Texas Surgeon: an Autobiography Page: 52

long white skirts and Gibson-girl white blouses with puffed
sleeves hit the ball down the hill, then go chasing after, followed
by attendants in white. One day as I was guiding my dray up the
precipitously winding drive to the Administration Building it
suddenly struck me that here, right in front of my nose, might
be a chance to make an initial break into the wondrous world of
healing.
How well I remember this building, on the highest point of
all. Inside a heavy door, fitted with a huge brass knob, the walls
were covered with dark oak paneling. It was much cooler than
outdoors. A grandfather clock ticked heavily at the foot of
thickly balustered and carpeted stairs leading to quarters for
resident doctors above. On either side of the lobby were cor-
ridors with the consultation offices and the accounting room.
And in a little wing there was a library, richly furnished and
quiet.
This day, having delivered my packages, I asked to see the
superintendent. The woman in charge, perhaps thinking it was
a matter of collecting for my deliveries, directed me into a
waiting room, high-ceilinged and perfectly still. Out of nowhere,
as it seemed, a man in a long white coat appeared. He stared at
me with such penetration that I became dreadfully flustered.
His voice, when he finally spoke, seemed preternaturally cul-
tured and distinct from all I had known.
"I'm Dr. Abbott," he said. "What is it you want?"
As if hypnotized, the words tumbled from my lips.
Carefully, head cocked a little, he listened to my garbled
story. I could not possibly have realized, of course, that I was
talking with a renowned alienist who, I am sure, could easily
read my harsh and simple background, my Canadian accent, my
dreams, my readiness to serve.
"Well, now," he said, in his clipped Boston way, "who knows?
Two of our student nurses have become physicians. It has been
done. Let's see what Dr. Cowles has to say." And a thin smile
played about his pale lips.
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