Duke University Hospital
Durham, North Carolina
January 5, 1942
Mr. Brewer, your test results are in.”
Charles Bowser strolled into his office where Walter and Jessie had
been waiting about twenty minutes.
“Am I gonna live, Doc?” Walter asked.
Bowser sat, adjusted his glasses, and glanced at his charts. “I think you’re going to live, Mr. Brewer. But I do think that Dr. Papineau is at least partially correct in his diagnosis.”
“You think Walter needs a military deferment?” Jessie asked.
“Possibly, but not necessarily.”
“But you are saying that he possibly needs one?” Jessie persisted.
Bowser cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses again, perhaps hoping to send the message to Jessie that it was not necessary to cross-examine him after every sentence.
“Shoot it straight, Doc,” Walter said.
“Dr. Papineau diagnosed you with a condition known as bradycardia. In simple terms, that means a slower than normal heartbeat, anything slower than sixty beats per minute. In your case, Mr. Brewer, your normal heart rate is fifty-five beats per minute.
“So he does have bradycardia, just like Dr. Pap said?” Jessie asked.
Walter had seen this side of her before—that rare but dogged role which sometimes came out, in which she could mimic a relentless prosecutor.
“Jessie, let the man talk.”
Bowser glanced at his notes, trying to suppress a grin. Then he again adjusted his glasses and looked at Jessie. “Yes, ma’am. Your husband does technically have bradycardia.”
Bowser looked over at Walter. “Now, does that mean you’re in any kind of danger? Maybe and maybe not. The issue is why your heart is slow. Some athletes, for example, have slow heartbeats because their hearts are strong and relaxed from exercise. In your case, Dr. Papineau thinks your condition is from tobacco poisoning when you were a kid. His concern is that your heart could be compromised by additional stress.”
Jessie looked puzzled. “I don’t understand, Doctor Bowser. Dr. Papineau recommended a military deferment. Don’t you agree with him?”
“Jessie, the man is trying to tell us what he thinks.”
“It’s all right, Mr. Brewer.”
Bowser paused, apparently to collect his thoughts. “That’s a complicated question, Mrs. Brewer. We put your husband’s heart through some rather rigorous stress testing. The purpose was to look for danger signs under prolonged exercise. The good news is that he passed those tests. After reviewing the charts, I think he could serve in most military positions. However, he does have bradycardia, and his doctor feels that stressors or chemicals may compromise him. Therefore, he is technically eligible for a medical deferment.”
“What are you saying, Doc?” Walter asked.
“He’s saying you should take the deferment, Walter.”
“Mr. Brewer, I’m saying that this could go either way. I think you’ll be fine, but you could also take the medical deferment. At least there’s a legitimate diagnosis.”
“See? He said take the deferment.”
Walter looked at Jessie. His subtle hints for her to talk less and listen more were not resonating. “Jessie, the doctor’s not a potted plant. And he said that I could take it, not that I should take it.”
He looked apologetically at Bowser. “What do you think I should do?”
“There’s a doctor in Chapel Hill who’s an expert in tobacco poisoning. I’ve arranged for him to see you later this afternoon.”
“You want me to see another doctor?”
“When we’re talking about your heart, we want to be safe. And I think two heads are better than one. I want to see if we can establish or rule out tobacco poisoning as a cause for your condition. The doctor in Chapel Hill is better equipped to do that than we are here at Duke.”
“What’s his name?” Walter asked.
“Guthridge. Dr. Dean Guthridge. He’s a cardiac toxicologist. He specializes in poisons and their effect on the heart. I just want to run Dr. Papineau’s tobacco theory by him.”
Walter looked at Jessie. “I’ve always wanted to go to Chapel Hill anyway. If Doc Bowser thinks it’s a good idea, we may as well go while we’re up here.”
“It’s only about eight miles over there,” Bowser interjected. “He’s at North Carolina Memorial Hospital on the southern part of the UNC Campus. My staff will give you directions. I’ll have a courier take your file right over.”
Jessie was irritated with Dr. Bowser. Why not just tell Walter that the military was a bad idea and leave it at that? On the other hand, Bowser said that Walter was technically eligible. This would give her plenty of ammunition. Unless Guthridge messed things up. Deep down, she worried that this new Dr. Guthridge, this cardiac whatever he was, might override Dr. Papineau and convince Walter that the Army would be safe.
Walter was excited to visit Chapel Hill, a place he had heard so much about but had never actually seen. Following Highway 15-501 from Durham, he crossed the town limits and parked the Model A just in front of “Silent Sam,” the rifle-toting statue of a Confederate soldier overlooking Franklin Street where the UNC campus converged with downtown Chapel Hill.
Stepping on the Carolina campus for the first time brought back a rush of memories and a flood of what-ifs. He remembered the night when Jimmy Williams, half full of liquor, offered to pay his full tuition to this very place, conditioned of course upon marrying Ellie.
As they walked past the Old Well, past the South Building, and through the Quad toward the hospital, it was obvious why the old campus was the pride of North Carolina and the gem of the great Southern universities.
With lovely Georgian architecture blending subtly into the oak and pine orchards of Piedmont, North Carolina, Carolina carried the proud mantle of being the oldest of the state universities, first founded in 1789. This was where Walter and the brightest sons of the South had dreamed of coming to college. Even in the dead of winter, the campus was beautiful beyond description.
Maybe it’s a good thing Jimmy didn’t show me the campus before he made his offer. I can only imagine what this place would look like in the springtime, with all these dogwoods and azaleas in full bloom.
They walked past the Bell Tower and Kenan Stadium and finally reached Memorial Hospital, where they were led back to the cardiac wing by an orderly. At the end of a dark corridor on the right, an opaque glass pane on a wooden door proclaimed “Dean Guthridge, MD,” and under that, “Cardiology.”
“Welcome to Chapel Hill, Mr. and Mrs. Brewer. I’m Dr. Guthridge. Most of my patients call me Dr. Gut. We’ve been waiting for you.” A short, humble man with thinning white hair and granny glasses, Guthridge spoke through his nose, producing a classic Kansas twang.
“I’ve never had a doctor take me in without a thirty-minute wait. I hope that’s not a bad sign,” Walter said.
“Not at all. Dr. Bowser phoned and sent your charts over. He asked me to review your chart and give a second opinion. I know you’ve got a long drive, so we wanted to work you in.”
Jessie spoke quickly. “Dr. Papineau recommended a medical deferment, and Dr. Bowser said that a deferment could be granted under the circumstances.”
Guthridge chuckled. “I guess if I recommend otherwise that means I’m outvoted, huh?”
“Doctor, I’m not trying to avoid the draft,” Walter said.
“But he certainly doesn’t need to go if he has a medical condition. Especially since his brother was killed at Pearl Harbor,” Jessie interjected.
“Dr. Bowser made a note about your brother in the records. I’m very sorry.”
“Thanks, Doc. But please don’t let that influence you. I’m just trying to find out if I have a heart condition.”
Jessie again spoke up. “Technically, you do have a heart condition. Dr. Bowser said so.”
“Yes, Jessie, but it doesn’t sound that serious, and he also thought I would be okay if I were in the military.”
“Walter, he said the deferment could be supported from a medical standpoint.”
“We’ll see what Dr. Guthridge has to say. That’s why we’re here.”
“For goodness sake, Walter! How many opinions do we need? You saw what the Navy did for Billy.” Jessie turned her plea to Guthridge. “Are you a father, Dr. Gut?”
“Yes, ma’am. Three kids and two grandkids.”
“Good. Then you’ll understand where I’m coming from. We have four children at home. Walter’s dead brother has two young children. Walter’s now got six children to take care of. That’s why we think it’s important for him to take care of himself and maybe get some treatment for his condition here in Chapel Hill over the next few months. Walter’s got a good job with the Federal Government, and we can pay for the treatment.”
“Mrs. Brewer, you can relax. I’m not going to send your husband to the Army.”
“You’re not?”
“No, I’m not. I don’t plan to override the medical deferment recommended by Dr. Papineau.”
“Really?” Jessie felt a sudden sense of relief.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll give your husband my opinion on whether he would be at risk from a medical standpoint if he goes in the Army. He can still take the deferment if he wants. That will be up to him. I’m just going to draw some blood to try and determine if the tobacco poisoning is related to the bradycardia.”
“I’m sorry, Doctor Gut. I didn’t mean . . .”
“Think nothing of it, Mrs. Brewer. Now, if I could just ask your husband to step back with me. We’ll draw some blood, and we should have some results in a half an hour.”
An hour later, Dr. Gut was back in the waiting area with test results in hand. “Mr. Brewer, we’ve tested for trace elements of nicotine and all other known carcinogens used to poison tobacco for bugs. Your blood work looks exemplary.”
“I guess that means I don’t have tobacco poisoning.”
“It means that I can’t find anything linking the bradycardia to tobacco poisoning. It’s possible there’s a link, given your medical history, but I can’t find any medical evidence to support it.”
“But Dr. Papineau has been his doctor all his life. He knows Walter best!” Jessie protested.
“Jessie, the doc just said my blood work looked good. You want him to say I’m on my death bed?”
“That’s not it, Walter. It’s just that Dr. Pap—”
“Mrs. Brewer,” Guthridge interrupted. “I’m not impugning Dr. Papineau. It’s possible that an unknown carcinogen may have caused the reaction and thus the condition. There was apparently a symptomatic correlation. I’m just saying your husband’s blood work is clean. That’s good news.”
“What about military service?” Walter asked. “What should I do?”
“Again, Mr. Brewer, it’s up to you. I agree with Dr. Bowser. You do have a condition which makes you technically eligible for deferment. If you wish to take the deferment, you could get away with it. However, based on your stress tests and now your blood work, I doubt you would be at risk beyond the normal hazards of the military.”
“So you’re saying that he is eligible for deferment?”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m saying that technically he is eligible. Dr. Papineau’s letter makes him eligible.”
“But you’re also saying I’ll be okay physically if I go?” Walter asked.
“I’m saying I don’t think you’ll have a heart attack or any type of heart failure from natural causes.”
By the time Walter and Jessie got back to Jamesville that evening, they had bickered for three hours over their respective interpretations of the two specialists’ opinions. During the drive home, Jessie had repeated the phrase technically eligible for deferment—a phrase she thought she heard from both Dr. Bowser and Dr Gut—more than a hundred times.
Walter, on the other hand, was not so jaded in his interpretation of the doctors’ reports. He was torn between his duty to the children, his wife, his sister-in-law, and doing what was right. He didn’t know what was right. He didn’t want to shirk his duty based on a technicality.
He took Jessie home and then headed to Ellie’s house in Plymouth to pick up the kids.