Frank Hyatt was the physician who preceded me as a family doctor in Ben Lomond, California. Just before we arrived there in 1975, he moved his practice to San Jose, then left California in 1985 and began practicing medicine in South Carolina. We lost contact with him and his wife Olga, but when we reached the American south on this trip we googled him and found out that he is currently practicing in a town not far from Washington, D.C. As we approached that region, we contacted him so we could get together with them and exchange histories.
The first meeting with Frank, on a Saturday, was in downtown Washington, D.C., and he wanted to show us a couple of his favorite museums. We took the Metro into the city and went to the patio at the Smithsonian National Portrait Gallery, where Nancy recognized Frank sitting at a table, even though over 35 years have passed since our last contact, and neither of us has escaped the ravages of time. He's now 85 years old, and still practicing medicine. He told us that he goes into his office three times a week, and his work is primarily dealing with opioid addiction patients. He calls himself a redneck physician treating redneck patients.
We strolled through the gallery, and it is quite a remarkable collection of paintings, photos, and sculptures of prominent Americans through the centuries. That's Frank on the right. In spite of his age, which sounds ancient even to me, he seems in good physical shape and handled the walking and stair climbing without difficulty.
There were images of every president and significant founding father and almost every other famous and important American from history. One could easily spend a day or two there in productive and pleasant study.
Then we took a cab to the National Gallery of Art, one of the world's great collections. After a delicious lunch at the museum's courtyard cafe, we hot-footed it through as much of the museum's extensive exhibits as time permitted. Some of the rooms featured masterpieces of American furniture from 1700 to 1830, which resonated with me, since I've dabbled in woodworking myself. Again, our visit only scratched the surface of what was on offer.
On the way out, we passed a life-sized sculpture of two nude women lying intertwined sensually, which Frank, a deeply religious man, called an abomination, while I felt it was a sensitive and moving expression of the artist's vision.
Frank and Olga invited us to dinner the following evening at their home in Alexandria, Virginia, which is to the south of Washington, while our RV park is to the north. On Sunday we allowed ourselves an hour for the Metro system trip, but our planning was deeply and almost comically flawed. It started well, but the Metro system map we carried was out of date, so we were unable to transfer from the green line to the yellow line at the stop indicated on our map and had to reboard, costing us 15 or 20 minutes. And the Washington Nationals were playing the Los Angeles Dodgers that day (the Dodgers won), so all the trains were seriously delayed, and the coaches were packed.
End result was that we were exactly one hour late arriving, but Frank and Olga were perfectly sweet and understanding. They drove us through the historic downtown of Alexandria, which appeared to be almost exactly what we are looking for in a neighborhood - charming buildings and lots of interesting restaurants and shops, with a waterfront close by. Bears further consideration.
We stopped at Balducci's Food Lovers Market, picked up our dinners and some California wine, and drove to Frank and Olga's apartment. We learned about the lives of their children, who were attending grammar and high school when we knew them, but now are in their forties and fifties. Sobering.
While Nancy and Olga talked, Frank explained that his technique for getting patients off their life-destroying opioid dependency involves the prescribing of Suboxone, which contains an opioid of very limited euphoric effect and also acts like Narcan to block the effects, including the pleasures, of other opioids. He said that his patients find that taken properly, this treatment gives them their lives back. He feels that this is what God put him here to do.
Two good old boys from Louisiana (he from Baton Rouge, me from Tallulah) who both attended LSU Medical School have taken very different paths in life. Somehow we got to talking politics, and eventually slid onto the subject of Donald J. Trump. He said that he finds Trump a highly immoral man but he likes most of his policies. I, on the other hand, admitted to him that I had voted for Obama twice, which knocked him back a peg or two. I was prepared to be asked to vacate the premises, but Frank, a gracious southern gentleman, recovered quickly and remained kind and friendly. As we left, he handed us a packet of religious literature and suggestions on what to do in Washington, D.C.
