Dad's Story: Part I

(an audio version of this essay can be accessed at the bottom of the page)

I've been interviewing my eighty-four year old father for the past several weeks because he wants me to write a book about his life. Unlike the numerous biographies of famous people--dead and alive--who are fortunate enough to have their lives scribed by someone who has superb writing skills, my father's story will not be a great piece of writing...of this I'm sure. I'm also certain that there will be people who say that my father's story isn't all that extraordinary. Well, that may be true, but my father does have a story to tell. The sad thing is that the story is slipping from his memory a little more each day, since he is suffering from some type of idiopathic dementia. We all know that it's getting worse. Though he's scheduled to see a neurologist soon, we aren't sure if anything will halt the onset of it's insidious progression. When I was visiting my parents in our tiny home town of Johnsonburg, Pennsylvania this past May and June, I looked into my father's eyes one evening as he told me of his plans to have his story told. I was touched and honored that he found me capable of carrying out the task. But, just to be certain for himself--in my father's typical fashion--he asked my companion Carlos, the next day, if I was capable of doing it. Dad, who's never been a respecter of titles, seemed to suddenly value the credentials of someone who had a "doctor" in front of his name. It was almost in a placating sense that I agreed to the task, because I love my father, and wanted to do as he wished. Back in Texas, I heard reports from my siblings and mother that dad had been growing agitated about not being able to obtain medical records from more than fifty years ago. I knew something of his story about a night in November of 1950...we'd all heard about it. He had been nearly killed in a horrible traffic accident. His neck was broken. They weren't sure if he'd ever recover, much less live. He was trying to obtain the records--long since vanished--from this hospital where a talented surgeon saved his life. In between bouts of dementia and moments of lucidity, dad talked with me over the phone about that night...and I began doing some research. Something wonderful happened as I scoured the internet and searched library databases based on vague information that I had about the surgeon and hospital. I started to believe for myself that my father's story wasn't just worth telling. It was worth much more. It was my story as well. And it was the story of my family. You see, my family wouldn't exist if it hadn't been for this doctor, whose name just happened to be Fortune. I found out as much as I could. The orthopedic surgeon, Clayton Fortune, M.D., was prominent in his field by 1950. He had a growing practice located in Erie, Pennsylvania. When the small town hospital in Kane couldn't take care of my father's serious injury, he was rushed to Erie and into the hands of this capable man. My dad's surgery was involved for its time. His broken neck required a cervical vertabral fusion--as the fifth cervical vertabrae was fractured. Fortune's skilled hands operated, with his partner, Dr. John Euliano, for four and a half hours. My twenty-five year old father drifted in and out of consciousness prior to the surgery, but was conscious during the actual procedure. He would later recall that through the entire surgery, he felt as though he were being stabbed repeatedly by a red hot poker as the burning sensation seared through his neck. He was put in a full torso cast immediately following the operation. And he remained in this cast, and in the hospital, for a whole month. When he was released, he had to wear the cast home. There, he had some time to think about things. I think my father gave mortality much thought during that time. As I gathered pieces of information about this accident, I discovered that my father had a life prior to this surgery. I guess I knew that he had a life, of course--but I'm talking about more than that. I discovered that my dad's life was a difficult one...even compared to the most depressing stories of the Great Depression. There was so much to learn, and, sensing the urgency in my father's recollections, so precious little time to learn it all.

Thomas Boylan · Dadsstorypt1.WAV