to get credentials and an ID pass for Lennon and Arnold in record time.
Bruce Whitaker, who had just come back on duty, noticed Lennon and Arnold immediately. In this, he was not alone. The two made an odd couple even in the hospital setting. Lennon’s striking beauty alone was enough to turn heads, female as well as male. And it was definitely noteworthy to see in the corridors a young black man with cameras hanging all over him.
Although he was scheduled to check in and receive an assignment, Bruce had not yet done so. Clad in hospital coat and ID badge, he now trailed the touring group at what he considered a discreet distance.
With Whitaker in tow, the trio visited for varying lengths of time: the noninvasive diagnostic lab, where EMG, EKG and EEG tests were evaluated; the renal unit; art therapy; the mental health unit; the open and closed psychiatric wards; the alcohol and detoxification units; the protective services department, and the respiratory therapy unit.
During the visit to each unit, Whitaker tried to get close enough to hear what was going on without having his presence noted. But invisibility eluded him. Especially when, while walking down the hallway on 2-B, he kicked over the IV stand, pulling down the patient attached to the IV. Then there was the nasty incident when Whitaker knocked the plug out of the wall socket in the renal dialysis unit.
At the scene of the first commotion, Lennon had assumed that Whitaker was a doctor. She also assumed that the patient, weak or awkward, had crashed into him. But at the second imbroglio, she began to doubt her earlier assessment. Why would a doctor be following them? And how could one so clumsy be a doctor? In a whisper, she asked William to keep an eye on the singular man, try to find out who he was and what he was doing.
Lennon had the vague impression that she had seen the man before. Something about him reminded her of some story she had covered. Other things about him argued against any previous meeting with or knowledge of him. Odd.
“So, how’s it goin’, uh . . . Bruce?” Arnold got close enough to read Whitaker’s ID.
“Oh!” Whitaker was startled. He was sure he hadn’t been noticed. The recent catastrophes that had been visited upon him were, in his frame of reference, quite ordinary occurrences. But, having been addressed, Whitaker squinted to make out the other’s ID. “Things are okay, I guess . . . uh . . . Bill.”
“William.”
“Oh, excuse me . . . I thought . . .”
“William.”
“Yes, of course. Whatever. William.”
“You work here, Bruce?”
“Well, sort of. Not work, really. Well, not employment. Actually, I’m employed at the Back Porch Theatre.”
“No shit! Whaddya do there, Bruce, Baby?”
“Well, it’s part-time work, really. I’m the janitor.”
“Ha! The kind of crazy stuff they do there, they’ll probably write a whole goddam play around your broom. But whaddya do here, Bruce?”
“I’m a volunteer. But I’m sort of between duties right now. And I was kind of interested in you and the lady. Did I hear her say she’s with the
“Oh, yeah. That’s Pat Lennon. A really neat lady.”
“And you, Bill-er, William?”
“Staffer with the
“Staffer?”
“Staff photographer. I drew this assignment to go with Pat. My lucky day. She’s a real pro. Fun to do a job with.”
“So. What is she doing here? What are both of you doing here?”
“She’s doing a feature on the place for
“You’re going to do a feature article for the
“That’s about the size of it.”
It was a miracle. The answer to prayer. Their entire plan had been to somehow get the news media interested in this hospital so that the authorities would be forced to confront the violations of Church law that were going on here.
Now here were a reporter and a photographer from one of Detroit’s major newspapers. It was an answer to prayer. God was good.
But so far, nobody had shown these
It figured. The nurse’s aide had probably been warned not to show them any violation of Church law.
Now that he thought of it, Whitaker wondered if this reporter would recognize a sin if she saw it. He had no idea whether she was Catholic. Oh, God, this golden opportunity mustn’t slip through his fingers.
Wait! The clinic! It was his best shot.
“How about the clinic?” Whitaker asked Arnold.
“I give up. How about it?”
“Don’t you want to see it?”
“Not particularly.” Arnold was growing bored.
“I think you should see it.”
“Oh? Why?”
A good question. Not because they were advocating contraception. Although that was, indeed, the underlying reason Whitaker sought to interest them in the clinic.
“Because it’s an integral part of the hospital . . . and you’ve seen just about everything else.” It was the logical reason. Whitaker was grateful to the Holy Ghost for that inspiration.
“Makes sense. Hey, Pat, this guy says we should see the clinic.”
“That’s where we’re going now”—Lennon looked at the aide-guide for confirmation—“isn’t it?” The aide nodded.
That’s odd, thought Whitaker. The aide had apparently planned to take them to that cesspool regardless.
As they made their way to the clinic, the aide continued her explanation of those sections of the hospital through which they were passing. Lennon took notes and occasionally asked questions. For the most part, Arnold let his cameras dangle. Tagging along behind the threesome was Whitaker.
Evidently, Arnold found the clinic interesting. He took light readings and began snapping pictures. The aide flagged a nurse, made introductions and stepped back to allow the nurse to take over explanations.
The nurse guided Lennon and Arnold through the clinic. Fortunately, it held few patients at the moment.
There had been no ostensible purpose for Whitaker to accompany them through the clinic. His presence was in no way called for. Nor could he think of any pretext to stay. So, reluctantly, he left the group and went to volunteer his services elsewhere.
Later, he overheard the clinic nurse tell someone that Lennon had taken particular notice of the family planning services. All was well as far as Bruce Whitaker was concerned.
Meanwhile Arnold had gone through almost two rolls of film and had decided that was about all he’d need. He started to pack his gear.
Lennon, too, felt she had heard enough and closed her notepad. She noticed several pamphlets displayed on a counter. She picked one up and paged through it. Clearly, she found it interesting. She began reading in earnest.
“Excuse me,” she addressed the nurse, “but these pamphlets—are they available to the patients? The clients who come to the clinic?”
The nurse scanned the pamphlets. “Why, yes, of course. Is there something wrong?”
“They’ve got family planning information.”
“We get quite a few pregnancies in here. Not as many as some hospitals. But that’s because we’re in the core city. Lots of older people. Still, we do get our share of preggies.”
