Hospitals are notorious among journalists for being unforthcoming. When Phil Ennen and I held our first conversations about The Hospital, I asked for complete access: meetings, papers, finances, treatment areas, staff—everything. Ennen agreed, in the face of some initial resistance from a couple of board members and the hospital’s law firm, because he believed the story of healthcare in America, especially from the perspective of rural healthcare, was important and not adequately told. He exacted no promises from me in return that would limit the substantive content or point of view of this book. He could not have known the twists that awaited him back in March 2018 when I made my first trip to Bryan. Yet even during the most vulnerable and unpleasant moments of his life, Ennen kept his word. He didn’t hide, obfuscate, or resist my intrusions when it would have been easier for him to do so. This book exists because Ennen honored his promise.
The staff of CHWC, including those who feature prominently in the book, and many others who do not, weren’t always sure of the wisdom of allowing me to become part of the fabric of the hospital, but they were all gracious, welcoming, and kind. Dave Swanson and Chris Cullis, in the belief that the hospital had nothing to fear from truth, championed my access. Civic, political, religious, and business leaders of Bryan and Williams County were open and willing, especially Jim Watkins and the employees of the Williams County Health Department, who went far out of their way to be helpful, and Fred Lord and Anna Meyers of Jobs and Family Services. When I asked Jim Hicks about riding along with his EMS crews, he said, “You bet!” and that was that. The staff of the Williams County library helped me locate sources of historical import.
Keith Swihart, Valerie Moreno, Marc Tingle, and all the other people who allowed me into their lives have done a service for which I am grateful. Their stories are the stories of millions.
Chip Wood, owner of Bryan Ford Lincoln, gave me a sweet deal on a 2013 Hyundai Accent with 140,000 miles on it. George and Mary Jo Magill allowed a stranger to shack up in their lake house in return for very little rent, mouse extermination services, snow shoveling and plowing, and assistance installing a new bathtub. I got the best of the bargain.
I imposed upon other writers, academics, and experts to read all, or portions of, the text, and was met with generosity. Historian Nancy Tomes, of Stony Brook University, and Carnegie Mellon economist Martin Gaynor read select chapters, offered helpful insights, and saved me from errors. Beatrix Hoffman (no relation to Frederick), historian at Northern Illinois University, read the text—sometimes in rough form—and offered important advice and encouragement; I’m grateful for her patience. Cynthia Pearsall, a nurse and former executive of a small-town hospital, also read the text and provided context and corrections. Author Suzy Spencer took time away from her own work to critique and make suggestions. Anne Carney acted as my trial average reader. She proofread the text, challenged my presumptions, and made incisive queries. I am also grateful to the many journalists upon whose work I have relied for information, background, facts, numbers. Many of them are cited in the Notes section. Support your local newspaper. All errors are mine alone, of course.
Susan Heard copyedited my drafts, improved my grammar and sentences, and provided the occasional pep talk, despite my annoying habit of starting, stopping, restarting, and do-overs. As he has for decades, Alex Heard continues to encourage, as does Shelley Metcalf, who has given me attaboys for over twenty years. I’m grateful for her continued friendship and affection.
Many thanks to Howard Yoon, who helped refine the idea of The Hospital. Henry R. Kaufman provided the kind of comfort that only a diligent and expert veteran attorney can provide. No writer could ask for a more nurturing and tolerant editor than Elisabeth Dyssegaard. She and the crew at St. Martin’s are the best there is.