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PAGE 7—The Southern Cross, September 25,1975
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The New Season’s Medical Shows-Two Diagnoses
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BY MICHAEL GALLAGHER
USCC Div. for Film and Broadcasting
CBS’s “Medical Center” is going into
its seventh season, each of its episodes
starring the bland Chad Everett, an
actor who put§ me in mind of a genial
Neanderthal man, and makes me think
that his Dr. Joe Gannon must have
gotten through medical school on charm
alone.
The redoubtable Dr. Gannon and Dr.
Paul Lochner (James Daly), hospital
chief of staff, “wage their deadly battle
against illness and injury amidst the
varied background of a large university
campus.” I always thought that you did
things against a background not amidst
it, but, be that as it may, the CBS
release goes on to tell us that these two
scalpel and stethoscope-wielding
warriors, “not only deal with the
physical problems of their patients, but
also are drawn into other vital issues of
their lives,” all of which must make for
a whole lot of overtime and also would
surprise, I should think, a great number
of Americans who do not have an
especially easy time of it drawing their
doctors into even their physical
problems.
In the opening episode this season, a
renowned physician named Patrick
Caddison (Robert Reed), breaks the
news to Dr. Joe that he has made up his
mind that he wants to undergo an
operation that will change him into a
woman, something that he has longed
for all his life. By way of explanation,
he then goes on to talk about his female
sensibility in terms calculated, I would
think, to turn any woman’s libber livid
with rage.
The moral implications are not
touched upon at all in this two-part
episode. And such important factors as
the advisability of such operations, their
frequency, and the matter of Caddison’s
physical predisposition towards sexual
change are either not mentioned at all
or passed over very quickly, the decision
of the hospital board to allow or
disallow being made to hinge upon the
red herring issue of the consent of
Caddison’s wife and son, a safer area
and one more suited to melodrama and
bathos.
Writer Rita Lakin’s manner of
operation, then, is to wring all the
emotional juice out of the situation
within the strict framework of
never-never land in which “Medical
Center” functions, a restriction that
should never be confused with good
taste and artistic restraint. Thus there is
no deep probing, nothing in the way of
complexity of emotions. Caddison, for
example, the one upon whom our
attention is focused, has already made
up his mind and never wavers from his
decision, thus depriving his character of
most of its interest.
Most of the first part is devoted to
Breaking the News, thus giving each of
the main characters a chance to do his
or her stuff in reaction: Dr. Joe: “You
what?” Dr. Jessica, Caddison’s witchy
sister-in-law, who, in a standard soaper
twist is also Dr. Joe’s beloved: “What
about his wife and son? Has he thought
of them?” Caddison’s teen-age son:
“What are you a freak?”
Caddison’s wife: “No, no, I don’t
believe you. I can’t believe you.” All of 1
this dialog occurs in a series of neat
little confrontations short enough not
to put undue strain on the audience’s
concentration span and numerous
enough to allow for the insertion of
plenty of commercials.
In the second part, padded by an
absurd subplot about a macho racing
driver whose leg has been smashed and
who gets a predictable lecture on The
Real Meaning of Manhood, recalcitrant
mother and son come across and
approve the operation, Dr. Caddison is
transformed, and everybody is happy
enough except for the aforementioned
witchy Dr. Jessica, the loser, who goes
away to brood about things a bit, a not
altogether lamentable turn of events for
the show, since good old Dr. Joe was on
the brink of marrying her, the kind of
radical change that actually does occur
in the real world but which is alien to
the nature of “Medical Center.” The
whole thing is machine-tooled and
computerized, with no chink left
through which humanity might
occasionally obtrude.
NCB’s anthology series “Medical
Story,” from the producers of “Police
Story,” is, on the contrary, something
to be reckoned with, if the first episode,
is any indication of the quality of the
stories to follow. Abby Mann
(“Judgment at Nuremberg”), the writer
of this episode, may not be Shakespeare
and his crusading zeal may sometimes
outrun his gift for characterization, but
here the believability of his dialog, the
reality of his characters, and the passion
that imbued the teleplay made it
immensely superior, not only to other
medical shows but to the general run of
pap that passes for television fare.
The teleplay also benefitted from fine
performances by Beau Bridges, as the
young intern who takes on an
incompetent, careless doctor with a
lofty reputation; Jose Ferrer, as Bridge’s
antagonist; and Carl Reiner, in the
Pontius Pilate role of a weak hospital
administrator. Not only did Mann’s
indignant script severely handle the
Marcus Welby myth of medical
infallibility, but it had the courage to
allow its young hero to come away with
no more than a moral victory. Ferrer’s
character got off with a mere reprimand
for the unnecessary hysterectomy that
resulted in the patient’s death (the sort
of operation that Mann’s own wife
narrowly avoided, and the hospital
refused to renew the contract of the
young hero for reasons well expressed in
private conference by one physician: “I
just wouldn’t feel comfortable with him
around.”
Perhaps Mann may have loaded the
dice against the medical profession, but
even if this teleplay presented doctors in
a light considerably less favorable than
the A.M.A. might like, no one could
deny that there have been incidents
enough of the kind upon which Mann’s
script is based. Drama is particular and
personalized; no play can be expected
to present a “balanced” view (and now,
of course, for good reason, considerable
doubt has arisen as to the ability of
documentaries to do so). If “Medical
Story” was too harsh in this first
episode, I cannot, when I think of the
likes of “Marcus Welby” and “Medical
Center,” bring myself to deplore its
severity. Let us see what future episodes
bring.
New Shrine Rising At Knock
KNOCK, Ireland (NC) -- By car, by bus, by train they come,
averaging more than 15,000 a week and 750,000 pilgrims a year
now.
But something new is happening at the humble shrine of Our
Lady at this tiny village in the rainy and deep-greened county of
Mayoin the West of Ireland. For decades its aged church has
been recognized as a major Marian shrine, but since the feast of
the Assumption, Aug. 15, a year ago, a new shrine has been
rising. A white Carrara marble cornerstone blessed by Pope Paul
VI was laid on that day for a Church of functional design in
concrete.
The church is divided geometrically into five V-shaped
chapels funnelling out from an elevated central sanctuary. Each
chapel will hold about 1,000 people, mostly standing.
These five huge chapels are linked at the internal perimeter
by 12-foot wide archways for processional use, while the
external perimeter is lined with 150 outward opening doors
with clear glass panes also functioning for clear view by
overflow crowds sheltered in the low-roofed ambulatory area
outside each chapel. It is calculated that 10,000 worshippers
might be accommodated.
Knock, still only a small village one-half mile long, was visited
by an apparition seen by at least 15 people, ages 6 to 75, on
Aug. 21,1879.
In the rainy evening these people witnessed a glowing
three-dimentional tableau on the gable wall of their small
church. They saw the figures of Mary, Joseph, John the
Evangelist, a large plain altar with a lamb and cross. The
phenomenon lasted two hours with no audible message. It is
claimed that during the 96 years since the apparition, as many
graces of a physical and spiritual nature have occurred at Knock
as at any other shrine, such as Lourdes or Fatima.
The new church is expected to be completed long before the
centennial ceremonies in 1979.
T Know
That God
Will Never Let Me Down 9
BY TICKI LLOYD
Louisa Williams sat in her wheelchair,
her hands folded in her lap. There was
marked tranquility in her manner and
she was smiling the kind of smile that
makes the eyes smile. Her eyes are
bright. Bright enough to make one think
the angels pass through the night
polishing them with stardust. Her eyes
speak for her . . .sometimes laughing,
sometimes flashing, sometimes
reflecting a strained look as though she
experienced pain.
I have come to know and love this
dear lady, and I visit her quite often to
gain strength.
This particular day I went to see
Louisa was one of those lazy, loving
days when the sky was as blue as Mary’s
Mantle with the exception of a few
white sheep grazing. I felt an urgency to
run through the flowers growing by the
side of our curb. The loamy aroma of
the soil makes me want to take an earth
bath.
It was increasingly difficult to tear
myself away from the flowers sprinkled
with varied colored butterflies. A
thought came to me. “I’ll bring Louisa a
bouquet; that’s what I’ll do. Hurriedly
arranging the flowers, I headed the car
toward Louisa’s house. I was greeted by
the usual smile and kiss.
“Ticki, you’re something else. I
wanted you to write about me, and now
I don’t know what to tell you. I’ve
never done anything real fine. I just try
to do what God wants me to do.”
Those were the key words. The words
I expected to hear from someone so full
of love for God and her fellowman.
Shaking her head, she continued,
“I guess you want to know where I was
bom. Well, let’s just say I was bom in
Sterling, Georgia. I won’t say what year.
Just that I was bom there,” she
chuckled. I loved her for that. It made
her a typical woman reluctant to reveal
her age to me or anyone else.
For thirty-five years Louisa lived in
New York where she was a beautician
for twenty-seven of those years. Before
that she worked in a laundry. “I had my
hands in many jobs”, she related with
grim determination.
Glancing at a statue of the Blessed
Virgin Mary on her bedside table began
a flow of conversation.
Louisa Williams and her friend
Ticki Lloyd of Brunswick.
“You’re looking at that old statue
aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am”, I replied.
“Whenever I look at that statue I’m
reminded of my daughter, Shirley”, she
said. “You know Shirley, don’t you?
Ever since that child could walk, when
we passed a Catholic church she begged
me to take her inside. She’d run down
the aisle, shouting, “Mommy, come kiss
the pretty statues.”
Caressing her hair, Louisa continued,
“I’d hold her up high so she could plant
a kiss on the lifeless figures. To her they
were real people, and she talked to them
and got angry when they didn’t answer.
Louisa, with a far-away look in her
eyes, went on, “It seemed this happened
for years. She’d never pass that church
without wanting to kiss the statues.
Mind you we were Baptists, and good
ones too.”
After the priest realized Shirley was
sincere in her belief, she was baptized a
Catholic when she was ten. She’s now
Shirley Clark and lives in Kansas City,
Missouri.
In 1934 Louisa was baptized a
Catholic by the same priest who had
baptized her daughter. She says she no
longer feels forced to go to church.
There is a harmony and a dedication in
going and the love of God has planted a
deep seed in her soul.
“I know God is never going to let me
down,” she says with prayerfulness in
her voice.”
Love of God becomes a growth in
people. This was the case with Louisa.
Her joy of discovering the church of her
choice made her want to share her wings
of love with everyone, especially her
husband, LaFayette, who was wounded
in World War II.
With a quiet understanding,
LaFayette felt he had to pour himself
out to bring God closer, and in 1949
after his baptism by Father Newman,
the priest who had baptized Louisa and
Shirley, the family attended services
together.
For years Louisa found herself
soaring toward celestial grandeur as her
family plunged deeper and deeper into
the love of God which permeates all
Christians.
Louisa and her family moved to
Brunswick in 1970, and the two
younger children were baptized at St.
Francis Xavier Church in 1971. Tracy
and “little Louise” attend Mass and
Confraternity of Christian Doctrine
Classes regularly.
I had no intention of encroaching on
Louisa’s illness or that of her husband,
but she wanted to tell me everything
about the family.
“If my life is to be happy, I want to
share it with those I love; the wonderful
people who have helped me through my
physical ordeals. I worked very hard for
my relationship with God, and I want to
share it with everyone.”
Uncertain though her place in life
may be, the true test lies in how she has
accepted the pattern of life God has
provided for her. She recognizes the
force that love has in her life and comes
to a complete understanding of that
love. It is not always easy to accept
God’s will. Louisa’s secret lies in
accepting life for what it is, and
discovering happiness she didn’t know
existed.
In 1973 Louisa had one of her legs
amputated, and in April of 1975 the
other leg had to be amputated. While
she was experiencing difficulty with her
left leg, her husband was admitted to
the Veteran’s Hospital in Dublin, Ga.
where he underwent surgery for
amputation of both legs. Louisa’s
solicitation over her husband’s illness
became a personal concern, and often
very ill herself, she had friends drive her
to Dublin to cheer her husband. “I had
to go see him”, she says with tears in
her eyes. “Besides he never would have
taken his orange juice if I hadn’t been
by to see he did.”
She put the gift of love into her
'husband’s hand and his heart. It
bothered her because she couldn’t stay
with him 24 hours a day. Her love of
her husband was the noblest love I have
seen in many years. She manifested
herself in giving care without regard to
her own condition.
LaFayette Williams died in Dublin on
March 1, 1975. He was brought to
Brunswick for burial, and my husband
had the honor of being a pallbearer, and
the privilege of presenting Louisa the
American flag which LaFayette loved
and fought for.
On April 23 of this year Louisa
underwent surgery for amputation of
her other leg. Confined to the hospital
for almost two months I often visited
her for inspiration. She has the real
meaning of faith, and often thanks God
that things are not worse.
Having a human nature, she reaches
low ebbs at times, but that is when God
is closest to her. How she accepts her
suffering is what makes her saintly.
She laughs a lot; loves a lot, and
makes the best of a situation. She
manages to get around the house in her
wheelchair and do daily chores with the
help of an aged woman.
Her love is admiration for her family
and friends; it is sharing; it is opening
her heart to the good things of life; it is
a warm handshake; a smile; a light kiss.
Louisa’s love of flowers warms my
heart and dispels gloom that might
otherwise prevail. As she leaned over to
inhale the flowers from our garden, I
kissed her, with a promise to return.
PAPAL BIRTHDAY -- Pope Paul VI, who has experienced a busy
schedule recently because of events surrounding the canonization of the
new Saint Elizabeth Seton, celebrates his 78th birthday Sept. 26. At top,
the pontiff is shown preaching from his Vatican throne and at botton, a
portrait of him was produced by a man using a typewriter. (NC Photos by
KNA)
A PRIEST
IN YOUR
FAMILY?
THE HOLY FATHER’S MISSION AID TO THE ORIENTAL CHURCH
Have you ever wished your family had a priest?
Now you can have a “priest of your own”—and
share forever in all the good he does....
Throughout the Near East each year, grateful
bishops ordain hundreds of new priests trained
by people like you.... Their own families are
too poor to support them in training, but good
A Catholics in America “adopted” these seminar-
FUTURE ians, encouraged them all the way to ordina-
PRIEST tion.... In some inspiring cases, this support
NEEDS was given at personal sacrifice.... How can
YOUR you begin? Write to us now. We’ll send you
HELP the name of a young seminarian who needs
you, and he will write to you. Make the pay
ments for his training to suit your convenience
($15.00 a month, or $180 a year, or the total
$1,080 all at once). Join your sacrifices to his,
and at every Sacrifice of the Mass, he will
always remember who made it possible.
nw
HOW
TO
S-T-R-E-T-C-H
FOOD
BUDGETS
Look at the nearest $20 bill. What is it actually
worth? Only what it will buy. Today, it will hardly
buy enough to feed a family for two days. In the
Holy Land, it will feed a poor refugee family for
an entire month. The Holy Father asks your help
for the refugees, more than half of them chil
dren. Your money multiplies—as you give it
away.
Why not send us your Mass requests right now?
Simply list your intentions, and then you can
rest assured the Masses will be offered by
priests in India, the Holy Land and Ethiopia,
MASS FOR .. . who receive no other income.... Remind us to
send you information about Gregorian Masses,
too. You can arrange now to have Gregorian
Masses offered for yourself, or for another,
after death.
Dear
Monsignor Nolan:
f) AX
ENCLOSEO PLEASE FIND $
FOR
Please name
return coupon
with your street ——
offering
CITY STATE ZIP CODE
THE CATHOLIC NEAR EAST WELFARE ASSOCIATION
NEAR EAST
MISSIONS
TERENCE CARDINAL COOKE, President
MSGR. JOHN G. NOLAN, National Secretary
Write: Catholic Near East Welfare Assoc.
1011 First Avenue • New York, N.Y. 10022
Telephone: 212/826-1480