“This is the place for our college! We have been thinking the wrong way. We don’t need a men’s college, we need a coeducational college,” he exclaimed. “What do you say, Dr. Scudder? Think of all that we could accomplish if we joined forces.”
Ida did not know what to say. Inviting men into the women’s medical college? It seemed a strange idea. But over the next few weeks, the idea grew on her. Perhaps this was God’s answer to the problem. Perhaps the “bigger jar” she was meant to pick up was responsibility for both men and women. After all, India was changing fast. A generation had passed since Ida had returned to India with the dream of providing medical care for women, and in that generation many of the cultural taboos against women had been dropped. Many women now saw themselves as equal with men, and that had always been Ida’s dream—equality for women, not segregation from men for its own sake.
Ida continued to ponder the idea, glad that Lucy would be arriving before Christmas. Ida thought that Lucy would be a good person to discuss the idea with, since she had played such a vital role in the birth and ongoing work of the medical school.
When Lucy arrived, Ida was delighted to show her through all of the facilities that she had helped raise the money for. But for some reason Ida found it awkward to bring up the idea of inviting men into the medical college, and when she did, she soon understood why.
“You can’t be serious!” Lucy gasped. “It was you who came to the United States and told us of the special needs of Indian women, how they would rather die than go to a male doctor. We have worked so hard to make this an all-women’s affair—with women doctors, nurses, and students. How could you think of throwing it all away?”
“I…” Ida sputtered.
Lucy sailed on without giving Ida time to finish her sentence.
“And who is this Dr. Hume, anyway? I’ll tell you what he is—an opportunist. He tours all of India and finds that you are the one with the million-dollar buildings, and next thing he wants to take them over.”
Lucy then softened her voice, and she put her arm around Ida. “Look, dear. I know you are very worried about the future of the medical school, but we will find a way to raise the money. Don’t give in and let men take this place over and make it their own.”
This time Ida did not attempt to say anything. Lucy had certainly let her know how she felt. The problem was, Ida did not agree with her. If opening up the medical college to men meant that they could continue educating hundreds of women, she felt it was worth the trade-off.
Ida did not raise the subject again with Lucy, preferring to talk about the many wonderful things that were happening in and around Vellore. However, before Lucy went home, the matter had to be broached one last time. Again Lucy was unmoving, declaring that she would not stand by and watch men steal the school from the women of India.
For her part, Ida decided to let things settle down before considering the emotional topic again. She was thankful to have a big celebration to plan to take her mind off the matter. Gertrude was turning eighty. Ida arranged for a huge birthday cake to be made, and eighty candles were placed on it. One by one the party attendees came forward and blew out one of the candles as they thanked Gertrude for all she had done for them personally and for the work at Vellore.
Looking back over the twenty-three years that Gertrude had lived in Vellore, Ida was amazed at all of the things that she had financed. Gertrude was largely responsible for the tuberculosis sanatorium, a children’s home, a branch hospital, and the salaries of a number of lecturers at the medical school. In addition she had paid for the complete education of eight of the school’s students. At the birthday party, Ida said a prayer of thanks for her friend who had left a comfortable life in New York City to make a new home for herself in India.
The challenges and trials of the work continued for Ida. Lucy was back in the United States agitating for the all-female medical school to continue, but the money needed to upgrade the school did not come. This was partly because World War II had burst onto the scene, focusing people’s attention elsewhere.
In May 1941 Ida decided to make a trip back to the United States, despite the fact that German U-boats were prowling the Atlantic Ocean and sinking ships indiscriminately. At age seventy Ida hardly felt up to the task, nor did eighty-one-year-old Gertrude Dodd. But the two elderly women decided they must make a final attempt to save the medical school.
Despite the presence of German U-boats, they arrived safely in the United States. There Ida fell into her old pattern of campaigning. She spoke three or four times a day to anyone who would listen to her pleas. Even though the United States was at war, many people were interested in Ida’s story, and it surprised her to find how famous she had become. Reader’s Digest wrote a story about her and the forty-two members of her family who over four generations had given more than a thousand years of missionary service in India.
As Ida spoke about Vellore, the idea of men entering the medical school was never far from her mind. Nor did Lucy allow Ida to forget the situation. She finally wrote to Ida and pressed her for an answer. Ida cringed as she read the letter.
You must tell us where you stand before we go out for more appeals. Some people say you favor this cooperation with the men. If you and the majority of the board wish this coeducational work and desire to turn our plant and endowment over to the men who have not done one single thing to help us, of course the charter can be legally changed and the board can give up and move out and let the men take charge!
It was an impassioned letter, just as impassioned as the one Ida soon received from her niece Ida Bella. “Aunt Ida,” it began, “we must not put off any longer. Vellore must say yes to this development, because if we try to go on as a women’s college only, we’ll never do it.”
As much as Ida hated to do it, she had to make a decision and announce it. She knew she was old now, but she had to be forward looking, to think of the new India that was emerging. She asked herself what would be a better fit—an all-female Christian medical college or a coeducational college in which men and women respected each other and worked side by side for the good of the Indian people. When she asked herself this question in that way, the answer was obvious to her. She sat down and wrote a letter to Lucy, knowing that she was tearing apart their many years of friendship and the trust they had built up.
In December 1942 the decision was made to open the Vellore medical school to men. Lucy wrote one last scathing letter to Ida, but Ida kept the good of the college in her thoughts and prayed that Lucy would one day come to accept the decision gracefully.
Without the backing of Lucy and her powerful friends, Ida and Gertrude continued to crisscross the country, speaking anywhere and everywhere they could. Slowly the circle of interested people began to widen. Now that the medical school was open to both men and women, twenty denominations committed to help meet the costs of the college. Ida also received news that other groups in England, Denmark, and Australia were raising money to funnel to the project. These groups called themselves “Friends of Vellore,” and they committed to pray for, promote, and give to the mission. Ida encouraged them to pray for all of India and not just Vellore.
Although the news was often sketchy, the information that did come from India was frightening. In April 1942 the Japanese had attacked India, bombing Colombo, on the island of Ceylon. The attack could not have come at a worse time, as famine was spreading over the country. Next, Japanese bombs had fallen on Madras, only one hundred miles from Vellore. Ida Belle wrote that the hospital had been told to reduce its number of patients and wait for the onslaught of casualties from the war. Thankfully, war did not come to Vellore.
Then, in August, Winston Churchill, the British prime minister, had decided to take a hard line with India, fearing that it might use the war as a pretext to grab freedom from the British Empire. Mahatma Gandhi had started a campaign to protest this action, and he and a number of India’s top politicians had been thrown in jail. Rioting followed, and many government buildings were destroyed, telegraph lines torn down, and railway tracks vandalized.
Ida also received word from other Vellore missionaries who were affected by the war. One of the doctors from the hospital in Vellore, Elizabeth Miller, had been traveling to England with her husband to present to English doctors what they had learned about leprosy. In the most remote part of the Atlantic Ocean, 450 miles from St. Helena Island, a U-boat had torpedoed their ship, and they had to scramble into lifeboats. Thankfully, Elizabeth had her Girl Scout compass in her handbag, and they used it to set a course for the island. Twelve days later they were all nearly dead from thirst when a ship that was itself off course rescued them. Elizabeth wrote how everyone on the lifeboat—Muslims, Hindus, and agnostics—had all asked her husband to pray that God would intervene and save them, and He had.
The war raging around the world and its effects on Vellore and the hospital staff weighed heavily on Ida and Gertrude as they spent Christmas 1943 together in St. Petersburg, Florida. The women had another concern as well. Eighty-four-year-old Gertrude had become acutely ill, and in spite of an operation, Ida was sure she was dying. It was a long, hard vigil for Ida as she watched her friend drift in and out of consciousness. Gertrude died on January 9, 1944, and Ida had her body shipped back to New York City so that she could be buried at Collegiate Church, where they had met forty-four years before.
At the funeral Dr. Norman Vincent Peale spoke, but Ida hardly heard a word he said. She was wondering how she would get along without her helper and friend who had worked alongside her in India for twenty-eight years.
By January 26 Ida was back in Florida, continuing to publicize and raise money for the work in Vellore. She decided that this would be the best way to honor her friend, no matter how painful it felt not having Gertrude at her side.
Ida still had a long way to go to reach her goal, but she plodded on. By July 1945, just as the war was coming to a close, she had raised and sent to Vellore a sizable amount of money. It was time for her to go “home” to India. She set sail from New York on August 28, five days before Japan surrendered and World War II officially came to an end. A new day was dawning for the world and, most especially, Ida hoped, for the medical school in Vellore.
The voyage across the Atlantic Ocean and through the Mediterranean Sea took longer than anticipated. Ida was so impatient to get back to Vellore that she booked herself a seat on an airplane to go the rest of the way, from Cairo to India. When she got off the airplane, she declared, “Now that is the way to travel. I have finally found a mode of transport that’s fast enough for me.”
All the way from Madras to Vellore, Ida strained her eyes for glimpses of people she recognized. She was a little disappointed that she would arrive home in the middle of the night, when everyone was asleep. But her disappointment soon turned to wonder as she was driven through the gates of the medical college. As far as she could see was a line of people, all holding blazing torches. Her niece, Ida Belle, who was driving, slowed the car to a crawl, and nurses and former patients ran out to cover Ida with garlands of flowers. As Ida smelled the flowers—the frangipani, the roses, and the nasturtiums—tears sprang to her eyes.
As soon as it was light, Ida was up, eagerly touring the hospital grounds. There was a new pathology and research block, and new wings had been added to the nurses’ home, the children’s ward, and the administration building. Despite the war, progress had been made.
