NOTES, LETTERS & STORIES {C} Rickey Bates
The Story of Gavin [7]
Slug: Gavin: © Rickey Bates From: Notes, Letters & Stories Story by: Rickey Bates
email: rmbates714 @yahoo.com
Time and Date Stamp: Friday, July 8, 2016
For a Forward and/or Chapter of “Notes, Letters & Stories.”
Remembering Gavin © by Rickey Bates
A man like many people we’ve met and liked, who we barely knew. They are still recalled with a smile many years later...along our way.
Gavin was a man I spoke to as a child. He lived on St. Leo, and was older than my grandfather, and retired from the railroad. When our mother and her best friend walked us up to Kemper’s Confectionary, we always went down St. Leo, and he was always there watering his beautiful lawn. The youngest were in strollers, or being carried, with the rest of us walking close by.
We’d look forward to seeing his railroad cap, shaped to his head, and that belt high on this big barrel of a man and a smile almost as big. He’d wave and warm smile when he saw us coming down the road. We got into this routine that seemed to be timed perfectly to see Gavin watering his lawn.
When we missed him at times, we told him so the next time, and he did the same. It started with one or two people, then all of us admiring and complementing him on his beautiful lawn. It was almost a ritual visitation that we looked forward to.
It was neat to run ahead of our little group to see him first, and I was always the last to leave. The visits were brief, but we’d watch him as we approached and always turned back to see him once more after we had passed. I’d leave and catch up before mom turned the corner.
We knew this good man briefly and casually by a single first name. We never got much passed his career as a railroad man or his lawn tending secrets, but we learned and shared his joy and passion for tending to nature.
He improved his neighbors view, and was an honored friend to us just the same, as if we lived next door. We don’t know the first or the last time we saw him, nor never met a member of his family. We just liked the silent man who had the greatest warmth in a mere smile, nod and inviting wave. We never changed our route to the store.
May his children’s children live long and be blessed for the joy he seemed to freely give away to others, and for the days we passed by and enjoyed our treasured friend, and we offer our thoughts for them as well, for all the days since, that we’ve missed our friend.
When I water the lawn or tend a garden, I’ll remember that man with his hose, and the lawn that seemed just as proud of the man that so cared for it.
Gavin our friend, for about 50 years now, you have been well remembered, and you are still making people smile when we recall that stroll up to Kemper’s Confectionary.
If you knew Gavin, please pass this along to their family. If you knew someone like him, this kind and good natured, then your nod and smile for them, can tag right along with ours. I believe people with the similar regard, appreciation and passions in life and everyone in it, are normally found together, somewhere closer than we think.
For my mother, her best friend Jean, her kids, my brother, sis
ter and myself; Gavin, it was a pleasure knowing you. From 1964, and for several years thereafter, you made walks to the store a pleasure. Only many years later, after speeding by on a bike or in a car, have I sensed that you are no longer there. Though your grass still grows, it too, seems to miss you.
How many people like Gavin have you met, who’ve always stayed with you? I think if you write something about them, somehow, you give a bit of that Karma back in their honor, maybe it wishes their children well andblesses them, just before coming right back around to visit us again...from time to time.
When we all finally get to heaven, God may decide to set aside some small patch of grass for Gavin to water. Even He must have enjoyed watching Gavin smiling at neighbors returning the wave and nod...right back to that friendly face, while tending to the grass that God Himself; must have thought was important enough and pretty enough to bless us with, in this first place.
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Update: We’ve found over 20 people who still remember Gavin, and in much the same way, too. We all agree, he’s stayed with us, and still think of him often. I sent it to a family friend, and got a nice note back, that made the story live again as a token as a perpetual gift that honors a good man. Thanks for reading about Gavin.
A Neighbor Who Remembers:
Update: We’ve found over 20 people who still remember Gavin, and in much the same way, too. We all agree, he’s stayed with us, and still think of him often. I sent it to a family friend, and got a nice note back, that made the story live again as a token as a perpetual gift that honors a good man. Thanks for reading about Gavin.
A Neighbor Who Remembers:
Dot’s feedback:
Story of Gavin. I loved this!! It took me back in time to my parent's neighborhood. We had a childless couple that lived right next door with their beloved boxer dogs. On holidays--I especially remember Easters, for some reason, they would hang gifts from the trees in their front yard, for all the neighborhood children! While I wasn't ever close to them, their kindness and general love for people showed and did impact my life!! Just reading what you wrote, makes me want to know him or someone like him.
Some of the best of this story; I could absolutely picture him from your descriptive writing. I like the phrases; "railroad cap shaped to his head" and "belt high on the big barrel of a man." Awesome! And, paragraph 6 which wholly captures what he meant to you. I like the last sentence "We never changed our route to the store." How meaningful is that?
Story of Gavin. I loved this!! It took me back in time to my parent's neighborhood. We had a childless couple that lived right next door with their beloved boxer dogs. On holidays--I especially remember Easters, for some reason, they would hang gifts from the trees in their front yard, for all the neighborhood children! While I wasn't ever close to them, their kindness and general love for people showed and did impact my life!! Just reading what you wrote, makes me want to know him or someone like him.
Some of the best of this story; I could absolutely picture him from your descriptive writing. I like the phrases; "railroad cap shaped to his head" and "belt high on the big barrel of a man." Awesome! And, paragraph 6 which wholly captures what he meant to you. I like the last sentence "We never changed our route to the store." How meaningful is that?
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Reproduction of the article from the Globe Democrat Story of Dr. Taylor C. Estes One of his daughters, Ida Belle Estes Richardson-(His daughter/Our "Grandma") One of her daughters, Shirley Estes-Richardson Bates-(His Grand-daughter and our mother and the rest of the family are very proud "Our Great Grandpa, I guess the original...Doc Estes" Written by Staff Reporter: 1926 |
Discovering a martyr or hero in your lineage doesn't change who you are, but it may inspire resolutions more in line with who you hope to become.
The Globe-Democrat Magazine, October 24, 1926
An OZARK DO
An OZARK DO
such degree as few men recover from, he rises straight and unbent as the sturdy oak to mount to his saddle when the summons for aid comes. Off up the rock-strewn trails of the forest-covered mountains sides he spurs, regardless of the stresses of such riding. Of the drain that irregular hours make upon vitality, of the fact that he probably won’t be paid. A true example of the type of general practitioner whose heroic services carried the nation through pioneer days, who braved discomfort, hardship and actual suffering himself that others might be given relief.
But years haven’t left Dr. Estes untouched. Although never tall, he has as yet resisted that tendency of age to shrink and shrivel upon itself. His hair is long and white—faded; yet his brows are bushy and tend to a bit of color, while his luxuriant mustache is still tinged brown. Clear blue eyes gleam at you, but his hearing is poor and conversation has to carried on in shouts. he is thin, but wiry—there is still ample strength in those limbs to carry him long distances in the saddle and bear him to his daily tasks, despite the fact that he treated himself through two cases of pneumonia, two of influenza and one of rabies. Still other trouble had pulled him down, bit by bit, and age and work have their toll, so that his chief necessity when not going forth on an errand of mercy is to rest upon the cot that is the principal article of furniture of the one-room house in which he’s been “camping out” this summer.
Dr. Estes was born in Hendrix County, Ind. son of William O. Estes, a native of Virginia. He received his generstartedal education in the public schools of his day and his medical training at Chicago Medical School. His first practice was sixty years ago in Cumberland County, Illinois, where he remained until the second year after the close of the war between the States. Then he located in Pulaski County, Mo., for a short time and finally found his select spot in the Current River country twenty-five years ago. He has "raised two families," to use his own words and of thirteen children born eleven are still alive and grown up. Two daughters and a son live in St. Louis.
Dr. Estes has been not only physician and confidential adviser to thousands of families, but also during the busiest years of his practice in Pulaski County was ordained minister and evangelist. For two years he was evangelist, and during that time organized churches, converted many, baptized hundreds, including two of his own children. Many times he was called from the church to the bedside of the sick; from the wedding to the funeral. My dear mother toId me to be a man, and that includes all that is noble and worthy, " Dr. Estes says in describing the impulses and motives that keep him struggling year after year, further beyond and the prime of life, chiefly in the interests of others.
The territory appertaining to his doctor's residence extends in a radius of sixteen or more miles in each direction. Of course, he is not, the only physician in the territory and he does not have the burden of going extreme distances to succor the sick. Yet his average trip, he estimates is twelve miles over the mountain tops. Fifty miles is the longest single trip he remembers to have made. In his previous practice in Pulaski county, where there were fewer doctors,-his range was twenty miles in each direction. "It is hard, hard," says Dr. Estes in speaking of his duties. "I am on horseback all the time, and for the last twelve months have been feeling it more and more. I can't make time any more, as I once could; it takes six hours for a twelve-mile trip in this section."
Dr. Estes has worn out many horses during his career. How many, he can't remember. A horse does not, last long carrying a man at all hours over the ridges of the Ozarks. In Pulaski County and in the earlier of his residence on the Current River, it took a stable of six excellent saddle horses to keep him mounted for all his ca11s. Nowadays, however, he keeps but one.
In his blue denim shirt, collar open at the neck, jeans pants held up by galluses, buckskin shoes, Dr. Estes does not look the scientist and physician which he is; yet he never has failed to have and hold the confidence of his community throughout which and in neighboring fields he holds high reputation and is in demand, especially in pneumonia cases.
For this wilderness practitioner has the reputation of never losing any patients of the dread disease. He says of himself that he has a particular style of treatment for this trouble--not so much of the use of drugs as proper care for the patient. He has absolutely banned .opium from his list of medicines for this disease. Pneumonia is very prevalent in this territory, especially during the winter and early spring, for the natives do not always properly protect themselves from the elements when outside and their homes are not always ideal for their protection at the night time. _ A genera1 horror of night air also derogatory to their health during these periods, The doctor contends; and he hoIds, contrary to general mountaineer belief, that night air is far sweeter and purer and more healthy than day air is.
Dr. Estes contends that, treatment of pneumonia is one of his simplest problems, and declares that it is foolish for a doctor to lose a case. He points out that the nation loses too many "big-men --leaders of thought and action from pneumonia.
Recalling the days of the world war and the epidemic of influenza, he told of hardships and struggles to keep up with the disease through his territory. “Almost, everybody in this section of the country had it” he declared. Some homes had as many as six cases at once- The big trouble was to get them to keep windows and doors open. The biggest strain, of course, was getting about to all the cases and watching them through the crisis."
Most of the ordinary practices of the mountain doctor is handling the ordinary illnesses of human beings, with the added number of accidents from falling trees, ax cuts, accidental shotgun wounds and other accidental injuries from lumbering, hunting and fishing; and the many obstetric cases.
Dr. Estes has had the pleasure of helping more than 14OO children into the world, he says. Many of these were twins. One woman whom he attended some years ago had two successive sets of twins and the good doctor counts these children as among the favorites of the hundreds whom he can list as being among his friends. It is in this element of a doctor's experiences that he can find comfort and pleasure, Dr. Estes says, although it always is a pleasure to give surcease to the suffering and health to the sickly. But it is in the helpless youngsters that the old-time general practitioner found his greatest reward for the strains and hardships of the life he was compelled to live. Conditions in the Ripley County country, in the districts outside the large towns and off the good highways, where it always is possible to get doctors quickly, have improved materially in the past ten years, Dr. Estes has found. Not only is there less actual sickness requiring the attentions of a physician, but' health in general is better except for the malaria, which always has been a factor in this territory. There is still much malaria among the inhabitants, but they are gradually improving the condition. Dr. Estes laments, however, that most of the people in the scattered territory wait too long before calling for the physician; as a result, it is either impossible to save them or a cure requires long and heroic treatment.
The 1ack of good nurses also is one of his laments. In the homes, he says, the doctor finds but little, if any, training in nursing and caring for the sick. Graduate nurses, over these many years have been generally unobtainable in that country, although now one can be brought in once in a whi1e. The trouble is, according to Dr. Estes, that the folks at home don't know anything to do for a patient except according to the instructions of the doctor and he can't always be there to give them just when they are needed.
But, Dr. Estes remembers, there has been more done for sanitation throughout the region during the last ten years, with the coming of railroads, than in the twenty five years before that. And the recent construction of new hard roads leading in all directions throughout the Ozarks, he believes, will give further new impetus to the movement and still further improve the basic condition of the people and lessen the strain upon the general practitioner. He finds that there is less sickness in the last few years than during the early part, of his mission and lays the increased good health to the improved sanitation.
His pay? Dr. Estes seldom or never is paid at the time he makes the long, twelve-mi1e, six hour horseback ride to attend a patient. Most Iikeiy such pay as comes will reach him long afterwards and as like1y as not, it will not be in cash. The biggest proportion of patients in such a district as this was, until recent improvements came to it,, cannot afford to pay a physician for saving a life, for it is all they can do to sustain the life that has been snatched form blackness. Those who have surplus crops pay in hay and corn, in wood and forage, occasionally in a chicken or a bit of game. Cash is not a common commodity reaching the physician. And many--far Eoo many, Dr. Estes firmly believes--pay nothing. Yet all receive the same cheerful service, the same rushing about through the night, hidden forests, where leaves and branches strike the rider in the face and try to tear him from his steed, while rocks and creepers seek to trip the horse himself and the angry, wind-driven rain drenches everything; all receive the same careful examination, the same application of medical knowledge and diagnostic skill. The same treatment designed only to cure. It is service, not pay, that leads the general practitioner about the far-flung mountain sides on his errand of mercy.
Yet there must be other compensations, else Dr. Estes would not be so cheerful, so content with his life. . Perhaps it is the hours alone when he can read about, the progress of medicine and the latest developments in the world of that, science. Perhaps it is the research work and experimentation that he can manage--little enough, but some. Perhaps it is the things he writes--for this doctor finds relaxation and amusement in preparing some of his thoughts and experiences for publication. Perhaps it is those 1400 children, many of whom he has watched grow through manhood and womanhood even to their Iast illness.
And as for his own long Iife, Dr. Estes has many reasons. The hearty exercise, the healthy hours in the open, the rigid discipline of simple life and simple food, all have their bearings. There is too, he declares banning of whiskey and other alcoholic liquors, which took place in St. Louis during a drive from Illinois in his younger year, when he broke a bottle on a rock. He doesn't smoke, but chews tobacco. But, believes Dr. Estes, the way to reach age is to do continual good for others.
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A Salute to the Savior of Southwest Airlines: An Airline I've always loved, -a backstory, with a few twists in the wind.
M. Lamar Muse, has been gone 15 years, but chose to join a seemingly impossible uphill battle to breath life back into an airline when it didn’t even have a plane, and reportedly only had a hundred bucks in the bank.
He had inside information on how to get planes in the air and full of frequent flyers, and he kept that formula for success fairly simple and brief, with uniforms to match.
His motto could have been something like, “Give Them A Fun, Cheap and Memorable Flight...and then some.”
I enjoy finding compelling stories about the birth and rise of amazing companies. The struggles and tough choices they had to face and and the intimidation they had to just stare-down, and push past, could have made anyone else high-tail it out of there, and never look back.
Mr. Muse, the literal Savior of SWA, left for reasons which reportedly started over an argument about whether to open-up flights to and from Chicago. In 1981, with his son Michael, he launched Muse Air, directly challenging Southwest on its Houston-to-Dallas route and earning the industry nickname "Revenge Air."
I worked with the people in the PR and Investor Relations Department, at SWA’s Corporate Office handled their communications.
One day we were busy preparing to send-out 50 SWA News Releases, destined for as many cities. (These were typed from telecopy changes and notes from those old cylinder models.)
When the originals were ready we turned them around via couriers to our SWA Contacts in the PR and Investor Relations Departments. Then, we were in a holding pattern awaiting “A Go from Control” so-to-speak. Both of the managers in those departments were especially nice, friendly and had a great sense of humor. But I didn’t know that they had a bit-of-a “dark side”.
One of the managers called and said "Hello Rickey, how are you?" I said fine, did you get all of your “Hard Copies?” She said, “Yes, I sure did,” and said, “So are we good to go?” I recall her being suspiciously sweet in saying, "They were all great except for one.”
She said,"Rickey, let me ask you something...have you ever been to Tucson Arizona?" "No, but I'd like to someday," I replied. "Well I didn't think you had.” And so, we appreciate alI the work you do for us, you know, making all those changes and catching all of those little typos and stuff, but one correction you made on that Tucson News Release needs to be fixed.
Without a clue which one that was, I grabbed a copy and asked, “Which ‘graph?” She Replied “The last one at the end, and the correction is for the word “Tucson.” I knew I’d made that correction, and couldn’t imagine how she didn’t get it...so I asked, and she said, “Oh we got it Rickey.”
In that, "life-flashing-before-my-eyes, fleeting moment," she says, "Tucson IS NOT spelled T-U-S-O-N dear, no matter how much some people may like it to be. So I'm going to need you to put that cute little "C" right back where you found it. After that, please send over that lovely courier again with some fresh hard copies and internals, and I’ll call you back after making sure that I won’t get a similar call like this one, from my Arizona contacts, asking me, “If I’VE Ever BEEN TO Tucson... alrighty Rickey.”
My knees went weak, and though I hadn't stuttered in 17 years, I finally managed to blurt-out “Oh-okey Dokey.” I was horrified that I’d misspelled the name of the city, and done it on purpose, simply because the damn thing didn’t look right to me .
So here I was being called on the carpet, by the woman who actually had it right to begin with, my client, who pays us to fix her copy errors and mistake. Horrified, I began to grovel with most sincere apology I could muster, and must have repeated several times...and then... absolute silence. I thought she had hung up on me. I said “Hello,” and got no response..then all of the sudden...I heard what sounded like a group of girls on the phone just bust out laughing...I looked at the receiver because I heard the same type of laugher coming from my own office, and saw our entire staff laughing right along with them.
Apparently they had all been tipped off in advance, about this tiny little mistake. They planned it well and got me good. They were swell about it and razzed me-sore again at our company picnic, and that’s the last time I thought of it, (if you don’t include every time I see an SWA plane or hear that song, “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.”)
I wouldn’t take anything away from the awe-inspiring rate of success and growth of SWA since Mr. Muse left. Any time leadership in any organization bump heads, riffs can rip at every nerve and fiber of a legacy. Add a couple of huge characters with ego’s to match, and something or someone has to give. Few folks get to appreciate the backstory, which may rarely seems to matter to most folks, but thankfully, we all get to enjoy the benefits of everyone who helped build and contribute to that success.
That being said, I've always loved hearing ingenious gimmicks and crazy antics born of a good idea, Muse had more than, a few; from the free bottles of whiskey in the early-going, the peanuts and let’s not forget those original fashions picked out for stewardesses. Nowadays, in these "Politically Correct Times," I’m afraid, being the driving force behind that idea...just wouldn’t fly, though I can’t say I’d speak against it...in the least.
If you happen to find yourself on a flight with this one particular girl who gives the instructions on putting on that oxygen mask...and she suddenly starts breathing fast, hard and heavy, like Meg Ryan in that cafe, in the movie "When Harry Met Sally," and you hear your wife say to her “I'll have what you're having Hun," then please let me know if this fun lady is still gracing our skies and lifting our spirits.
I wonder if there’s anyone around who recalls cashing in on that 26.00 full-price option, in 1973, (i.e. DFW/Houston flight; for $13, or pay the full $26 fare and take home a free bottle of Chivas Regal, Crown Royal or Jack Daniels.)
As for Mr. Muse, he certainly had a few good ideas and a helluva good sense of humor-to-boot. I've never heard of anyone else do something so crazy, as to put in change-makers that returned a dollar and a nickel in change, "for a buck"...just to make them smile and remember where they got that good deal from...have you?
As for all the good people at SWA, thanks for the smiles, for what you still try to do to get the fairs down, making the flight just right and on-time, and for keeping it light.
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But years haven’t left Dr. Estes untouched. Although never tall, he has as yet resisted that tendency of age to shrink and shrivel upon itself. His hair is long and white—faded; yet his brows are bushy and tend to a bit of color, while his luxuriant mustache is still tinged brown. Clear blue eyes gleam at you, but his hearing is poor and conversation has to carried on in shouts. he is thin, but wiry—there is still ample strength in those limbs to carry him long distances in the saddle and bear him to his daily tasks, despite the fact that he treated himself through two cases of pneumonia, two of influenza and one of rabies. Still other trouble had pulled him down, bit by bit, and age and work have their toll, so that his chief necessity when not going forth on an errand of mercy is to rest upon the cot that is the principal article of furniture of the one-room house in which he’s been “camping out” this summer.
Dr. Estes was born in Hendrix County, Ind. son of William O. Estes, a native of Virginia. He received his generstartedal education in the public schools of his day and his medical training at Chicago Medical School. His first practice was sixty years ago in Cumberland County, Illinois, where he remained until the second year after the close of the war between the States. Then he located in Pulaski County, Mo., for a short time and finally found his select spot in the Current River country twenty-five years ago. He has "raised two families," to use his own words and of thirteen children born eleven are still alive and grown up. Two daughters and a son live in St. Louis.
Dr. Estes has been not only physician and confidential adviser to thousands of families, but also during the busiest years of his practice in Pulaski County was ordained minister and evangelist. For two years he was evangelist, and during that time organized churches, converted many, baptized hundreds, including two of his own children. Many times he was called from the church to the bedside of the sick; from the wedding to the funeral. My dear mother toId me to be a man, and that includes all that is noble and worthy, " Dr. Estes says in describing the impulses and motives that keep him struggling year after year, further beyond and the prime of life, chiefly in the interests of others.
The territory appertaining to his doctor's residence extends in a radius of sixteen or more miles in each direction. Of course, he is not, the only physician in the territory and he does not have the burden of going extreme distances to succor the sick. Yet his average trip, he estimates is twelve miles over the mountain tops. Fifty miles is the longest single trip he remembers to have made. In his previous practice in Pulaski county, where there were fewer doctors,-his range was twenty miles in each direction. "It is hard, hard," says Dr. Estes in speaking of his duties. "I am on horseback all the time, and for the last twelve months have been feeling it more and more. I can't make time any more, as I once could; it takes six hours for a twelve-mile trip in this section."
Dr. Estes has worn out many horses during his career. How many, he can't remember. A horse does not, last long carrying a man at all hours over the ridges of the Ozarks. In Pulaski County and in the earlier of his residence on the Current River, it took a stable of six excellent saddle horses to keep him mounted for all his ca11s. Nowadays, however, he keeps but one.
In his blue denim shirt, collar open at the neck, jeans pants held up by galluses, buckskin shoes, Dr. Estes does not look the scientist and physician which he is; yet he never has failed to have and hold the confidence of his community throughout which and in neighboring fields he holds high reputation and is in demand, especially in pneumonia cases.
For this wilderness practitioner has the reputation of never losing any patients of the dread disease. He says of himself that he has a particular style of treatment for this trouble--not so much of the use of drugs as proper care for the patient. He has absolutely banned .opium from his list of medicines for this disease. Pneumonia is very prevalent in this territory, especially during the winter and early spring, for the natives do not always properly protect themselves from the elements when outside and their homes are not always ideal for their protection at the night time. _ A genera1 horror of night air also derogatory to their health during these periods, The doctor contends; and he hoIds, contrary to general mountaineer belief, that night air is far sweeter and purer and more healthy than day air is.
Dr. Estes contends that, treatment of pneumonia is one of his simplest problems, and declares that it is foolish for a doctor to lose a case. He points out that the nation loses too many "big-men --leaders of thought and action from pneumonia.
Recalling the days of the world war and the epidemic of influenza, he told of hardships and struggles to keep up with the disease through his territory. “Almost, everybody in this section of the country had it” he declared. Some homes had as many as six cases at once- The big trouble was to get them to keep windows and doors open. The biggest strain, of course, was getting about to all the cases and watching them through the crisis."
Most of the ordinary practices of the mountain doctor is handling the ordinary illnesses of human beings, with the added number of accidents from falling trees, ax cuts, accidental shotgun wounds and other accidental injuries from lumbering, hunting and fishing; and the many obstetric cases.
Dr. Estes has had the pleasure of helping more than 14OO children into the world, he says. Many of these were twins. One woman whom he attended some years ago had two successive sets of twins and the good doctor counts these children as among the favorites of the hundreds whom he can list as being among his friends. It is in this element of a doctor's experiences that he can find comfort and pleasure, Dr. Estes says, although it always is a pleasure to give surcease to the suffering and health to the sickly. But it is in the helpless youngsters that the old-time general practitioner found his greatest reward for the strains and hardships of the life he was compelled to live. Conditions in the Ripley County country, in the districts outside the large towns and off the good highways, where it always is possible to get doctors quickly, have improved materially in the past ten years, Dr. Estes has found. Not only is there less actual sickness requiring the attentions of a physician, but' health in general is better except for the malaria, which always has been a factor in this territory. There is still much malaria among the inhabitants, but they are gradually improving the condition. Dr. Estes laments, however, that most of the people in the scattered territory wait too long before calling for the physician; as a result, it is either impossible to save them or a cure requires long and heroic treatment.
The 1ack of good nurses also is one of his laments. In the homes, he says, the doctor finds but little, if any, training in nursing and caring for the sick. Graduate nurses, over these many years have been generally unobtainable in that country, although now one can be brought in once in a whi1e. The trouble is, according to Dr. Estes, that the folks at home don't know anything to do for a patient except according to the instructions of the doctor and he can't always be there to give them just when they are needed.
But, Dr. Estes remembers, there has been more done for sanitation throughout the region during the last ten years, with the coming of railroads, than in the twenty five years before that. And the recent construction of new hard roads leading in all directions throughout the Ozarks, he believes, will give further new impetus to the movement and still further improve the basic condition of the people and lessen the strain upon the general practitioner. He finds that there is less sickness in the last few years than during the early part, of his mission and lays the increased good health to the improved sanitation.
His pay? Dr. Estes seldom or never is paid at the time he makes the long, twelve-mi1e, six hour horseback ride to attend a patient. Most Iikeiy such pay as comes will reach him long afterwards and as like1y as not, it will not be in cash. The biggest proportion of patients in such a district as this was, until recent improvements came to it,, cannot afford to pay a physician for saving a life, for it is all they can do to sustain the life that has been snatched form blackness. Those who have surplus crops pay in hay and corn, in wood and forage, occasionally in a chicken or a bit of game. Cash is not a common commodity reaching the physician. And many--far Eoo many, Dr. Estes firmly believes--pay nothing. Yet all receive the same cheerful service, the same rushing about through the night, hidden forests, where leaves and branches strike the rider in the face and try to tear him from his steed, while rocks and creepers seek to trip the horse himself and the angry, wind-driven rain drenches everything; all receive the same careful examination, the same application of medical knowledge and diagnostic skill. The same treatment designed only to cure. It is service, not pay, that leads the general practitioner about the far-flung mountain sides on his errand of mercy.
Yet there must be other compensations, else Dr. Estes would not be so cheerful, so content with his life. . Perhaps it is the hours alone when he can read about, the progress of medicine and the latest developments in the world of that, science. Perhaps it is the research work and experimentation that he can manage--little enough, but some. Perhaps it is the things he writes--for this doctor finds relaxation and amusement in preparing some of his thoughts and experiences for publication. Perhaps it is those 1400 children, many of whom he has watched grow through manhood and womanhood even to their Iast illness.
And as for his own long Iife, Dr. Estes has many reasons. The hearty exercise, the healthy hours in the open, the rigid discipline of simple life and simple food, all have their bearings. There is too, he declares banning of whiskey and other alcoholic liquors, which took place in St. Louis during a drive from Illinois in his younger year, when he broke a bottle on a rock. He doesn't smoke, but chews tobacco. But, believes Dr. Estes, the way to reach age is to do continual good for others.
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A Salute to the Savior of Southwest Airlines: An Airline I've always loved, -a backstory, with a few twists in the wind.
M. Lamar Muse, has been gone 15 years, but chose to join a seemingly impossible uphill battle to breath life back into an airline when it didn’t even have a plane, and reportedly only had a hundred bucks in the bank.
He had inside information on how to get planes in the air and full of frequent flyers, and he kept that formula for success fairly simple and brief, with uniforms to match.
His motto could have been something like, “Give Them A Fun, Cheap and Memorable Flight...and then some.”
I enjoy finding compelling stories about the birth and rise of amazing companies. The struggles and tough choices they had to face and and the intimidation they had to just stare-down, and push past, could have made anyone else high-tail it out of there, and never look back.
Mr. Muse, the literal Savior of SWA, left for reasons which reportedly started over an argument about whether to open-up flights to and from Chicago. In 1981, with his son Michael, he launched Muse Air, directly challenging Southwest on its Houston-to-Dallas route and earning the industry nickname "Revenge Air."
I worked with the people in the PR and Investor Relations Department, at SWA’s Corporate Office handled their communications.
One day we were busy preparing to send-out 50 SWA News Releases, destined for as many cities. (These were typed from telecopy changes and notes from those old cylinder models.)
When the originals were ready we turned them around via couriers to our SWA Contacts in the PR and Investor Relations Departments. Then, we were in a holding pattern awaiting “A Go from Control” so-to-speak. Both of the managers in those departments were especially nice, friendly and had a great sense of humor. But I didn’t know that they had a bit-of-a “dark side”.
One of the managers called and said "Hello Rickey, how are you?" I said fine, did you get all of your “Hard Copies?” She said, “Yes, I sure did,” and said, “So are we good to go?” I recall her being suspiciously sweet in saying, "They were all great except for one.”
She said,"Rickey, let me ask you something...have you ever been to Tucson Arizona?" "No, but I'd like to someday," I replied. "Well I didn't think you had.” And so, we appreciate alI the work you do for us, you know, making all those changes and catching all of those little typos and stuff, but one correction you made on that Tucson News Release needs to be fixed.
Without a clue which one that was, I grabbed a copy and asked, “Which ‘graph?” She Replied “The last one at the end, and the correction is for the word “Tucson.” I knew I’d made that correction, and couldn’t imagine how she didn’t get it...so I asked, and she said, “Oh we got it Rickey.”
In that, "life-flashing-before-my-eyes, fleeting moment," she says, "Tucson IS NOT spelled T-U-S-O-N dear, no matter how much some people may like it to be. So I'm going to need you to put that cute little "C" right back where you found it. After that, please send over that lovely courier again with some fresh hard copies and internals, and I’ll call you back after making sure that I won’t get a similar call like this one, from my Arizona contacts, asking me, “If I’VE Ever BEEN TO Tucson... alrighty Rickey.”
My knees went weak, and though I hadn't stuttered in 17 years, I finally managed to blurt-out “Oh-okey Dokey.” I was horrified that I’d misspelled the name of the city, and done it on purpose, simply because the damn thing didn’t look right to me .
So here I was being called on the carpet, by the woman who actually had it right to begin with, my client, who pays us to fix her copy errors and mistake. Horrified, I began to grovel with most sincere apology I could muster, and must have repeated several times...and then... absolute silence. I thought she had hung up on me. I said “Hello,” and got no response..then all of the sudden...I heard what sounded like a group of girls on the phone just bust out laughing...I looked at the receiver because I heard the same type of laugher coming from my own office, and saw our entire staff laughing right along with them.
Apparently they had all been tipped off in advance, about this tiny little mistake. They planned it well and got me good. They were swell about it and razzed me-sore again at our company picnic, and that’s the last time I thought of it, (if you don’t include every time I see an SWA plane or hear that song, “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.”)
I wouldn’t take anything away from the awe-inspiring rate of success and growth of SWA since Mr. Muse left. Any time leadership in any organization bump heads, riffs can rip at every nerve and fiber of a legacy. Add a couple of huge characters with ego’s to match, and something or someone has to give. Few folks get to appreciate the backstory, which may rarely seems to matter to most folks, but thankfully, we all get to enjoy the benefits of everyone who helped build and contribute to that success.
That being said, I've always loved hearing ingenious gimmicks and crazy antics born of a good idea, Muse had more than, a few; from the free bottles of whiskey in the early-going, the peanuts and let’s not forget those original fashions picked out for stewardesses. Nowadays, in these "Politically Correct Times," I’m afraid, being the driving force behind that idea...just wouldn’t fly, though I can’t say I’d speak against it...in the least.
If you happen to find yourself on a flight with this one particular girl who gives the instructions on putting on that oxygen mask...and she suddenly starts breathing fast, hard and heavy, like Meg Ryan in that cafe, in the movie "When Harry Met Sally," and you hear your wife say to her “I'll have what you're having Hun," then please let me know if this fun lady is still gracing our skies and lifting our spirits.
I wonder if there’s anyone around who recalls cashing in on that 26.00 full-price option, in 1973, (i.e. DFW/Houston flight; for $13, or pay the full $26 fare and take home a free bottle of Chivas Regal, Crown Royal or Jack Daniels.)
As for Mr. Muse, he certainly had a few good ideas and a helluva good sense of humor-to-boot. I've never heard of anyone else do something so crazy, as to put in change-makers that returned a dollar and a nickel in change, "for a buck"...just to make them smile and remember where they got that good deal from...have you?
As for all the good people at SWA, thanks for the smiles, for what you still try to do to get the fairs down, making the flight just right and on-time, and for keeping it light.
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We used to read the medical journals and articles of my Great Grandfather's research and treatments. Some were lost in a robbery from my brother's apartment after serving in the Navy.
We're still hoping to find them or locate another distant relative with some
yet to be discovered in a time capsule of treasures.
Doc. Estes "Beyond Current Decency" A true story © by Rickey Bates
The making of the story; The Screen Play Outline, Screen Play First Draft, 5 Minute Producers Pitch
The Casting Calls for the lead, are on your short list of obviously perfectly suited roles.
(3 guesses and I bet you could guess all 3 by your own preference.)
Sponsorship: 5 sources all of which have commercial and/or viable interests in
supporting through ads in commercials, for such a story, dependent upon cast.
We're still hoping to find them or locate another distant relative with some
yet to be discovered in a time capsule of treasures.
Doc. Estes "Beyond Current Decency" A true story © by Rickey Bates
The making of the story; The Screen Play Outline, Screen Play First Draft, 5 Minute Producers Pitch
The Casting Calls for the lead, are on your short list of obviously perfectly suited roles.
(3 guesses and I bet you could guess all 3 by your own preference.)
Sponsorship: 5 sources all of which have commercial and/or viable interests in
supporting through ads in commercials, for such a story, dependent upon cast.
