, Nina, like Kennedy also in her forties, on a surgeon’s operating table. It had been malpractice, but Max was not about to sue another doctor.

Among the many condolences, he received a telegram from one who shared and could understand his grief. My father called Max to see if he would like some company and flew down from Rochester. They talked through the night. Max only spoke a little of Nina. She had contracted viral pneumonia during a trip to India. Her internist incorrectly diagnosed an internal hemorrhage. Max presented to the internist the reasons he thought he should change his diagnosis and cancel the surgery to no avail. Before Dad left the next day, one of the nurses told him that Max could have saved her.

After he arrived back home, when my father next spoke to the nurse by phone, he told her he hadn’t known what to say to Max and felt he hadn’t been of much help. The nurse replied it was good that he had made the trip and that after his visit, Max returned to work.

Max’s name began showing up as a footnote in many of the Kennedy biographies. The demand for Kennedy books was over the top and the journalistic standards ran the gamut. When it came to Max, they all had one thing in common — they got it wrong, usually from a second hand source.

C. David Heymann became fascinated by Max while working on “Jackie O.” and wound up devoting a chapter to him. Ruth thought he might do a respectable job and provided material, but when the book came out, it was a disappointment, especially his jump to the conclusion sans evidence that Jack and Jackie were hooked on Max’s injections.

Heymann, like most everyone else at the time, was unaware of the secrets of Kennedy's health and the reasons he needed Max after his other doctors had failed. Today, it is common knowledge that the Senator in the debates with Nixon, the President who emanated charm and wit in his press conferences and courage coping with the Cuban Missile Crisis was dangerously ill but to date the media have yet to correspondingly update their misconception of Dr. Jacobson.

In light of what is now known about JFK’s health problems, his public appearances look like ringing endorsements for Max’s abilities, his success in treating the President and keeping him off a stretcher, a task beyond the ability of White House Physician, Dr. Janet Travell. Although he held no official position in the White House, as long as JFK was alive, Max enjoyed the best job security on the planet.

I hoped that more loyal patients would write in his defense, but even those who should have known better capitulated. During the 1990s, Dr. Jacobson turned up as the central figure in the autobiographies of Doris Shapiro (“I Could Have Danced All Night”) and Eddie Fisher (“Been There, Done That”). Their confusion and embarrassment over the negative media was palpable. Both were former disciples who once sang his praises and encouraged others to become patients. Eddie Fisher wished he were Max’s son. Doris Shapiro wanted to marry him. Alan Jay Lerner, who worked at night, hired Shapiro, then a naïve girl from Beverly Hills, as his assistant and arranged for her to receive injections so she could stay awake to assist him. An interesting part of Doris Shapiro’s book was when she described going off Max’s medication. She reported it went just like Max predicted. She experienced a little drowsiness over the next two weeks and that was it — the only side-effect. Certainly, Max was in a better position than anyone to understand the benefits and dangers of medicine. If, according to media speculation, Max turned celebrities into speed freaks, then "Where were the victims of the Sixties?" he wondered. Why has The New York Times failed to acknowledge that the past forty years have not turned up any case histories to support their false allegations of amphetamine addiction?

The Kennedy family kept JFK’s poor health a secret for four decades until Robert Dallek’s, “An Unfinished Life.” It would have been impossible to write credibly about his infirmities before then. When the book came out which barely mentioned Dr. Jacobson, I thought, "Enough, already."

I telephoned Ruth and told her I wanted to see the files. She generously consented to let me have them. After Max’s death, Ruth moved from the Upper East Side to an apartment in the same complex as her sister in New Jersey. I was preparing to move to the West Coast. I drove out to spend the afternoon. Ruth and I enjoyed our reunion. After a pleasant lunch at a local restaurant, I left with two book bags stuffed with Max’s memoirs and papers. I would be back each year for more.

I began scanning the documents with an OCR (optical character recognition) program into the Mac. I had a feeling of dread as well as anticipation. I knew this project would take years. When I unzipped the first book bag and opened a folder thick with papers, I experienced the equivalent of a Proustian madeleine memory that took me back to my first visit. The papers which had sat unopened for the past thirty years were suffused with the aroma of vitamins, just like Max's office.

(END OF CHAPTER ONE)

Copyright  C  2018 and prior years David Jeand'Heur and Andrew W. Saul.  




Exactly what therapy did Dr. Jacobson actually use to treat patients?

Here are his original mauscripts:

B-Vitamin Therapy, Part 1.

B-Vitamin Therapy, Part 2.

B-Complex Therapy, Part 3.

B-Vitamin Therapy, Part 4.

B-Vitamin Therapy. Part 5 [Includes precise intramuscular (IM) injection quantities].

Vitamin E Therapy, with case examples. [One minor likely error is on page 7 at the top, where Dr. Jacobson says that rose hips are a good source of vitamin E. Rose hips, like many fruits, don't have much vitamin E but they do have a lot of vitamin C.]

Background for using Vitamin E.

Archive of letters to and from Dr Max Jacobson.

Old Age and General Practice.

Medicinal Preparations.

Geriatric Preparations Preliminary Report.

Autobiography.

1958 Report.

1967 Report.

1967 Pre-Report .

1960 Report - Multiple Sclerosis .

Solubilization Discussion.

Solubilization of Tissue Complex.

Sex Hormones in Mixture.

Cortisone and Aureomyscin.pdf.

Aqueous Preparations.

Geriatrics.

Penicillin B.

Enzymes.

Dyscrasias.

Anxiety Discussion.

On Old Age.

On Longevity.

A Thousand Years.

Rapid Therapy of Infectious Hepatitis.

Hepatitis Preliminary Report.

Selected Letters.


Copyright  C  2018 and prior years David Jeand'Heur and Andrew W. Saul.  

Andrew Saul is the author of the books FIRE YOUR DOCTOR! How to be Independently Healthy (reader reviews at http://www.doctoryourself.com/review.html ) and DOCTOR YOURSELF: Natural Healing that Works. (reviewed at http://www.doctoryourself.com/saulbooks.html )


 


Andrew W. Saul

 


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