Alva Review-Courier -

One November day when I was in my mid-20s, I found myself driving my car into a large parking lot on the campus of Memphis State University. I wasn’t feeling well and I was headed to the university’s free clinic.

The clinic’s resident physician was Dr. Black. I had visited the clinic a few times, but I’m not sure that he had ever treated me. If you showed up with your student ID and said you were sick, a nurse would fill out a form and give you some aspirins.

As far as I could tell, that was about all the clinic did – but it fulfilled a really important function to the university’s 20,000 students (many of whom could not afford to go to another doctor).

A campus rumor held that Dr. Black was not a really good doctor, but I wondered if students felt that way only because he was elderly. Besides, I just needed some medicine that was a little too strong to be sold without a prescription, and any doctor could give me that.

I arrived at the clinic about five minutes before it was supposed to close, but it looked deserted. Still, I parked my car and tried to open the front door, and I was surprised when I discovered that it wasn’t locked.

But the place was almost empty; the only person there was Dr. Black. He told me he wasn’t feeling well and was just about to close up. I apologized for arriving late and explained what my problem was.

He told me that I was not alone in my sickness! Other students had it, and so did he! Anyway, he put a stethoscope to my chest and concluded that I was, indeed, congested.

Then I gave him the piece of paper on which I written down the name of the cough syrup I wanted and told him that I would appreciate it if he could give me a prescription for some of it.

He did – as we will see in the conclusion of this story.