A memorial plaque to one of America's oddest celebrities is bolted to a rock in the tiny town of Cavendish, VT. It commemorates Phineas P. Gage, who, in 1848, had a 3.5-foot-long metal rod blown into his skull, through his brain, and out of the top of his head. That's an interesting story, but what makes it plaqueworthy is that Gage survived. In fact, he never even lost consciousness.
Gage is one of the superstars of America's medical pop-culture pantheon, a firmament twinkling with the likes of the Soap Lady, Chang and Eng, and Dr. Beaumont's "man with the window in his stomach." His presence lingers in central Vermont; we found Gage's tale in a bookstore in nearby Rutland -- in book about the brain for teenagers.
The accident happened on September 13, 1848 at a construction site of the Rutland & Burlington Railroad. Gage, a construction foreman, was unwisely tamping dynamite into a hole with the big iron rod -- it weighed over 13 pounds -- when the explosives ignited, blowing the rod out of the hole and through his head. He was taken to the Cavendish doctor, John Harlow, who plugged the holes in his skull and kept him under observation. Amazingly, Gage was alive, fully conscious, and experienced no lasting physical handicaps. The plaque notes, however, that he was " mentally greatly changed," and that "once an efficient and capable foreman, he was now increasingly erratic, irritable, and profane."
Gage lived for a dozen cuss-filled years afterward. While no longer the model employee, he used his status as a wonder to get out of New England. He had himself displayed as a freak at Barnum's Museum in New York City, drove stagecoaches in Chile, and eventually died in San Francisco of epilepsy -- a brain disorder.
Popular history has it that he carried the iron rod around with him as a cane, although this is not mentioned on the plaque. His body lay in the ground for only seven years before it was dug up. His skull was sent to Dr. Harlow, who donated it to Harvard, which now displays it in a glass case along with Gage's life mask and the iron rod at the Warren Anatomical Museum in Boston, MA.
But we can take as many pictures of the rock as we want, and for that we salute you, Cavendish. The plaque on the rock stands on a well-maintained empty lot formerly occupied by the Dutton House & Tavern (which was dragged off to the Shelburne Museum). In addition to Gage's story, it features a map directing visitors to the site of the accident. If you want to stretch your legs, you can walk 3/4 mile down the curving section of old track to the spot where Gage had his rendezvous with destiny.
Other people have miraculously survived severe metal rod head trauma -- including a construction worker in the late 1970s who fell on an iron bar, and a man in Truckee, CA in 2003, who had an 18-inch-long drill thrust into his eye socket and clear through his skull, pushing his brain hemispheres aside (the doctors had to remove it by unscrewing it) -- but none of them thus far match the freakish flair of Phineas P. Gage.
He was honored by Cavendish in 1998 -- the 150th anniversary of his accident -- when the plaque on the rock was unveiled, but as yet there is no annual Gage Days festival in Vermont or anywhere else. There should be.
