The Anatomy of Deception - Lawrence Goldstone [76]
At luncheon, conversation centered on the hospital, and through the first courses Billings explained the theory behind the planning and construction. The Johns Hopkins University was the first institution of higher learning in the United States constructed specifically to promote research. The hospital, although physically removed from the university campus, was to be an extension of that mission, as would be the medical school, which Billings said would be complete within three years.
Billings, a surgeon by training, but a man who had emerged as the nation’s most forward-looking thinker in public health and hospital design, had been persuaded by Gilman to join Johns Hopkins after a brilliant career in the army. He had been the man who had convinced the trustees to make research and medical education integral to the hospital’s mission.
Although the discourse was fascinating, for me the event was dominated by the man diagonally across from me. Dr. Halsted spoke very little, even when he was asked about the many improvements in both surgical technique and equipment upon which he was currently engaged. But laconic or not, Halsted’s brilliance was inescapable. In ten words, he could express an insight that seemed a century ahead of its time. I understood very quickly why the Professor considered this man a treasure to be protected, as one would encase a rare gem in a museum. Belying his deportment, Halsted seemed to have a human side as well. During his discussion of surgical gloves, he mentioned that Caroline Hampton, the nurse whose sensitivity to carbolic soap had spurred the innovation, was now his fiancée. As soon as the discussion moved to other topics, however, Halsted once again retreated into silence. But, to me, his presence dominated the table.
After luncheon was done, we toured the hospital and the facilities, which, as I had come to expect, were nothing short of miraculous. Every possible innovation had been incorporated into the design of the wards and the operating theaters, and the laboratories were more extensive than anything I had ever seen. Even the Professor seemed awed. When we had completed our tour, it was near dusk, so we repaired to Gilman’s home, where we would be staying, to relax until dinner. Gilman and his wife left us to ourselves, placing a bottle of sherry and two glasses on a tray on the sideboard.
“Well, what do you think, Ephraim?” demanded the Professor after each of us had poured a glass and settled into an extremely commodious side chair. “Quite an establishment, eh?”
“Indeed,” I agreed enthusiastically. “With a staff to match. I will feel like an interloper on Olympus.”
“Ha! This may surprise you, Ephraim, but I find the atmosphere a bit intimidating myself.”
“Intimidating indeed. And no one more than Halsted. Has he always been such a presence?”
The Professor pulled at one end of his mustache. “In fact, the frost in his demeanor is a recent phenomenon. He used to be an extremely affable and outgoing chap. Did you know that he was also a superb athlete? He rowed, played baseball, performed gymnastics … do you know what football is?”
“It’s a sport that some colleges play, isn’t it? Sort of tug-of-war in reverse. A lot of fellows lined up in opposition, each side trying to a push a ball over a line by shoving the other fellows backward?”
“That’s pretty much it,” agreed the Professor. “It takes strength and a certain ferocity. The university has a team, although I’ve never seen the game. It has become quite popular, I hear, at Yale. Halsted was one of the originators of the sport and named captain of his team at Yale.”
“I was not aware that he was such a violent man,” I said.
“I didn’t say he was violent, only that he played a violent sport in college. He fancies dachshunds as well.”
“Of course,” I said quickly. “But you also said that he used to be affable.