William Kienzle - Deathbed

“No, Dr. Kim, I am not dealing in stereotypes. I am talking about one doctor—yourself—who has determined to disregard the cautions I gave when you joined us.” She closed the file folder, indicating their meeting was drawing to a close. “Dr. Kim, my purpose in meeting with you is simply this: I want you to consider this a formal warning. You are perilously close to facing dismissal from the staff of this hospital. If I were forced to the point where I must bring formal charges against you, I have every confidence that I could do so effectively.

“Doctor, I don’t want to be forced to affect your career adversely. But I may have no choice in the matter. And this may happen very soon. It would be wise for you to prepare yourself for the worst.

“I’m sorry. That will be all for now.”

Wordlessly, Kim rose and left the room. His departure was one fluid motion. There was no betrayal of nervousness or embarrassment. There was no show of emotion whatsoever.

However, after he exited the secretary’s office, Dr. Lee Kim leaned back against the wall and forced himself to breathe deeply and slowly. His emotions, held in such excellent check while with Sister Eileen, were in turmoil.

In his mind’s eye, he could see the fissures forming in the plan he had laid out for his life. This damned nun held the hammer and chisel that could bring him down. That must not happen. It would mean the end of his dream, the end of the good life he envisioned.

Earlier, he had known there was trouble—a lot of trouble. He had known, more in the abstract than in the concrete, that something would have to happen—something drastic. Now there was no question. He would have to think this out to the last detail. And then act.

Sister Eileen shifted papers on her desk without paying them much attention. She felt drained, not completely, but substantially. She could not afford a thorough draining. She had yet at least two more extremely taxing encounters to handle.

The necessity of scheduling unpleasant meetings was what she most abhorred about any effective leadership role. But such meetings were inescapable. She owed it to poor old St. Vincent’s to do all she could to keep her baby alive and well. But no consideration could keep these meetings from being unpleasant.

She opened the file folder of the next person on her schedule. She didn’t need to study this person’s background. She knew it almost completely by heart. She closed the file, folded her hands, and lowered her head in prayer. She had just begun to lose herself in meditation when the intercom brought the message that her next visitor was waiting.

John Haroldson, chief operating officer of St. Vincent’s, entered. A broad smile broke his heavily creased face. But his eyes betrayed a worried mind.

They exchanged hearty greetings. It was ever thus, thought Eileen. John, the hail fellow well met. But only on the surface. Underneath, there were always troubled layers in John’s life. Layers that would be revealed in good time. Inevitably.

“Your summons surprised me, Sister. It isn’t time for our monthly meeting.”

It made Haroldson nervous not to be in control of any situation. And since he had little inkling as to Eileen’s purpose in calling this meeting, this situation was, at least initially, not in his control.

“It wasn’t a summons, John,” Eileen sighed. “It was an invitation.”

“Whatever”—still the confident smile, the worried eyes—“it didn’t seem like an invitation I ought to refuse.”

“John, John . . . can we never stop playing games?”

A flash of anger. “I don’t play games, Sister. I know a summons when I get one.”

“Have it your way, then.”

Haroldson nodded curtly. The smile was gone.

“I want to talk to you about the future, John.”

“The future?”

“Yes, yours and St. Vincent’s.”

“Oh?” He was withdrawing.

“You’re getting close to the Michigan Catholic Conference retirement age, John. It’s just four months down the line. Are you giving any thought to your retirement?”

“Retirement? Why, no. No reason to. I’m fit. You’ve got the results of my latest physical. I’m in fine shape, even leaving my age out of it. Why should I think of retirement?”

“Because you’re nearing the compulsory age for it, John.”

“But . . . but you can waive that . . . as . . . my superior.” He seemed loath to acknowledge her position.

“I can. But there’s no reason I should.”

“My health—”

“Exactly. Your health. It’s fine. Where did you ever get the idea one must be at death’s door in order to qualify for retirement?”

“Sister . . .” His tone came close to pleading; only with effort did he stay in control of himself. “. . . this hospital has been part of my existence. After Elizabeth died, in time, this place has gradually replaced her in my life. I can’t leave here.”

“John, you’re not the first person who felt there was no life after retirement. But you know as well as I that most people get over that feeling and really come to enjoy retirement. You can, too.”

Haroldson was silent. Head lowered, he seemed to be studying his clasped hands. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” There was a touch of panic in his voice.

“Yes. I am. But it’s not going to happen overnight, John. There are months between now and then. Months when you can continue your contributions to St. Vincent’s and, at the same time, do a little planning for retirement.”

Silence.

“With your background, John, there are lots of things you might do in very productive fields. With your education and experience, you could teach. You could teach part-time in the seminary, or in a business school. You could teach a medical morals course in one of our colleges. There are so many opportunities for a man with your talent.

“Or, on the other hand . . .” She found herself reaching to fill the vacuum left by Haroldson’s lack of response. “. . . you might just want to relax for a while . . . get accustomed to being out of this routine of getting up and out every morning and spending so many demanding hours on the job. Just leaving the routine might put an entirely new perspective on your whole future.”

There was a prolonged silence. Eileen decided she would not try to fill it. All it could have been was idle chatter.

“You don’t like me, do you? You never did, did you?”

Good God. The same as with Lee Kim. Neither man would stay with the subject. She was not prejudiced against Kim because of his race. And her feelings toward Haroldson had nothing to do with his retirement. If Kim and Haroldson had been women, some man undoubtedly would’ve blamed the digressions on their hormones.

“John,” Eileen said rather firmly, “we’re talking about retirement because you are nearing the age of compulsory retirement. That makes sense to me!”

“I knew it shortly after I came here to work. You and I never had the same vision for St. Vincent’s. And it’s gotten worse over the years. It’s not secret. Everybody in the hospital knows it.”

“John!”

Haroldson lowered and shook his head. He was almost talking to himself. “We climbed the ladder together here at St. Vincent’s. Except you were always a rung ahead of me. Always my ‘superior.’ Even when I became chief operating officer, you were chief executive officer. Always above me. Always over me. Always opposing me.” He looked up, directly at Eileen. “And now the coup de grace. Forcing me into retirement.”

“John . . .” Eileen shook her head in frustration. “I’m not forcing you. You’ve reached retirement age. That can’t come as any surprise to you.”

“The fact is, you could waive that requirement.”