“Dr.” Norman Baker: When Quackery Kills
The Crescent Hotel, a beautiful old Neo-Gothic hotel atop a hill overlooking the artsy tourist town of Eureka Springs, Arkansas, bills itself as “the most haunted hotel in America.”
But what might be more interesting than the ghost stories is a very real story of greed, fraud, and murder that took place there in the late 1930s. Because the story of Norman Baker and his “cancer hospital” is far weirder - and more tragic - than any ghost story.
A Brief (ish) History of Norman Baker
Baker was born in Muscatine, Iowa, the youngest of 10 children. He dropped out of high school his sophomore year and followed in his father’s footsteps, becoming a machinist.
But an encounter with a traveling “mentalist” show changed his life. After seeing the show, he recruited a troupe of other performers and toured around the Midwest, where he performed as an illusionist and hypnotist. After a few years, his troupe signed on with a lucrative theater on the vaudeville circuit.
After a decade of touring, he married another performer and settled down back in Muscatine. He went back to being a machinist and inventor, patenting the calliaphone, a kind of portable steam organ. He also had a mail-order business, a correspondence art school, and other business ventures that made him quite a bit of money — the calliaphone alone earned him $200,000 (over $3 million in today’s money) in a single year.
Then, in the 1920s, Baker realized the power of radio, and he wanted in on the action. So in 1924, he negotiated a deal with the Muscatine Chamber of Commerce: in exchange for free rent and utilities, his new station — KTNT, which stood for “Know The Naked Truth” — would make Muscatine famous. He promised he’d broadcast “real, honest-to-goodness” entertainment that farmers and small-town folks would enjoy.
So the Chamber obliged, and Baker got his deal. He had the KTNT studio built on top of a hill, along with a gift shop, restaurant, an excursion boat on the nearby lake, and a large, six-pump gas station offering the lowest prices around.
He also frequently violated his broadcast license. KTNT was only licensed to broadcast at 5,000 watts, but Baker would often boost the signal to double that. Since the station was on top of a hill, he or his employees could see if an FCC inspector was on their way, and they’d simply dial it back down to the proper wattage before the inspector arrived.
Thanks to the station’s illegally large reach, it quickly became one of the most popular stations in the country. On the weekends, thousands would flock to the KTNT grounds to listen to Baker’s broadcast — at its largest, the crowd was estimated to be about 50,000 people. At one point, he decided to take his broadcasting equipment outside so he could interact on air with his adoring fans.
This popularity translated into a LOT of money: on an average summer Sunday, his various businesses would rake in about $3,000 — more than $45,000 in today’s money.
And Baker’s popularity went all the way to the top — he had supported Herbert Hoover’s (R-California) 1928 presidential campaign, and Baker was credited with winning the Midwest for him. That support earned him a private White House meeting with then-Pres. Hoover. Later Hoover even participated in a publicity stunt that would be considered unethical today: pressing a button (in front of the press) that remotely started the printing presses to launch Baker’s new tabloid, the Midwest Free Press.
Why was Baker so popular? Well, for one thing, Baker’s experience as a vaudeville performer honed his speaking — and persuasive — skills.
And Baker broadcast his show in the evening, specifically during the dinner hour, when farmers and laborers would be at home, listening to the radio. He preached a fiery, populist message, full of anti-intellectual, anti-Semitic, and anti-Catholic rants. He saw conspiracies everywhere: his business competitors and unsympathetic newspapers were publishing lies about him, trying to shut down “the truth.” He even accused the local PTO of being a “Communist organization.”
He also preached good old-fashioned, traditional quackery, a lot of which is still floating around today, such as:
- fluoridated water and aluminum pots and pans are toxic,
- vaccinations are worthless (or even poisonous), just a plot by doctors to fleece innocent people,
- and big business and the government are conspiring to cover up these truths.
His anti-vax ranting even set off a “Cow War.” During an outbreak of bovine tuberculosis in the Midwest, he claimed that the newly-mandated TB testing of cattle was really a conspiracy by veterinarians. He claimed the vets would falsify positive test results in order to steal, then sell, perfectly healthy cattle.
He convinced enough ranchers to swallow this, ahem, bullshit that they literally ran veterinarians out of town using violence and intimidation rather than submit their herds to TB testing. The “Cow War” was only stopped when the governor sent in the state militia.
But Baker’s biggest nemesis, the one that he railed on about consistently, was the American Medical Association. He accused the local university hospital of being a “slaughterhouse.” He frequently accused the AMA of having a cure for cancer, but keeping it secret so doctors could make more money on surgeries and radiation treatments.
Remember, Baker was really, really rich. He dressed in fancy purple and lavender suits and a gold-and-diamond horseshoe tie pin. He even had a customized purple Franklin Roadster outfitted with air conditioning and bulletproof glass. Yet he constantly accused his enemies of being nothing but greedy charlatans, out to squeeze the little folks for every one of their hard-earned dimes.
Baker — who, remember, dropped out in the 10th grade — styled himself as a “self-taught healer,” and his “cures” included mostly folk remedies like using an onion poultice to cure appendicitis. But that was about to change.
In 1929, he went to Dr. Ozias’ cancer clinic in Kansas City, Missouri. Ozias was another wild quack, who claimed he had the cure for cancer — a secret, proprietary blend of herbs and spices that was actually just corn silk, clover, ground watermelon seeds, and water.
So Baker and Ozias chose five cancer patients to administer the cure to so they could report on their results. Shockingly, all five patients died.
But that’s not what Baker and Ozias said. They publicly claimed the patients had all “miraculously” recovered.
Back at the KTNT studios, Baker started performing “open air demonstrations” of his various cures, even cutting away part of one man’s skull in front of a crowd of people.
But he knew he needed more than just weekend crowds to demonstrate his “cures” to. So in December 1929, he opened the first Baker Institute in Muscatine, where he claimed he could cure everything from constipation to varicose veins to cancer. He staffed the hospital with chiropractors, osteopaths, and diploma-mill MDs, calling them “the masters of their profession.” And, of course, he promoted it heavily on KTNT.
Now, KTNT had been getting complaints since it first went on the air, but once he started hawking phony cures, the AMA, specifically, Morris Fishbein, the editor of the JAMA, began calling for an investigation. And the FTC soon obliged. In 1931, the FTC denied Baker a license renewal on the grounds of “vulgarity, immorality, or indecency.”
But he still had his newsletter — which went out to thousands of people — and the Baker Institute. There, he would perform exams on people for $10, a hefty sum for the mostly poor folks he targeted. Every exam showed the patient had the worst case of whatever disease they came in with.
Since Baker couldn’t technically practice medicine, he had his “real” doctors do his bidding. He would charge his patients up to $1,000 per treatment — injections with Ozias’ watermelon-seed formula (to which he began adding carbolic acid) or else his own formula, made up of equal parts alcohol, glycerin, and carbolic acid.
In 1930, JAMA published an article about Baker’s “lies, viciousness, and quackery.” So Baker fought back in the pages of his newsletter, claiming the AMA was just trying to “shut down the truth.” He even said they had sent assassins to kill him — but that one of the would-be assassins recognized him as having cured his friend, so he backed out.
In a tactic we still see today, he also used the AMA’s attack as an excuse to raise funds for his “fight.” He then sued the AMA for libel, asking $500,000.
He wanted to bring in a long line of former patients to testify on his behalf — but they had all either gotten worse or died. Former employees testified as to what was in his “cure,” further proving just what a quack he was. Needless to say, his fact-free grandstanding didn’t work in a real court of law, and he lost.
Thanks to what came out at the trial, he was later charged with practicing medicine without a license. So he fled to Mexico — the border town of Nuevo Laredo, to be exact. There, he ran a 100,000 watt “border blaster” station, XENT, where he continued his grandstanding, lying, and attacks against the medical establishment.
He also — while still in Mexico — ran for governor of Iowa on the Farm Labor ticket. But he didn’t even get on the ballot.
However, in 1936, he was able to work out a deal with the state of Iowa (now run by a more sympathetic governor), where he would serve one day in jail and pay a $1,050 fine.
After his triumphant release, he ran for senator. Again, he lost.
No longer able to run a radio station or a cancer clinic, and failing as a politician, Baker decided to leave Iowa for good. He set his sights on someplace where he could be back in business, free from the burdensome government regulations he faced in Iowa. Someplace with fresh air and a healthful reputation.
A place like Eureka Springs, Arkansas.
Enter the Crescent Hotel
The history of the Crescent Hotel in Eureka Springs almost reads like a Stephen King novel.
It was designed in 1885 by the renowned architect Isaac Taylor, who would go on to design the St. Louis World’s Fair in 1901. Planned to be a grand, luxury resort, it was built at a cost of $294,000 — almost $8.5 million in today’s money — and would capitalize on the town’s reputation for healing springs.
Immigrant laborers from Ireland were brought in to build it, particularly the stonework. According to local legend, one of those stonemasons, a man named Michael, fell to his death, landing in what is now room 218.
Regardless of this tragic beginning, the Crescent — dubbed the “Grand Old Lady of the Ozarks” — opened to much fanfare in 1886.
Originally, it operated as a resort year-round, but it continually lost money, and eventually fell into disrepair.
So, starting in 1901, the new owners rented the building to a girls’ school during the school year and ran it as a resort during the summer. By 1908, though, it was too run-down for tourists, and the resort closed, so it only functioned as a girls’ school.
Again, according to local legend, it was during this time that yet another tragedy befell the residents at the Crescent Hotel. The story goes that one young woman fell — or leapt — to her death from the hotel balcony. The rumor is that she was pregnant, and had committed suicide out of shame.
In 1924, the school closed down as well, and the building stood empty until 1930. Another school — this time a junior college — opened there, but only managed to stay in business for four years. After that, it stood empty for three more years.
That brings us to 1937, deep in the midst of the Great Depression. Eureka Springs was — and still is — deeply dependent on tourism, so it was hit harder than a lot of other places.
So Baker was able to buy the old, abandoned Crescent Hotel for $40,000 — about $748,000 in today’s money — a steal. Baker planned to turn it into a radio station, pharmacy, and sanitarium. He promised the Chamber of Commerce that he would run a national ad campaign for his new hospital, which would all but guarantee a steady stream of visitors — and their money. So the Chamber welcomed him by holding a lavish dinner, where the mayor acted as MC.
But not everyone was as enthralled by Baker’s promises. One state representative lobbied for a congressional investigation into his claims, but he was apparently outvoted.
Meanwhile, Baker spent some $50,000 renovating the Grand Old Lady, painting the interior in garish, carnival-like colors — especially lavender, his favorite color. He moved all of his staff — along with 140 patients — from his Muscatine center to Eureka Springs.
He also launched a $1 million ad campaign touting the fresh air and “crystal healing” waters of Eureka Springs. Like he had before, he promised desperate, sick people that his miracle cure would make them well again.
People with cancer and a whole host of other diseases flocked to the Baker Cancer Hospital, many signing away their life’s savings in the process.
Regardless of the disease they were suffering from, the treatments were the same: injections with one of his two formulas four times a day, every day, except Sunday. The “doctors” on Baker’s staff would later testify that they jokingly referred to themselves as “machine guns,” since they were giving so many injections in such a rapid succession.
It wasn’t long, though, before locals who worked at the Baker Cancer Hospital began noticing suspicious goings-on. Soon after its opening, one entire wing was soundproofed and sealed off behind a door that was locked from the outside. It was labeled the “psychiatric wing,” and the patients who weren’t getting any better were sent there.
Another thing the local workforce noted: patients were often declared “cured” even when they were clearly in worse shape than when they checked in. It was later revealed that these patients would return home only to die within days. Some didn’t even make it that far; they died on the train ride home.
Rumors began to circulate among the locals — that Baker was conducting medical experiments on patients in the basement morgue, that he was spiriting away deceased patients via tunnels to a crematorium in town.
None of these rumors can be confirmed — and as a point of fact, there were no tunnels beneath the Crescent.
What can be confirmed is that 44 patients died at the Baker Cancer Hospital during the 20 months it was in operation. Since these folks were already dying of fatal diseases like cancer, they weren’t autopsied, and no investigation was conducted into their deaths.
Which brings me to something that none of the ghost tours or history books ever mention.
Everyone agrees that Baker was a quack and a fraud, and that his patients died because they didn’t get the medical treatments they needed.
I say he wasn’t just a quack and a cheat; he was a serial killer.
Both of the formulas he was injecting into his patients contained carbolic acid, also known as phenol, which is a powerful poison that can cause organ failure. In fact, around this same time, the Nazis began using this exact method — injections of carbolic acid — to “euthanize” inmates in their concentration camps.
But, unfortunately, we’ll never know for sure. Baker was arrested in September 1939 on mail fraud charges. Postal inspectors alleged that Baker had defrauded his victims — using his newsletter — out of nearly $4 million. That’s almost $78 million in today’s money.
After a three-week trial, he — along with two other “doctors” at his hospital — was convicted and sentenced to three years in Leavenworth prison. He was also ordered to pay a $4,000 fine.
After his sentence, as the assets of Norman Baker, Inc., were being divided up by the courts, it was discovered that Baker had been engaged in yet another crime: embezzlement. He had been secretly withdrawing money out of the corporation’s bank account. He would then give the money — fat envelopes of cash — to Thelma Yount, his personal secretary, who would smuggle it into Nuevo Laredo, where she would place it in a safe-deposit box. In all, he embezzled $1 million, but he was never charged for it.
After Baker served his time, he tried to open another “research center” in Muscatine, but the city refused permission. He eventually retired to live on his yacht in Florida, near Miami.
In rather poetic justice, he developed liver cancer. Rather than submit to the medical treatments he so hated, he went to the Battle Creek Sanitarium. He died in 1958, at the age of 75.
The Crescent Hotel continued its pattern of having new owners pour money into it, only to lose that money, abandon it, and let it fall into disrepair.
It wasn’t until the 1970s that guests began reporting unexplained phenomena: mysterious vapors, ghostly figures, sounds coming from empty rooms, and objects being moved even though no one was around.
The current owners lean heavily on its reputation as being haunted, calling it “the most haunted hotel in America.” Several paranormal researchers — including the Ghost Hunters — have visited the Crescent and claimed to have captured paranormal activity there.
The Dr. Baker era, specifically, is believed to have created many of the apparitions that are said to wander the halls of the Grand Old Lady. It’s also the most capitalized on. The hotel’s penthouse bar was formerly called “Dr. Baker’s Lounge,” and its current restaurant serves various drinks and dishes named after (or alluding to) the infamous killer.
Then in 2019, a groundskeeper accidentally unearthed a cache of buried bottles containing human tissue. State archeologists identified them as having been Baker’s, sparking renewed media attention and popular curiosity. Many of the bottles are now prominently displayed in the basement’s former morgue, only accessible via one of the many ghost tours that are run out of the Crescent.
But the Grand Old Lady had a dark reputation long before Baker set up shop inside her walls, and it continued long after he left.
In 2017, a guest walked out of the bar and fell over the staircase railing inside the hotel, falling four stories to his death.
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