Frank Abagnale - Catch Me If You Can

I knew only one college that had a school of medicine. “ Columbia University in New York,” I said, and prayed he wasn’t an alumnus.

He nodded. “A great school. Where’d you serve your internship?”

Internship. That was done in a hospital, I knew. I’d never been in a hospital. I’d passed a lot of them, but the name of only one stuck in my mind. I hoped it was the kind of hospital that had interns. “ Harbor Childrens Hospital in Los Angeles,” I said and waited.

“Hey, terrific,” he said, and much to my relief dropped the personal line of probing.

“You know, Smithers is a new facility. I’ve just been appointed to head up the pediatrics staff. It’ll be a seven-story hospital when it’s finished, but we’ve got only six floors open at the moment, and not too much traffic as yet. Why don’t you come up and have lunch with me some afternoon and let me show you around the place. You’ll like it, I think.”

“That sounds great, I’d love it,” I replied, and soon afterward he left. I was suddenly glum and depressed in the wake of his visit, and my first impulse was to pack and get the hell out of River Bend, if not Atlanta. Granger living right below me posed a definite threat to my existence at River Bend.

If I stayed, it would be only a matter of time before he’d know I was a phony, and I doubted he’d let it go at that. He’d probably call in the authorities.

I was tired of running. I’d been on the run for two years, and at the moment I wasn’t recalling the excitement, glamour and fun of it all; I just wanted a place to call home, a place where I could be at peace for a while, a place where I had some friends. River Bend had been that place for two months, and I didn’t want to leave. I was happy at River Bend.

A stubborn anger replaced my depression. To hell with Granger. I wouldn’t let him force me back to the paper-hanger’s circuit. I’d just avoid him. If he came to visit, I’d be busy. When he was in, I’d be out.

It wasn’t that easy. Granger was a likable man and a gregarious one. He started showing up at the parties to which I was invited. If he wasn’t invited, he’d invite himself. And he was soon one of the most popular men in the complex. I couldn’t avoid him. When he’d see me abroad, he’d hail me and stop me for a chat. And when he knew I was at home, he’d call on me.

Granger had a saving grace. He wasn’t one to talk shop. He preferred to talk about the many lovely women he’d met at River Bend, and the fun he was having with them. “You know, I was never really a bachelor, Frank,” he confided. “I got married young, a marriage neither of us should have entered into, and we stayed with it too long. Why, I don’t know. But I’m having a ball, now. I feel like a thirty-year-old man again.” Or he’d talk politics, world affairs, cars, sports, ethics and anything else. He was a learned and articulate man, informed on an amazing range of subjects.

I started to relax around Granger. In fact, I found him enjoyable company and even started seeking him out. Wary that the subject of pediatrics would recur sooner or later, however, I started spending a lot of time in the Atlanta library, reading books by pediatricians, medical journals with articles on children’s medicine and any other available printed matter that dealt with the subject. I quickly acquired a broad general knowledge of pediatrics, enough knowledge, I felt, to cope with any casual conversations concerning pediatrics.

I felt well-enough informed, after several weeks of study, in fact, to accept Granger’s invitation to have lunch with him at the hospital.

He met me in the lobby and promptly introduced me to the receptionist. “This is Dr. Williams, a friend of mine from Los Angeles and, until he returns to California, my neighbor.” I’m not sure why I was introduced to the receptionist, unless Granger thought he was being helpful. She was a lovely young woman.

A similar introduction was made frequently during an exacting tour of the hospital. We visited every department. I met the hospital administrator, the chief radiologist, the head of physical therapy, the head nurse, interns, other doctors and dozens of nurses. We had lunch in the hospital cafeteria, and from the number of doctors and nurses who joined us at the dorm-type table where we sat, it was obvious Dr. Granger was a popular and well-liked man.

I returned to the hospital frequently thereafter, chiefly because of Brenda Strong, a nurse I had met there and started dating, but also because the hospital had a large medical library with up-to-the-minute books, journals and medical magazines dealing with every facet of pediatrics.

I could browse around in the library as long as I wanted, which was sometimes hours, without arousing any suspicions. In fact, I learned my frequent use of the library earned me respect beyond professional recognition from the hospital’s staff doctors. “Most of the doctors think you’re pretty sharp, keeping up in your field even though you’re on a leave of absence,” Brenda told me.

“I think you’re pretty sharp, too.”

She was thirty, a ripe, luscious brunette with a zest for making it. I sometimes wondered what she’d think if she knew her lover was an eighteen-year-old fraud. However, I never thought of myself as a teen-ager anymore, save on rare occasions. When I looked in a mirror, I saw a mature man of twenty-five or thirty and that’s how I felt about myself, too. I’d been just an adventurous boy when I altered my chronological age, but my mental clock, during the past two years, had set itself ahead to correspond.

Still, I’d always had mature tastes in women. There were several tantalizing candy-stripers among the volunteer staff of the hospital, all in their late teens, but I was never attracted to any one of them. I preferred sophisticated, experienced women in their twenties or older. Like Brenda.

After several visits to the hospital, my initial trepidations dissipated, I began to enjoy my spurious role as a medico. I experienced the same vicarious pleasures, the same ego boosts, I’d known as a bogus pilot.

I’d walk down the corridor on one of the hospital floors and a pretty nurse would smile and say, “Good morning, Dr. Williams.”

Or I’d encounter a group of staff interns and they’d nod respectfully and chant in unison, “Good afternoon, Dr. Williams.”

Or I’d encounter one of the senior staff physicians and he’d shake hands and say, “Good to see you again, Dr. Williams.”

And all day long I’d go around feeling like Hippocrates in my hypocrite’s mantle. I even started sporting a tiny gold caduceus in my lapel.

No one tried to put me in a corner. I had no problems at all until one afternoon, following lunch with Granger and Brenda, I was leaving the hospital when John Colter, the administrator, hailed me.

“Dr. Williams! May I see you just a moment, sir.” Without waiting for an answer, he headed straight for his office nearby.

“Oh, shit,” I said, and didn’t realize I’d said it aloud until a passing orderly gave me a grin. I had an impulse to bolt, but suppressed the urge. Colter’s voice had not reflected any irritation or doubt. The request, while brusque, seemed devoid of suspicion. I followed him into his office.

“Doctor, have a seat, please,” said Colter, motioning to a comfortable lounge chair as he settled behind his desk. I relaxed immediately. He was still addressing me as “doctor,” and his manner now was almost ingratiating.

Colter, in fact, seemed embarrassed. He cleared his throat. “Dr. Williams, I’m about to ask you for a very big favor, a favor I have no right to ask,” Colter said with a wry grimace. “I know that what I’m about to propose will be imposing on you, but I’m in a box, and I think you’re the man who can solve my problem. Will you help me?”