High Five

I enjoyed reading Lynda Hopkins’ article in the October 13
edition of the Tribune about Doctor David Anderson’s retirement. I
came to Healdsburg in 1972 because my bishop told me to. I had no
idea how long I would stay here, but I would have guessed maybe
five or six years. It has turned out to be bit longer. David came
to Healdsburg in 1973 with the conscious intention of being a small
town physician. It is an intention he has fulfilled for 38 years
with skill, dedication and love. He is a good doctor, a good man,
and has been to me a good friend. A number of my parishioners were
David’s patients and they all speak highly of him. Many patients
and their families have been particularly touched by the medical
care and personal caring he provided to them during a final
illness. I know that this caring when there was no longer any
realistic hope of a clinical cure cost David a lot. It was an
emotional, I would say spiritual price, he was willing to pay
exactly because he loved them. He himself says that living in this
community and practicing medicine here the way he has done made it
clear to him early on that maintaining so-called clinical
detachment was not possible and not desirable. I certainly believe
that this love for those in his care actually has made him a better
clinician because he sees the whole person not just symptoms. I was
always impressed by the fact that when I officiated funerals for
people who had been David’s patients, David was there in the
congregation to pay his respects. His work as a physician was done,
but his care for a friend and that friend’s family continued even
at the time of death.
David was not my doctor. It is interesting that Dr. Ed Neal, who
was my doctor, and who likewise was and is highly respected and
loved in this community, chose David to be his own physician. David
and I did, however, spend time together. When our children were
small, we were non-resident members of the Vineyard Club near
Geyserville. The Andersons are resident members and we all often
would spend Sunday afternoons there. Sunday afternoon activities
usually included a regatta of Sun Fish sail boats. Each boat had to
have a “crew member” in addition to the skipper. Skippers,
including David and me, would look for the smallest child we could
talk into sailing with us. David and I were also among the original
members of a men’s paper group that continues to meet monthly for a
dinner and a paper on any and every imaginable topic. Some of
David’s papers have been very personal and have revealed again how
deeply he loves the practice of medicine and how deeply he loves
the people in his care.
Of all the activities David and I shared the one I remember most
fondly is playing basketball. We didn’t play on a team in a league.
It was just a group of guys who showed up on Thursday nights, chose
up sides and played – one point per basket, ten points wins the
game, no free throws, no jump balls, call your own fouls. This went
on for a couple of decades. I was a member of the board of
directors of a non-profit, community service agency that considered
changing the time of their monthly meeting to Thursday night. I
said that I’d have to resign if they did because I had a long
standing, weekly commitment on Thursdays. Although I didn’t share
this at the board meeting, the long standing commitment was playing
basketball with David and the other guys. 
Some of the guys had played high school and college basketball;
others were just generally good athletes. David was pretty good. I
really wasn’t a particularly good basketball player. I just loved
to run up and down the court, play defense, and get an occasional
lucky shot, and, as my wife Bonnie would sometimes say, have a
little male bonding. One night only four guys showed up. We played
two on two, David and me against two other guys, both of whom were
good. We could hardly believe it when we won the first game to ten.
We were whooping it up like a couple of kids. As the other two guys
looked on in bemused disbelief, David and I raised our right hands
to give each other a high five. Our outstretched, uplifted hands
swept past each other without making contact, and we all burst out
laughing. Our improbable victory turned into slap stick, and the
slap missed.
David, enjoy your retirement. I certainly am enjoying mine. I
raise my hand to you, I stretch it out to make contact – victory,
high five!
 
Canon Marvin Bowers is a retired clergyman and may be
reached at

fr************@gm***.com











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