After nine minutes, the maximum two extensions, the operator cut me off. I went to bed and stayed awake the whole night thinking about my parents and visualizing the scene at the post office and the Mandi Ahmed Garh exchange. It made me laugh, knowing my parents would give the phone to the neighbors, and I felt good after hearing their voices. However, I did not try calling my parents often after that. The battery at the post office was always low, and calling was a long and tedious process—staying up late all those nights waiting for a connection, and my parents needing to travel to Mandi Ahmed Garh on someone else’s scooter.
The year 1970 brought about several major changes in my life. With the help of Professor Buchan, I landed a job earning $15,000 per year at a 450-bed hospital in Covington, Kentucky. As the director of management engineering at St. Elizabeth Hospital, my career took a turn for the better. Mr. Gilreath, the hospital administrator, showed me a great deal of respect. I was more than happy to leave my job at Vanderbilt University Hospital and my apartment at the Executive House. Relieved to be out from under the watchful eyes of Mrs. Olsen and Maelie, I did not stay in touch with them. I looked forward to this new chapter in my life.
My first day was more than I could have asked for or imagined.
“Welcome to St. Elizabeth Hospital, Mr. Bedi,” Mr. Gilreath said when I arrived at his office. He grinned and shook my hand with a strong, enthusiastic grip. At once, he threw an arm around my shoulder and led me along the hallway and down the stairs. “We’ve got your office all ready for you. You’ve got your own secretary too, by the way.” I was moments into my first day, and it couldn’t be going any better.
The office was good-sized with an oak desk and matching chair. As we entered, a girl stood to greet us, flashing a pleasant smile.
“Mr. Bedi, this is Susan Moore, your secretary,” Mr. Gilreath said. “She is an English major at Thames Moore College in Crestview Hills, Kentucky, seven miles from here.”
As I shook her hand, I smiled to myself, knowing I would have many reports for her to type up and proofread. Already I could see I would get much more done here than at the previous hospital. Nodding at Susan politely, I followed Mr. Gilreath back to his office.
At nine o’clock, Mr. Gilreath called a meeting in the board conference room next to his office. He ordered donuts, coffee, and orange juice for the thirty department heads and administrative staff members filing into the room to greet me. The room contained only twelve to fourteen seats, so many of the managers stood. I sat next to Mr. Gilreath, drinking my coffee and smiling politely while Mr. Gilreath addressed the room.
“Mr. Bedi is from India and has studied at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville, where he received his master’s degree in industrial engineering,” he began. “He has work experience at the Vanderbilt University Hospital in Nashville. Today he is starting his position as director of management engineering, and he will be reporting to me. I ask all of you to extend your cooperation and help Mr. Bedi with whatever he needs to know.”
During that time, not many people could say they were experienced in management engineering in the healthcare field. After all the studying and working dozens of jobs to pay for school, I felt I should enjoy the attention. I had driven all night and reached my new apartment at 4:30 a.m., only sleeping for a few hours in my car. Now I wished I had arrived the day before so I could feel more rested for my first day. Even though I was tired, I made an extra effort to show how happy I was to be there.
After the reception, I followed Mr. Gilreath around the hospital while he explained its organization and his vision for the facility. I admired his eye for improvement and his determination to make changes. His confidence in my skills and knowledge gave me a renewed sense of purpose.
One late evening, while drinking hot tea after work and walking around in my undershirt and underwear, I heard a knock on the door. Who could this be? I wondered. I just moved here, and I don’t know anyone. Another knock sounded, and still in my underwear, I opened the door.
“Hi there,” said the tall, broad-shouldered man with a friendly face. “My name is Bob Vanherpe. I’m here to invite you to a get-together at my place this Saturday night.”
For a moment I just looked at him. I don’t know anybody here, I thought. He must have the wrong apartment.
“You are trying to invite me?” I asked. “Are you sure you are not at the wrong door?”
“Oh no,” he said. “Are you Kris? You just moved in?”
“Yes, I am.”
“I am inviting you Saturday evening for beer and snacks,” he repeated. “The apartment complex manager told me you just moved here from Nashville.”
Pleasantly surprised, I invited him in for a beer.
“Sure,” he said, walking in while I pulled on my pants. When I opened the refrigerator, I found there was only one can of beer.
“You can have it,” I offered.
“Oh no, we will share,” he insisted.
I popped the tab, and we each drank half the beer.
As I set the empty can on the counter, Bob said, “Why don’t you come to my place for a beer if you are not busy this evening?”
“Sounds great,” I said, not having anything
