I opened the door to the closet slowly, carefully, since I knew it contained a large number of precariously stacked file boxes. It also held numerous outdated gizmos with electrical cords of various lengths that could trip or strangle a person. This was closet cleaning time and I had been putting it off for too long – about 15 years too long.
The first half-dozen boxes I examined had little in them to warrant saving. Then I found the box with my "yearbooks" from chiropractic school, and soon I was sitting there on the floor, looking through the photos, stories and class pictures, wondering, "Whatever happened to (insert name)."
For instance, whatever happened to Tony? He was an affable, good student, and everyone liked him. But he had one major problem: He was a bit awkward in mastering the manipulative techniques so necessary in our profession. In technique class, when we students were told to practice on each other, most of us would shy away from being his technique partner.
Tony was "all thumbs," with very little finesse. The interesting story, as finally told to me by Sam, a classmate, was that Tony had built a lucrative practice. Somehow, he figured out that his clinical skills were in diagnosis and the non-clinical skills of marketing. He did the initial encounters with patients, and re-exams, but often left the adjusting duties to the junior associate DCs in his practice. The most recent news is that Tony is currently a major partner in a chain of Pilates studios, and prospering nicely.
A student I'll call "Jim" was a happy-go-lucky guy: never negative; a naturally positive personality. He was very handsome and always had an attractive woman with him at social events. Whatever happened to Jim? My buddy Sam also knew the gossip about him. "Apparently he married a very wealthy woman," Sam wrote me online, "quite a few years older than himself."
I remember that Jim used to dream out-loud about having the "greatest" practice on the West Coast. Sam said things were good for Jim, but not "great," until he married into money. With the blessings of his new wife, he set himself up in a ritzy office in Burbank, Calif., with the best equipment, top-notch adjusting tables, and the like. The word is his patients are mostly movie stars and Hollywood types.
In the same box, I found some ancient chiropractic journals and magazines. I suppose I kept them planning to read certain articles in the future, but never did. Thumbing through one journal, I found pictures of boards of alumni, staffs of associations, college faculty profiles, all smiling out at the camera. I go "way back" with many of these doctors, and knew some of their stories.
A picture of one prominent state association president jogged my memory. He was one of the last DCs to go to jail for practicing "medicine" in Mississippi, a state that had no licensure at the time. He's one of my heroes. His stories about treating the inmates and even the sheriffs on the bed in his cell were fascinating and definitely humorous. I am privileged to have known him.
I remember being at a potluck picnic with the local county chiropractic society, in a park with huge elm trees. The group picture I found showed Ron, Jack, and myself in the front row, still eating barbeque, with goofy grins on our faces. We were young. Jack was Ron's new partner in his office at that time, but as I remember it, Jack never built a robust practice. Then, one day, he just didn't show up for work.
Ron literally did not know what happened, where Jack went or why. About two years later (yes, it's true), Ron accidentally ran into Jack in a department store. As awkward and bizarre as the encounter was, they had to talk. Apparently, Jack had just "snapped," realizing he had chosen the wrong path for himself. He left chiropractic and became a realtor, specializing in high-end condominiums in Colorado Springs.
In a picture of a chiropractic school alumni dinner, a blurred shadow of a woman, seated at one of the most distant tables, caught my eye. We served together on a board of directors years ago, and I remember her as a compassionate and charitable woman.
Once, I was able to visit her practice in Indiana. She treated an average of 80 patients a day, five days a week, and seldom took time off. To get a patient in the treatment room more quickly, she had a "jump seat" right outside the door.
Whatever happened to Kathy? I wondered. The Internet helped answer my question. She is now a nun living in the inner city of Minneapolis. She runs a free health clinic for the disadvantaged. Knowing her as I did, somehow it makes sense.
I put the lid back on the file box. If I store it back in the closet, I may never open it again. But then again, I probably will. There are plenty of memories left in that box. What about yours?
