28/05/2025
He died on this day in 1961. Quietly, as men of great noise sometimes do. His name was Bartlett Joshua Palmer. B.J. if you knew the work. The Developer of Chiropractic. The one who took his father’s wild seed and planted an orchard.
He was not easy. Giants rarely are. He clashed and carved and coaxed the world to see what he saw—a principle, a purpose, a profession. He built a school, he built a radio station, he built a legacy. He spoke in riddles and roared in print. He walked fast and thought faster.
Some say he was mad. Some say he was messianic. Most forget how much of their practice still bears his fingerprints.
Today, many have never heard of him. And some who have, don’t remember right.
But if you’ve ever turned your headpiece to the atlas and listened for the quiet wind of innate, you owe something to the man who insisted there was more to healing than the surface of things.
So here’s to B.J. Palmer.
A chiropractor, yes.
But more than that—
A stubborn voice in the wilderness who kept shouting long enough for the rest of us to hear.
We carry on.
