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Behind the legend
ELSEVIER
Behind the Legend Grace Y. Kountz
S
AM KOUNTZ was a legendary figure when he died prematurely in 1981. His scientific achievements had earned him international acclaim, and his winning personality had generated a treasure of anecdotes. Nearly everyone who knew Sam tells a story that adds to the legend and reflects a facet of his personality: his cleverness in convincing a South African taxi driver to give him a ride despite the apartheid laws; his leadership in getting fellow surgeons to scrub the full 7 minutes before operating on patients; his diplomacy in effecting brain-death legislation to increase the supply of organs for transplantation; his dedication to the sick; his charm-some claim he could talk a wavering donor into giving up a kidney every time. Dozens of anecdotes make up Sam Kountz’s legend. And while they are humorous and entertaining, they fail to tell Sam’s story well. They provide little insight into the man behind the legend. Ironically, much of Sam’s story survives in his own words. We exchanged a lifeline of letters between 1956 and 1958 when he was a medical student in Little Rock and I was a kindergarten teacher in Chicago. Those letters once substituted for the conversations we could not have; now they reveal much of the process through which Sam Kountz became a legend. “I had a parentectomy at age 13,” he wrote. Sam’s thoughts were never far from the subject of medicine, even as he described the painful separation from his family in Lexa to attend the Morris Booker Academy in McDermott. An apt analogy since the break was necessary for a healthy academic future. Although Sam maintained close ties to his family, he had to tactfully prevent their interruptions of his studies. School had just begun 1 year when he told me about a letter from his mother. She is in Detroit with her uncle who she says is at the point of death and has asked me to come see him. Since this is going to be impossible, I am going to ask him to delay his death until I can visit him.
am going to be able to terminate the studies earlier than planned. If you knew this experimental design, you could appreciate how I feel. I know it is hard to believe that I am happy despite the many problems and conflicts.
Sam’s problems were overwhelming. He wrote about unscrupulous patients, irresponsible lab technicians, jealous associates, his own bouts of illness, car accidents that left him injured or his vehicle wrecked, court appearances, financial matters, and his future in medicine. Still, his problems grew worse. Sam’s final year in medical school began in a climate of social unrest. Central High School in Little Rock had been ordered to integrate, and the entire community convulsed. The following excerpt is from a letter Sam wrote on September 6, 1957. Just finished enrolling in school. The integration here in LR [Little Rock] is beyond words. Up until today I had worried about integration, but after the governor announced that he was going to turn his attention to the state schools, I realized I should be worried about De-integration. At school today I was first made angry when I saw C behind my name. After paying my money and walking outside the hospital, the words “Nigger” could be heard. Later someone asked me to remove the “rocks” from my pockets. Then I went to have pictures made-a statement that “the instrument will be broken.” The tension here is so great that it can literally be felt in the streets. Tell your mother I will be blessed if my injuries are slight enough so that enough of ME will be left to be named victim. You can go down the streets and everyone is afraid. In the area of Central High School people are afraid to approach (Negroes). The garbage will not be picked up by Negroes on the cleaning force of the city. I am sure Korea could have not been any worse. If the U.S. does not solve this problem, I think I would rather be in USSR. I have never believed in running from a problem, but after June 8th I will have to forget how Arkansas looks. When I first entered the University, I thought I had some unpleasant experiences, but things are much worse now.
From our earliest letters, I recognized Sam’s dedication to scientific investigation, even though he often spoke of the “woes” that it caused him. So his letter of May 22, 1957 was a joy to receive.
His bitterness slowly subsided over the next few weeks, and 6 months later marked a turning point in his life. On March 18, 1958, he wrote.
Tonight I am quite pleased and happy. My experiments are going nicely. Today I completed an experiment that I have wanted to do for the past seven months. It looks as though I
Today I just received notice of our appointment to the staff of Stanford University Hospitals in San Francisco, California. I am so surprised, happy, and thrilled that I feel an error was
0 1997 by Elsevier Science Inc. 655 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10010
Transplantation
Proceedings,
29, 3697-3698
(1997)
0041-1345/97/$17.00 PII SO041 -1345(97)01076-2
3697
3698
KOUNTZ
made by the IBM in Evanston, Illinois. After I got the letter, I went to the dean’s office to check the master list, and this is what they sent to the school. I just can’t believe it! Today I was getting congratulations and non-congratulations from faculty and students. One associate professor told me he had been trying for 10 years to go there. Almost 113 of students graduating from medical schools this year applied for the 29
positions there. Really, I think it is an error, but I am going to wait to see if they send me a contract. Well, there was no error; a contract followed within the week. Sam Kountz arrived in San Francisco on June 10, 1958, the middle passage of his life over: the legend about to begin.
Behind the Legend Grace Y. Kountz
S
AM KOUNTZ was a legendary figure when he died prematurely in 1981. His scientific achievements had earned him international acclaim, and his winning personality had generated a treasure of anecdotes. Nearly everyone who knew Sam tells a story that adds to the legend and reflects a facet of his personality: his cleverness in convincing a South African taxi driver to give him a ride despite the apartheid laws; his leadership in getting fellow surgeons to scrub the full 7 minutes before operating on patients; his diplomacy in effecting brain-death legislation to increase the supply of organs for transplantation; his dedication to the sick; his charm-some claim he could talk a wavering donor into giving up a kidney every time. Dozens of anecdotes make up Sam Kountz’s legend. And while they are humorous and entertaining, they fail to tell Sam’s story well. They provide little insight into the man behind the legend. Ironically, much of Sam’s story survives in his own words. We exchanged a lifeline of letters between 1956 and 1958 when he was a medical student in Little Rock and I was a kindergarten teacher in Chicago. Those letters once substituted for the conversations we could not have; now they reveal much of the process through which Sam Kountz became a legend. “I had a parentectomy at age 13,” he wrote. Sam’s thoughts were never far from the subject of medicine, even as he described the painful separation from his family in Lexa to attend the Morris Booker Academy in McDermott. An apt analogy since the break was necessary for a healthy academic future. Although Sam maintained close ties to his family, he had to tactfully prevent their interruptions of his studies. School had just begun 1 year when he told me about a letter from his mother. She is in Detroit with her uncle who she says is at the point of death and has asked me to come see him. Since this is going to be impossible, I am going to ask him to delay his death until I can visit him.
am going to be able to terminate the studies earlier than planned. If you knew this experimental design, you could appreciate how I feel. I know it is hard to believe that I am happy despite the many problems and conflicts.
Sam’s problems were overwhelming. He wrote about unscrupulous patients, irresponsible lab technicians, jealous associates, his own bouts of illness, car accidents that left him injured or his vehicle wrecked, court appearances, financial matters, and his future in medicine. Still, his problems grew worse. Sam’s final year in medical school began in a climate of social unrest. Central High School in Little Rock had been ordered to integrate, and the entire community convulsed. The following excerpt is from a letter Sam wrote on September 6, 1957. Just finished enrolling in school. The integration here in LR [Little Rock] is beyond words. Up until today I had worried about integration, but after the governor announced that he was going to turn his attention to the state schools, I realized I should be worried about De-integration. At school today I was first made angry when I saw C behind my name. After paying my money and walking outside the hospital, the words “Nigger” could be heard. Later someone asked me to remove the “rocks” from my pockets. Then I went to have pictures made-a statement that “the instrument will be broken.” The tension here is so great that it can literally be felt in the streets. Tell your mother I will be blessed if my injuries are slight enough so that enough of ME will be left to be named victim. You can go down the streets and everyone is afraid. In the area of Central High School people are afraid to approach (Negroes). The garbage will not be picked up by Negroes on the cleaning force of the city. I am sure Korea could have not been any worse. If the U.S. does not solve this problem, I think I would rather be in USSR. I have never believed in running from a problem, but after June 8th I will have to forget how Arkansas looks. When I first entered the University, I thought I had some unpleasant experiences, but things are much worse now.
From our earliest letters, I recognized Sam’s dedication to scientific investigation, even though he often spoke of the “woes” that it caused him. So his letter of May 22, 1957 was a joy to receive.
His bitterness slowly subsided over the next few weeks, and 6 months later marked a turning point in his life. On March 18, 1958, he wrote.
Tonight I am quite pleased and happy. My experiments are going nicely. Today I completed an experiment that I have wanted to do for the past seven months. It looks as though I
Today I just received notice of our appointment to the staff of Stanford University Hospitals in San Francisco, California. I am so surprised, happy, and thrilled that I feel an error was
0 1997 by Elsevier Science Inc. 655 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10010
Transplantation
Proceedings,
29, 3697-3698
(1997)
0041-1345/97/$17.00 PII SO041 -1345(97)01076-2
3697
3698
KOUNTZ
made by the IBM in Evanston, Illinois. After I got the letter, I went to the dean’s office to check the master list, and this is what they sent to the school. I just can’t believe it! Today I was getting congratulations and non-congratulations from faculty and students. One associate professor told me he had been trying for 10 years to go there. Almost 113 of students graduating from medical schools this year applied for the 29
positions there. Really, I think it is an error, but I am going to wait to see if they send me a contract. Well, there was no error; a contract followed within the week. Sam Kountz arrived in San Francisco on June 10, 1958, the middle passage of his life over: the legend about to begin.