This story appeared on the front page of the Minneapolis Tribune. The accompanying graphic is helpful, but neither it nor the story explains how the patient will survive without a stomach.
THIS MAN WILL LIVE WITHOUT A STOMACH
The rare, delicate and dangerous operation of gastrectomy was performed on Jacob Wichmann in the German hospital, Brooklyn, recently. It was done to save Mr. Wichmann’s life, for he had a cancer of the stomach which would have soon killed him. He well stood the operation, which lasted three hours, and he has a fine chance to live. The surgeons cut through the patient’s abdominal walls, and raised the stomach. They then tied the end of the gullet and the beginning of the small intestine. The gullet was cut above, and the beginning of the small intestine was cut below the ligations. The stomach, thus free from its connections, was taken out through the incision in the abdominal walls. The surgeons then sewed together the ends of the gullet and of the small intestine, giving a continuous alimentary canal to Mr. Wichmann. Then the surgeons sewed up the wounds made by the knife.
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A link between brain damage and anti-social behavior has been well-documented. It's unclear how well-documented the link was in 1920, when a court sent a robbery suspect to a St. Paul hospital for a bit of cranial surgery to cure his "criminal tendencies." Did it work? There's no mention of the suspect in subsequent issues of the Minneapolis Tribune, and no record of a Nobel prize for the surgeon.
Through protests and shareholder engagement, the Honeywell Project (1968-1990) sought to persuade Honeywell Inc. to start beating cluster bombs into plowshares. Molly Ivins, then a reporter for the Minneapolis Tribune, was on the scene when Jerry Rubin, one of the Chicago Seven, joined peace activist Marv Davidov and poet Robert Bly to lead the charge in Minnesota in April 1970.
Michael Welters, an old and highly respected resident of Chanhassen, was struck and instantly killed by a work train on the C M & St. P. road, west of the village of Chanhassen, about five o'clock Saturday afternoon, November 2, 1912. The old gentleman was on his way home from the village, and was walking along the tracks, and as he has been partly deaf for some time, it is supposed he did not hear the oncoming train in time to escape being hit.
In a convoy of six jeeps accompanied by a police escort, RCA Victor's Television Caravan rolled into Minneapolis in October 1947. Several hundred spectators packed the Donaldson's department store on Nicollet Avenue to see demonstrations of the new technology. The next year, KSTP became the first TV station in Minnesota to broadcast regularly, beaming 12 to 14 hours of programming a week to about 2,500 television sets in the metro area.
The syndicated Mary Haworth advice column added color and spark to the dull society pages of the Minneapolis Morning Tribune during the war years. Haworth (pronounced hay-worth) was the "slender, well-tailored, attractive" Elizabeth Young of the Washington Post. Hundreds of letters a week poured into her burlap-screened nook in the Post newsroom.