Bryson City Tales (43 page)

Dave chimed in, “That Rogers just got a soft belly. Don't take much to get him green-faced.”

“Yeah,” added Billy, chuckling. “Kinda like you were in your first coroner's case, Doc.”

That crime scene was seared into my memory. Two men were drunk and got into a fight. One of them pulled out a loaded shotgun. The two wrestled over the gun, it went off, and one of them had his head blown off and his brains splattered all over the walls and ceiling of a small bedroom.

Chagrined, I admitted, “I did get green on that one.”

“'Member when we first met you?” Don asked.

I thought for a second and then smiled. “Yep. It was my first home delivery. Millie called me out on my first night on call here in Bryson City. I asked her to call you guys to come back me up.”

Billy laughed. “I'd have liked to have seen yer face when you walked in that barn with that ole farmer and saw his white-faced heifer locked in breech. I'd pay anything fer a picture of that moment.”

“Yep, my first home delivery was quite an education.”

“Doc, ya know if Clem still got that calf?”

“He does. In fact, I just saw her last week.”

“Did you shore 'nuff?”

“Yep. I go see her from time to time—after all, Clem did name that little calf after me.”

“No way.”

“He did. Named her Walter.”

The two paramedics broke out in laughter.

“Seems like so very long ago, doesn't it?” I commented, more to myself than to them.

“Well, time does fly when you're having fun!” commented Don, “But, Doc, I'll tell ya this—you'll be needin' to git a lot more miles on ya. One year of practice out here is jest a begin-nin'—at least compared to your colleagues.”

I smiled. “I know.” As Don drove up a steep valley, I thought about the other physicians in town. Harold Bacon, M.D., was nearly eighty and the dean of the medical community. Bill Mitchell, M.D., was in his seventies and a general surgeon who had served as a captain in the Army in World War II. We all called him Mitch. Along with Ray Cunningham, M.D., who was a Bryson City native, they formed Swain Surgical Associates.

Ray was a much younger surgeon than Mitch and was the only residency-trained and board-certified physician in town besides Rick and me. Mitch and Ray had helped recruit Rick and me to the area and were allowing us to practice medicine with them until our new office was completed.

The ambulance bumped as it left the paved road and began climbing up a narrow, graveled mountain road. I thought about the other local doctors. Paul Sale, M.D., was just about fifty years old and a general practitioner. Like Harold and Mitch, he had practiced in Bryson City his entire career. However, Ken Mathieson, D.O., had retired from practice someplace else and settled in our hamlet to set up what would be his last practice. Like Rick and me, he was still considered an outsider.

The ambulance strained as it climbed the steep lumber roads.

“Good thang this here has four-wheel drive,” Billy commented—to no one in particular.

Finally we arrived at the scene.

Rick had heard the ambulance struggling up the mountain road and met us at the tape.

“What's up, partner?” I asked him, as I hopped out of the unit.

“I've never seen anything like it, Walt! Just wanted you to see. You know, create a memory together.” He tried to smile—but couldn't. He turned, and we followed.

The four of us walked over the ridge where the deputy met us—the sheriff having left to return to town. There was no banter, as we all turned to fix our eyes on the body and the shocking scene in front of us. As we walked around it, Rick explained what he had learned. “Obviously, the cause of death is blunt trauma to the head.”

“How's he still standing?” asked Don.

“I wondered the same thing,” Rick answered. “The blow clearly drove his lower legs deep into the mud. And it must have crushed his spine in such a way that he's stuck upright. Of course, having the tree right behind him helps.”

Don commented, almost to himself, “Seems like he'd bend over frontward at the hips, don't it?”

“I agree,” I said. We three continued to walk around the body—not believing what we were seeing.

Then I noticed the crushed hard hat sitting on the shoulders. I looked at Rick. “Have you taken the hat off?”

“I did. But you may not want to, Walt. It's pretty ugly.”

The deputy chuckled. “I thought Dr. Pyeritz here was gonna toss his lunch. He got even greener than you did at the Crisp shooting, Dr. Larimore.”

“Well, Rick,” I muttered, “at least our reputations are established among the law enforcement community, eh?”

“I'm just kiddin' you boys,” the deputy said. “Don't take no offense. Happens to every new doctor comes out this way. You jest don't see these types of things in the city, do ya?”

“True enough!” I responded. “Well, let's take a look.”

I took a deep breath and then lifted the flattened hard hat off the
shoulders of the dead man. I'm sure my instant shock was apparent to anyone not transfixed on what I was seeing. It wasn't the skull, squished like an eggshell, that stunned me. It wasn't the brain, open and exposed, that surprised me. It wasn't even the dead man's face, crushed but facing up, that dazed me. It was the dead man's eyes—wide open, protruding, and staring straight up toward heaven. I slowly replaced the hard hat back on the dead man's shoulders, feeling nauseous.

“Reckon he never knew what hit him,” Don whispered.

Then there was a moment of quiet. No one spoke until the deputy broke the uncomfortable silence. “Dr. Pyeritz, anything else you need?”

“I don't think so, sir.”

“Well, let's see if we can get him out of the mud and over to Sylva for the autopsy. Then I'll go over and talk to his wife. It's not the best part of my job.”

“It's not the best part of ours, either,” Rick whispered to me.

We turned to head back to our cars. On the drive back into town I thought back on the start of my professional life in Bryson City, the sudden turns and unexpected tragedies like the one I had just witnessed, the fragility of life, and the part I played in that drama. I looked out the window and turned my eyes toward the heavens. Would I be ready for whatever was coming next? I thought, and I wondered what this new year would bring.

Bryson City Seasons

More Tales of a Doctor's Practice

in the Smoky Mountains

Walt Larimore, MD

Welcome to Bryson City, a small town tucked away in a fold of North Carolina's Smoky Mountains. The scenery is breathtaking, the home cooking can't be beat, the Maroon Devils football team is the pride of the town, and you won't find better steelhead fishing anywhere. But the best part is the people you're about to meet in the pages of
Bryson City Seasons
.

In this joyous sequel to his bestselling
Bryson City Tales
, Dr. Walt Larimore whisks you along on a journey through the seasons of a Bryson City year. On the way, you'll encounter crusty mountain men, warmhearted townspeople, peppery medical personalities, and the hallmarks of a simpler, more wholesome way of life. Culled from the author's experiences as a young doctor settling into rural medical practice, these captivating stories are a celebration of this richly textured miracle called life.

The whole book is delightful. My only criticism: there wasn't
enough of it!

Margaret Brand, MD, co-laborer with Dr. Paul Brand in leprosy work in India

Softcover: 0-310-25672-0

Pick up a copy today at your favorite bookstore!

Bryson City Secrets

Even More Tales of a Small-Town

Doctor in the Smoky Mountains

Walt Larimore, MD

More enchanting tales of the people and events that shaped a young doctor's life and faith during his early practice in the Smoky Mountains …

There are places in Bryson City where the smell of home cooking is a little too tempting for an empty stomach. Don't, for instance, pass the Fryemont Inn when the windows are open—not unless you plan to come inside and enjoy fresh-baked rolls, gourmet cooking, and an owner who is as warm and inviting as the food. She's just one of the friendly faces you'll meet in
Bryson City Secrets
.

Told with winsome humor and deep affection,
Bryson City Secrets
is a story-lover's delight, continuing Dr. Walt Larimore's reminiscences of his early years of country medical practice. Pull up a chair and feast on this rich fare of Smoky Mountain personalities, highland wisdom, and all the tears, laughter, tenderness, faith, courage, and misadventures of small-town life.

Softcover: 0-310-26634-3

Pick up a copy today at your favorite bookstore!

Learn How to Take Evangelism out of the
Religious Box and Weave It into Your Life at Work.

Going Public
with Your Faith