During the terrible time when my younger brother was in the hospital comatose in 1978, my family and I had many terrible experiences. The oddest and in some ways the worst experience for me came from talking with the neurosurgeon who worked on Gene when he was brought into the hospital. Dr. Houser was apparently quite reknowned in a specialty where doctors are notorious for having terrible bedside manner. Dr. Houser was far from an exception, in fact he might have been solely responsible for the bad reputation neurosurgeons have, his manner with patients and their families is so terrible.
After Gene had been at McKay-Dee Hospital for several weeks and it was apparent he wasn't improving, and wasn't going to improve, the hospital administrator informed my parents they would have to arrange for long-term care for him. We weren't ready to be told the hospital was writing Gene off yet, but the administrator was adamant and called on Dr. Houser to bolster his opinion.
Dr. Houser told my mother that Gene was "a vegetable" and that we had to move him out to clear his room for someone with a problem the hospital could heal. His manner in saying this must have been pretty awful, because it sent me into a rage. According to my sister, I leaped at him, hands held outward, grasping for his throat. I wasn't a large kid, but I'd just started to hit the growth curve all teenage boys do, and was probably 110 lbs or so, a little over five feet tall.
The only thing that stopped me was my older brother, who grabbed me by the waist of my pants and physically controlled me until I could return to my senses. The most disturbing part of this entire episode is that I have no recollection of it, I retell the story from my sister's viewpoint. My brother and mother have confirmed the story at times, but I have absolutely no recollection of this incident, or of Dr. Houser. Or at least I thought I didn't.
Six years later, I had graduated from Weber State University, across the street from McKay-Dee Hospital. I'd found a job, as had most of my college friends, and we had begun sailing together on Steve Rosengreen's new J/35, Halcyon. Included in this group of friends was Jon Zeuthen, at least until he knocked me out with the spinnaker pole -- twice.
Jon was an ambitious young man, he had just completed a computer science degree like the rest of my crowd of friends, but he planned to immediately begin working on an MBA, seeing that as a hot ticket to a good salary in the future. The rest of us, very creative, thought this a curious bend, we wanted to go make things and achieve greater technical competency. They didn't really let people become managers before they actually learned the career, did they?
At any rate, Jon was the first of us to buy a house, just a few months after graduation. He bought a home just north of the University, the former home of a prominent local doctor. He had a housewarming party shortly after buying the house.After an hour or sharing pizza and beer with friends, Jon gave us the grand tour of the house, a curious affair since he couldn't really afford to furnish the house. He had his bed and dresser from home looking forlorn in the large master bedroom, one small couch in the living room, and a nice office chair along with his personal computer in the study, the doctor's former home office.
As we toured the house, I became increasingly uneasy. When we arrived in the study and peered into the examination room next door, I asked John "This was Dr. Houser's home, wasn't it?"
Jon was stunned, as were several in the group. "Yes, how did you know?"
"I don't know, but I have to go." I left the group without pausing to think what effect this would have on Jon, or on my friends. I walked out the front door, got in my car, and drove away, I don't recall where to. A few days later, John Kunkel, a very close friend, asked me what happened, and I told him the story about Dr. Houser. I knew I could count on John to tell everyone else present why I had gotten so freaked out and left, so I wouldn't have to explain over and over again.
I don't know if it was some lingering sense of smell, or some other sense that told me that was Dr. Houser's house. This is such a funny, weird episode in my life, I've turned it over and over in my mind a number of times, and never really been able to make sense of it. I still haven't now, but it popped into my head after I re-read the story about smelling like my father, so I wanted to record it here.
I have another tie-in to this story, but that will have to wait for later, I'm supposed to go sailing now. Wish me luck.
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