Around Y2K, the not-so-cataclysmic millennial turn, both of my parents moved past their 80th birthdays. In January 2003 Susan and I visited them at the big concrete house in Jackson, Mississippi. Shortly afterward I wrote a letter to her parents in Texas describing that visit: Continue reading “Freedom”
As the center spotlight dims and speech becomes measured and slow, the main characters in a production may pause on the side before leaving the scene entirely. The audience strains to attend to those last motions and words, because they can illumine in the fading light all that has happened.
That’s how I think of our parents’ final years. As strength and health declined, persistence and courage gained greater focus. Continue reading “Becoming Ringbearers”
When Arthur Guyton assumed the chair of physiology at the 2-year University of Mississippi Medical School in Oxford in 1948, he recognized a personal inadequacy because he actually never had taken a full graduate physiology curriculum. His knowledge derived only from medical school courses at Harvard, as well as what he had picked up in surgical internship and brief surgical residency and his term with the Navy in the war. Continue reading “Medical Education for the World and Home”
Anyone who grows up in Mississippi gains respect for the effects of slowly moving fluid. The fertile soil of the Mississippi Delta, from Memphis down through Clarksdale and Yazoo City to Vicksburg, accumulated over millenia of flooding and deposition of silt carried by the river from northern tributaries. As a boy, Ott Guyton certainly heard about the Great Flood of 1927 and read with interest about the expansion of levees and scientific study of hydraulics by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. Floods in Mississippi typically don’t burst upon the scene in an onrushing torrent. Instead the water rises inch by inch often under clear skies in bright sunlight with inescapable devastating effect. Continue reading “Slowly Rising Pressure”
At the Guyton household in Jackson, Mississippi, new babies began to arrive. David, Robert, Johnny, Steve, Cathy, and Jeannie had moved with Ruth and Arthur from Oxford to a cramped small house on Meadow Road. Doug soon occupied a crib in a corner of his parents’ room. By the time Jimmy and Tommy arrived, the big concrete house was ready to welcome them.
That might have been enough, but later in the 1960s a bonus package arrived. It seemed only fitting that this Protestant mother would name her 10th child Gregory Paul after two Catholic popes. Ruth had to send a telegram to her Wellesley classmates explaining why she would not be able to attend their 25th reunion. “They were struck dead with horror,” she recalled with great amusement. Continue reading “Early Education: Counting to Ten”
Struck by polio, Arthur Guyton could not pursue his chosen career of cardiovascular surgery and turned instead to basic medical science in physiology. In the fall of 1947 he joined the faculty of the 2-year University of Mississippi Medical School in his hometown of Oxford. The following year, despite some concern from the dean that he might not be able to withstand the rigors of leadership and research due to his disability, he became chairman of the Department of Physiology. Continue reading “Whirly-Go, Soldering, and Forgiveness”
Our grandparents, Luther and Clara Weigle, in the mid-1920s built a summer house on the wooded shoreline of Lake Sunapee in New Hampshire. The beautiful lake sits near the western boundary of the state, about halfway between Massachusetts and Maine. It stretches over ten miles mostly north-south, just over one mile wide in the middle part, with a prominent turn at the Tilson house at the north end. Sunapee swells with seasonal residents in summer and contracts in winter. Our mother’s family were among the part-timers, coming up from New Haven, Connecticut, every June. Continue reading “Water to Cripple and Heal”