Bryson City Tales (2 page)

Most of the places mentioned in
Bryson City Tales
can still be visited. I'm forever grateful for the lovely evenings, meals, and repose that Barb and I had (and that can still be had) at the Hemlock Inn, the Fryemont Inn, and the Frye-Randolph House (now called the Randolph House).

I'm in debt to the trustees, administration, and staff of Swain County Hospital—which is still there (although the birthing suites and operating rooms are gone—the former shut down when Dr. Pyeritz and I left town, and the latter closed when Dr. Mitchell was buried). These men and women will always command my respect and thanks.

Barb and I are so appreciative of the provision of our home in Bryson City. The house still stands—although I have no idea what happened to our bench. Last time we checked, it was no longer there. Dr. Pyeritz's and my medical office still stands—as do at least two of the Christmas trees we planted there. The practice football field, the county football stadium, the Bryson City cemetery, the Road to Nowhere, the courthouse, Clampitt's Hardware Store, and WBHN are all still there. Super Swain Drugs, Hardee's, Dr. Bacon's orchard, and Swain Surgical Associates are no longer there—but Na-Ber's Drive-In is!

Louise Thomas was still at the hospital—at least the last time I visited. To this very day, I appreciate her smile, laughs, and hugs—which are more precious now than ever. I pray that she and “Dr. Pat,” her lifetime love, will both see this work in print. I expect her to fuss at me over some of the stories I've told about her.

I so appreciate Mr. Earl Douthit. He is now retired and still lives in Bryson City—in the same home described in the
Tales.
I acknowledge the expertise of Fred Moody—who still practices there. I want to acknowledge Bill and Ruth Adams—who can still be found tending their inn. Dr. Nordling has retired, and Dr. Sale left medicine to become a pastor in Bryson City.

During 2001, Barb and I returned to Bryson City twice to do research for the
Tales.
Returning sixteen years after leaving was a bit anxiety provoking. How would we be received? Would we be remembered? Ever gracious, the men and women whom we had come to admire and love so much warmly welcomed us back.

We owe the proprietors of the Hemlock Inn an immense debt of thanks. To John Shell, Mort White, and Lainey White, as well as to their staff at the inn, an immense thank-you for your assistance with our research and for providing your ever-gracious and warm hospitality and your prayers. Lainey is John and Ella Jo's daughter. Ella Jo has passed away. I so wish I could have seen her face as she read
these
Tales.
I can hear her laughter even now.

Katherine has sold the Fryemont Inn and moved away. Nevertheless, we enjoyed visiting the inn. The meals there are as delicious as we remember.

Others who unselfishly assisted with my research include Dean and Preston Tuttle; Diana Owle; Elizabeth Ellison; Dr. Paul Sale; R.P. and Sally Jenkins; Troy, Tammy, and Trey Burns; Debbie Wilson; the wonderful kids at The Gathering; Monty and Dianna Clampitt; Dr. David and Beth Zimmerman; Reva Blanton; John and Rita Mattox; Jon and Virginia Molinato; Margaret Iorio; Dr. Mike and Kim Hamrick. I appreciate their assistance. Last but not least, I appreciate the research assistance of the Swain County Chamber of Commerce.

Rick Pyeritz, M.D., and Ray Cunningham, M.D., have also moved from Bryson City—but they still practice medicine. Ray and Nancy Cunningham are precious friends. Surviving my first year of practice would have been unbearable without their support and love. Rick Pyeritz was my partner, colleague, teacher, and confidant for seven years. He was our family physician. His love and care for the Larimores is forever appreciated and will never be forgotten. Rick remains one of my dearest friends.

Drs. Bacon, Mitchell, and Mathieson, as well as Marcellus Buchanan, have all passed away. I wish I could thank them today for all they contributed. I also appreciate the contribution of “Walter”—who is still living near Bryson City on an undisclosed farm in a hidden hollow but is still as beautiful as the first day I saw her, although getting up in years.

Last but not least, I love and appreciate Kate and Scott. Their original contribution to
Bryson City Tales
cannot be understated. Their permission to allow their dad to share their stories with you is recognized and deeply appreciated. I love them so very much. Of all the roles that the Lord has allowed me on this earth, other than being their mother's best friend and husband, none is more precious to me than the role of being their daddy.

Walter L. Larimore, M.D.
Colorado Springs, Colorado

Foreword

by Gilbert Morris

F
or most men the most dreaded words in the language are, “Did you take the trash out?” or “We have to talk!” For a novelist, however, the most dreaded words are, “Would you please read my manuscript and tell me what you think?”

I get numerous requests of this nature, and being the good fellow that I am, I usually agree. One dear lady's work was very bad, and I tried gently to put her off. She kept badgering me to read more of her work, and finally after driving me nearly crazy, she asked, “Do you think there's enough
fire
in my work?” I heard myself saying, “Lady—there's not enough of your work in the fire!” This was unkind, and I had to do penance by reading the awful stuff and being extra nice to her.

Walt Larimore's work does
not
belong in the fire! It belongs in the library of every person who has had, is having, or will ever have medical problems (which means all of us!)

I freely admit I have had problems with doctors. Others may tell lawyer jokes, but
I
tell doctor jokes. I have a mental file of horror stories about physicians who have failed me, and since I have a memory like a zebra, I never forget! When I sat down to read Walt Larimore's manuscript, even before I read the first page I was preparing the speech I'd be forced to give to Walt. “Walt, stick to doctoring people, and let
real
writers handle the books.”

Two aspects of
Bryson City Tales
gave me great pleasure: First, it gave me new insight into how doctors are made, and second, I simply
enjoyed
the fine writing.

Like most people, I am somewhat frightened of doctors. They ask me to trust them, to put my life in their hands. They are powerful people, and as someone has once said, “Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” But in this book we see the human side of one man who is humbled by his own limitations. The curtain is drawn back, and we see behind the scenes of the drama. As Walt Larimore is thrust into the cosmos of a small southern town, he makes mistakes, he rushes in where angels fear to tread, he makes enemies. Living through the very human problems of a young physician trying to make it, just like the rest of us ordinary mortals, gave me fresh insight into the world of medicine.

Bryson City Tales
also pleased me because it is so readable. After having taught creative writing for twenty-five years and written quite a few novels, I have one criterion that I apply to writing: Is this book fun to read? I found out years ago that teachers, preachers, and writers had better do whatever they have to in order to entertain those who sit under them! And Walt Larimore has the gift. As a novelist, I harbor a hope that he never turns his hand to writing novels, for he has the talent for it—and I don't need the competition! His fine book brings before the reader a vivid world inhabited by colorful people. We see the tragedy and the triumph of their lives, and like a master, Doc Larimore employs the old show-business adage, “Make 'em laugh—make 'em cry!”

We cry when a young woman loses her baby, but we laugh at the man of ninety-eight years who's about to be married to a young woman and comes to Larimore for a premarital exam. When the good doctor (worried about the old man's health) warns him tactfully that sex can be dangerous under certain conditions, the old man stares at him and says, “Well, Doc, if she dies, she dies.”

If you are seeking a book that delights and informs, you need look no further than
Bryson City Tales!

Gilbert Morris
December 20, 2001

chapter one

THE MURDER

T
hey didn't tell me about this in medical school. And they sure didn't prepare me for this in my family medicine residency. Of course, like all well-trained family physicians, I knew how to provide for the majority of the medical needs of my patients in hospitals and nursing homes. Naturally I had been taught the basics of how to practice medicine in the office setting. But I was quickly discovering that physicians who headed into the rural counties of the Smoky Mountains in the third quarter of the twentieth century needed to know much more than these basics.

I don't remember any school or residency lessons on the peculiar calls I would receive from national park rangers telling of a medical emergency in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. “Wilderness medicine,” at least when I first started practice, was not in my black bag.

I don't remember any preparation for the unique medical emergencies faced by the Swain County Rescue Squad. Search-and- rescue medicine wasn't in my repertoire either, nor were the river rescues I would be involved with on the county's four rivers—the Tuckaseigee, the Nantahala, the Oconaluftee, and the Little Tennessee. And I know for certain that I had no training in caring for animals or livestock—but, sure enough, those calls were also to come to a family physician in the Smoky Mountains.

Although my formal education had not prepared me for these types of medicine, when the need arose to learn and practice them, I felt up to the challenge. Although I was often perplexed by some of the unique aspects of practicing medicine in a rural—and, I first thought, somewhat backward—community, I didn't find the demands particularly distressing. My first murder case, however, was a different story.

I had just moved a month before, with my wife, Barb, and our nearly-three-year-old daughter, Kate, from my residency in family medicine at the Duke University Medical Center in Durham, North Carolina, to Swain County, in the heart of the Great Smoky Mountains. The county had only 8,000 residents, but occupied over 550 square miles. However, the federal government owned 86 percent of the land—and much of it was wilderness. Over 40 percent of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park is contained within the borders of Swain County, which is also home to the eastern
band of the Cherokee Indians, to one of the more southern sections of the Appalachian Trail, and to the beginning of the Blue Ridge Parkway.

The doctors in the county seat—the small town of Bryson City, North Carolina—rotated the on-call assignment. When we were on call, we were responsible for a twenty-four-hour period of time, from 7:00 A.M. to 7:00 A.M. We were on call for all of the patients in Swain County General Hospital's forty beds, the Mountain View Manor Nursing Home, the Bryson City and Swain County jails, and the hospital emergency room. We also provided surgical backup for the physicians in nearby Robbinsville, which had no hospital, and for the physicians at the Cherokee Indian Hospital, located about ten miles away in Cherokee, which had a hospital but no surgeons. While on call, we were also required to serve as the county coroner.

Since pathology-trained coroners lived only in the larger towns, the nonpathologist physicians in the rural villages often became certified as coroners. We were not expected to do autopsies—only pathologists were trained to perform these—but we were expected to provide all of the nonautopsy responsibilities required of a medical examiner.

Having obtained my training and certification as a coroner while still in my family medicine residency, I knew the basics of determining the time and cause of death, gathering medical evidence, and filling out the copious triplicate forms from the state. Not sure that I was adequately prepared, but proud to be the holder of a fancy state-provided certificate of competence anyway, I thought I was ready to begin practice in Bryson City—ready to join my colleagues as an inexperienced family physician as well as a neophyte medical examiner. It was not long after our arrival that I was required to put my new forensic skills to work.