Alva Review-Courier -

Shortly after my 24th birthday, I moved to Memphis, Tennessee, to further my education at what is now the University of Memphis but was then known as Memphis State University.

I lived in that town of more than 600,000 souls for four years. Memphis State was (and is) an excellent university, and I learned much studying there. I also learned that I did not like living in a large city!

Soon after moving to Memphis, I found myself a regular doctor and went to his office most of the times I needed any sort of medical attention.

But I also learned that Memphis State had a medical clinic on campus that I could use for free, and so I also occasionally went there. The resident doctor was an elderly man named Dr. Black who, I heard, was not too up-to-date on modern medical practices.

One day, as was fairly normal for me, I woke up with upper respiratory issues including feeling lousy and being congested. I had a full-time day job (and went to school at night), and I decided I felt good enough to go to work.

But before I left my apartment I wrote down the name of the cough syrup my hometown family doctor used to give me when I had similar symptoms. I decided that as soon as I got off from work, I would go see Dr. Black and save the cost of an office visit to my regular doctor.

It was in November when this happened. The weather that day was chilly, and the sky was overcast. I knew that the clinic closed at 5 p.m. and I had to fight city traffic for several precious minutes in order to get there on time.

The clinic was in a small building located in the corner of a large parking lot. When I got there, it was about 4:55 p.m. It was already dark, the parking lot was fairly empty, and the clinic appeared to be closed.

But it wasn’t—as we will see next week!