Jamesville, North Carolina and
Duke University Hospital
Durham, North Carolina
January 5, 1942
On Sunday night, January 4, 1942, Jessie
and Walter dropped the kids off in Plymouth with Ellie, who had
agreed to watch them for a few days while the couple was out of
town. Ellie had accepted Becky’s offer to remain through the
holidays and felt that having Walter’s kids for a few days would be
manageable. Plus, it might be good for Little Billy and Margaret to
have their Jamesville cousins visit.
Walter dared not mention to Ellie that he had been drafted. No point in adding more stress on the heels of Billy’s death. She was still not over the funeral and had not mustered enough curiosity to probe further into the circumstances surrounding the trip.
He roused Jessie at four-thirty Monday morning, January fifth. After a quick breakfast, he fired up the Model A and they were westbound on Highway 64, following a route that would take them through Williamston, Rocky Mount, and Raleigh before reaching Durham, about 120 miles west of Jamesville.
Though accustomed to driving in the cold, dark hours before sunrise, this morning he felt somewhat awkward, his natural instinct telling him to brake each time the Model A’s headlights illuminated a rural mailbox belonging to one of his customers. This urge subsided when they crossed west over Gardner’s Creek and beyond the Jamesville mail route.
By now, the heater in the old car had the cabin toasty warm. Rumbling down the highway at 45 miles per hour, they were all alone on the road, passing fields and barns but not a single car between Jamesville and Williamston. Walter looked over at Jessie, who had dozed off, her head resting on a pillow propped against the passenger door with her long, brown hair pulled over her left shoulder away from the window. Walter had always relished the early morning as a time of peace and solitude when he could do some of this best thinking. As the car passed through Williamston and on toward Robersonville, he glanced again at his sleeping bride and reflected on the events of the past few days—first the funeral, then the draft notice, then the letter from Dr. Papineau, and now this trip.
“Where are we, Walter?” Jessie had been dozing for two hours.
“We’ve just passed Raleigh,” he said. “We should be at Duke in about twenty minutes.”
“You look deep in thought. What’ve you been thinking about?”
“Oh, just about Billy and Ellie. You know, same thing.”
In this case, the “same thing” meant he was thinking about catching Ellie with Billy behind the barn twelve years before. Believing that some things are better left unsaid, Walter had never shared the details with Jessie. He didn’t want Ellie to look like a hussy.
But truthfully, he had never gotten over it. He once loved Ellie, even enough to marry her. But the image of the smeared makeup and ghostlike look on her face when he caught her with Billy proved emotionally insurmountable for him. And he had never reconciled the question of whether he would have married Ellie for love or for money or for the prospect of having his education paid for by Jimmy Williams.
“Did you have a good nap?” he asked.
“About as good a nap as possible with my head jammed against a cold car door for two hours.”
“Well, you know we’ve got to protect that pretty head of yours. Anybody who can convince a high-powered heart doctor to see a patient like me on two days’ notice has got to have some brainpower in her head.”
Walter’s comment reminded Jessie of the predicament she was in. “You give me too much credit, honey.” In less than half an hour, she would face Mrs. Ward, the crotchety-sounding lady whom she must somehow circumvent to get her husband to Dr. Bowser.
Would Mrs. Ward fall for the we-got-our-months-mixed-up-and-drove-three-hours-please-see-us routine? Somehow, the idea of this lady capitulating at such a sob story seemed unlikely. But Jessie knew she had to try something. She had to know whether Walter was sick, whether this mysterious heart condition was a product of Dr. Papineau’s imagination. Besides, a scheduling mixup, even a fabricated one, would not get them arrested, and if Walter found out what she was up to—well, that was the least of her worries.
The couple pulled into the Duke University visitors’ parking lot about forty-five minutes ahead of Walter’s “appointment.” With a little time to kill, Walter suggested they stroll about the campus, which neither he nor Jessie had ever visited.
The tobacco magnate, James B. Duke, had dropped millions on the old Trinity College in Durham to form a great Methodist University honoring his father in the Piedmont area of North Carolina. On a cloudy day such as this one, the strong stench of flue-cured tobacco saturated the air in and around Durham, descending like a blanket on the Duke campus and seeping into the classrooms, dormitories, and hallways of the university.
Walking across the campus with Jessie, Walter was reminded of the old adage beauty is in the eye of the beholder. That old saying applied to the architecture and atmosphere of Duke. Some said the gothic architecture was stately. But to Walter, it seemed out of place, nestled in the tobacco stench of Durham County. On this cloudy day, the buildings looked gray and dismal. The campus felt cold, the academic equivalent of a funeral parlor.
Nor were the students friendly. Known as the University of South New Jersey at Durham by students at Chapel Hill because the largest segment of the Duke student population hailed from the Garden State, Walter and Jessie discovered that the students would look the other way when within speaking distance and remained largely unresponsive to a simple hello. This was the antithesis of the hospitable atmosphere found in Martin County or any other place in North Carolina, for that matter.
Walter wondered what Jessie thought about the place. But no matter. He wasn’t here to critique the campus or the personality of its students. Walter had come to Duke because it had a reputation of having one of the best medical programs in the country and because his wife had insisted upon it. Meandering their way to the main entrance of Duke Medical Center, they were given directions by a security guard to the cardiology wing. At the entrance of the wing, they were given more directions by the duty nurse to the offices of Drs. Bowser, Berman, and Honeycutt.
“Go down the hallway and turn left then take the first hallway on the right, Suite 100.”
At this point, Jessie’s instincts took over. “Excuse me, nurse, but do you have a waiting area for my husband while I go down there and get us checked in?”
Walter interjected before the nurse could respond. “Jessie, I’ll just walk down there with you. I mean it’s almost time for my appointment, and we might get separated in this big hospital.”
Jessie shot back. “Walter, you know how doctors are. They’re always running late. We’ll probably be here all day before they work us in.”
“Either way, ma’am. We have a waiting area around the corner which you’re welcome to, sir, or there is a waiting area in the doctor’s office.”
“Thank you, nurse, but I’ll just walk with my wife on down to the doctor’s office.” Walter wondered about the bizarre exchange. Jessie’s forehead broke into a cold sweat as they opened the door to the doctors’ offices.
“Wait right here, Walter.” Jessie pointed to some chairs in a waiting room outside the receptionist area. “I’ll check us in and be right back.”
“Okay, but don’t be long.” At Walter’s reply, Jessie breathed at least a temporary sigh of relief at Walter’s cooperation. Now for the real challenge—dealing with Mrs. Ward and getting to the doctor. Participating in this type of charade was against everything Jessie stood for. But she felt like she had no choice. The doctor’s office had been uncooperative, even a bit belligerent. On top of that, her husband’s life was at stake. If the specialist would just verify Dr. Papineau’s diagnosis, she could keep Walter home and make sure he got the medical treatment he needed.
Besides, didn’t Rahab from the Bible tell a little white lie when it meant saving the lives of the Israelite spies?
Mustering an air of confidence, Jessie marched from the waiting room to the receptionist’s desk in the adjoining room. Sitting alone behind the desk was a cute, petite young lady in her early twenties.
Here’s a case where looks sure don’t match the crabby old voice, Jessie thought to herself.
“Mrs. Ward?” Jessie asked.
“No, I’m Miss Bunker. Mrs. Ward’s in the back assisting Dr. Berman. Would you like me to get her for you?”
“Oh, no, no.” Jessie was relieved Mrs. Ward was absent. “Please don’t bother her if she’s busy.”
“Is there anything I can help you with?”
“Yes, we had an appointment with Dr. Bowser for the fifth.”
“Your name please?”
“Brewer. It’s for my husband, Walter Brewer.”
“Let me see.” Miss Bunker paused as she studied the appointments calendar. “I don’t have you on here for today. Are you sure of the date?”
“Yes, ma’am, we were told that Dr. Bowser would see my husband on the fifth.”
“We must have some kind of mixup. Wait right here.”
“Wait a minute.” Jessie tried to stop her, but Miss Bunker disappeared into a back hallway. About a minute later, she returned, accompanied by a gray-haired older lady wearing granny glasses secured by a chain around her neck.
Miss Bunker was speaking to her older colleague as the twosome returned. “Mrs. Ward, this lady says her husband has an appointment for today, but I can’t find her anywhere on our calendar.” Jessie did not like the sudden change of expressions on their faces.
“I’m Mrs. Ward.” The lady’s voice was cold. “May I help you, ma’am?” Her question was punctuated in a drum-like cadence. For Jessie Brewer, now was the moment of truth.
“My husband had an appointment with Dr. Bowser.”
“And your husband’s name?”
“Walter Brewer.” Jessie tried to remain resolute.
“Brewer? Didn’t I talk to you on the phone last week?”
“I talked to somebody,” Jessie answered. “I was told my husband had an appointment for the fifth, so we drove three hours to be here this morning.”
“Didn’t I tell you that we’re booked solid this week and we could see your husband only if it was an emergency?”
“I remember you saying the fifth.” Jessie stammered and uttered a silent prayer requesting forgiveness for the lie she was about to tell.
Lord, forgive me. “He, uh, is having chest pains.”
“I don’t remember you saying anything about that, Mrs. Brewer.” Mrs. Ward sounded incredulous.
“Uh, the chest pains started after we spoke, Mrs. Ward.”
“Wait here, please.” Mrs. Ward, agitated, disappeared in the back, while Miss Bunker waited without saying a word to Jessie. About a minute later, she returned with a scowl on her face, slamming a clipboard on the receptionist’s desk.
“You know, Mrs. Brewer, I have a mind like a steel trap. I don’t forget telephone calls, and I can smell a rat whenever someone is trying to manipulate the medical system to avoid military service to our country. My uncle lost his leg in France in 1917 when he stepped on a mine. But—”
Jessie interrupted. “Mrs. Ward, I can—”
“Let me finish please.” Mrs. Ward cut Jessie off mid-sentence. “But you’re lucky Dr. Bowser is a lot more lax in his attitude about these things. Just to be on the safe side, he’s going to work your husband in this morning, overriding my recommendation against it, I might add. But this better be legitimate.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Ward. And I am sorry about your uncle.” Mrs. Ward did not respond. But at least Jessie understood in part why she had made such an issue of the matter. Jessie walked back into the waiting room and sat down beside Walter.
“Everything alright?” Walter asked. “You look a little pale.”
“They will see us in a little while,” Jessie answered.
About thirty minutes later, young Miss Bunker appeared at the waiting room door. “Mr. Brewer, Dr. Bowser will see you now.”
Miss Bunker led the couple by the receptionist area—where Jessie got the evil eye from Mrs. Ward—and on into the back examination room.
“The doctor will be right with you.”
Jessie deliberated on whether to tell Walter that he was having chest pains. But she knew Walter wouldn’t lie about the matter and would disapprove of her having done so.
Within minutes, a tall, slender, dark-looking man with a white coat walked into the examination room.
“Hi, I’m Charles Bowser.” For the first time that day, Walter and Jessie detected warmth from someone’s voice associated with Duke. This was a welcome change.
“Nice to meet you, Dr. Bowser,” Walter responded.
“You too. I understand you’re having some chest pains, Mr. Brewer?”
“Chest pains?” Puzzled, Walter looked at Jessie. She didn’t return the glance. “Not exactly, Dr. Bowser.”
“No?” The doctor sounded confused. “Let me recheck your chart. Shows chest pains. Odd. What can we do for you?”
Walter showed him the letter from Dr. Papineau. Bowser took a few minutes to read over the letter.
“I’ll bet this got Mrs. Ward excited,” Bowser said with a chuckle.
“Mrs. Ward?” Walter looked confused.
“Doctor,” Jessie spoke up for the first time. “Walter doesn’t know anything about Mrs. Ward. I have been dealing with her.”
“It’s just as well,” Bowser snickered. “Mrs. Ward seems to think her patriotic duty is to single-handedly eliminate every medical excuse that might keep someone out of the military. If the patient’s on his death bed with an incurable disease, it doesn’t matter. Mrs. Ward still thinks they need to be on the front lines.”
“At least she’s patriotic,” Walter remarked.
“Whatever floats her boat,” Bowser said. “She’s been around here since Robert E. Lee was in the saddle, so we just kind of roll with the punches.” Bowser paused, reading Papineau’s letter in detail. Then he looked up at Walter and adjusted his glasses. “Bradycardia, eh?”
“That’s what Dr. Papineau says,” Walter said. “I’m not sure what that means. But he’s been my family doctor for years and seems to think I should get a military deferment. Frankly, this doesn’t sit right with me, and I wanted a heart specialist to check it out. If I get a deferment, I want it to be for a legitimate reason.”
“Dr. Papineau’s a good doctor,” Jessie interjected. “He’s treated Walter all his life. I’m sure he’s right about the military deferment. We just wanted to check it out and see how serious this is. Walter’s brother was killed at Pearl Harbor.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your brother.” Bowser seemed to sense the potential difference in agenda between husband and wife. “But I think you did the right thing to at least have it checked out. Walter, could you unbutton your shirt? I’d like to listen to your heart.”
Bowser put a cold stethoscope on the upper left area of Walter’s bare chest. “Hmm. A bit slower than normal. Breathe in for me, Walter.”