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This is a true story, except the names have been changed.
My brother, Simon’s practice as a country doctor in the
Ozarks was often like flying a plane – hours of boring routine care for
colds, poison ivy, prescribing a tourist’s forgotten birth control pills
or removing a wayward fishhook. But something unexpected could make
things go sideways. A crisis, usually involving a lot of blood, had to
be handled. There were no second chances.
One morning, a very unusual thing happened. The seldom-used
back door flew open. Two men stepped inside and pointed their automatic
rifles at the staff and patients in the open area. "That sumbitch nearly kilt my son, John, here when he took out his appendix. Then he had the nerve to send him a bill!”
Hearing the ruckus, Simon walked into the situation and eased
behind the nurse’s waist-high cubicle. From the corner of his eye, he
saw his partner, Dr. Ewing, slip into an examination room and softly
close the door. Shit fire. he thought. Now it was solely up to him to deal with this problem.
He kept a loaded pistol in the desk drawer. It was to his
left, and of course, he was right-handed. It was a common practice for
local businessmen to have a pistol handy. The pharmacy in the clinic
meant there was always a chance of a drug robbery. Despite being a crack
shot, he knew that using his left hand meant he had to shoot to kill,
so he chose a different path.
Simon was a Marine and he knew the men well, so he channeled his old drill instructor and shouted at them.
“You bastards don’t be stupid. Put down the GD weapons right now! I
mean it. Put the f****g guns on the floor and step away from them.” He had to repeat himself before they reacted.
Apparently used to following orders, they obeyed. The sheriff arrived and took charge. The crisis was over.
The cowardly partner sent for his possessions the next day. He knew better than to face Simon.
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