When I was a child, I didn’t mention a sore throat to my mother unless said throat was really, really sore. This is because of the magnificent procedure she had adopted in treating such maladies. This approach was known colloquially as “painting your throat.” Step one: get a right-sized twig off the forsythia bush out front and strip the extra branches and leaves off it. Step two: twist a small wad of cotton onto the business end of the stick. Step three: dip the wad of cotton in argyrol. Step four. . .paint the child’s throat with it. This process probably served several functions all at once: it introduced some disinfectant into a child’s pestilence-ridden innards, and it tended to discourage idle complaints.

Now, up until the last few days, I labored under the idea that my mother had used mercurochrome to paint my throat. This is not correct. Mercurochrome is for topical things like scrapes and cuts and bug bites. Of course, Uncle Brooks sniffed at the use of mercurochrome, calling it “colored water” in a disdainful tone. He swore by campho-phenique. (I’ve tried several ways to spell it, and Microsoft word is staring at me like I’m a nut.) Anyway, mercurochrome was mild in relation to Uncle Brooks’ pet tonic. Occasionally we let him put a drop or two on a scrape, and it stung like a nest of hornets. Our mother was wise, I think, not to paint our throats with it, possibly knowing that it might result in chemical burns.

I will mention one incidental benefit of campho-phenique: it didn’t stain. My sister Mary recalls howling in grief one Easter morning after spilling mercurochrome down the front of her pretty new dress.

Argyrol, mercurochrome and campho-phenique: the triumvirate of Baby Boomer medicine. These magical elixirs have, alas, given way to tamer substances that don’t hurt, and also don’t do much of anything else. There’s nothing like a good sharp burning sensation to get your mind off an injury.  

Note: this article has been updated and clarified.