Posted by
Bill Cherry on Sunday, July 13, 2008 11:36:18 PM
Dr. Michael DeBakey, RIP
By Dallas Realtor Bill Cherry
It was the early spring of 1972. We had gone to Washington, D.C., to handle the politicking necessary to establish an investment company I was to head for a Texas financial institution.
We were rushing to get through with our business because Congress was to recess on Friday for the Easter holidays.
Although our plane was to leave Washington-Dulles for Houston about 5 o’clock, we decided we’d go early so as to make certain we’d have a cab and that the terrible traffic that would surely be leaving town with us wouldn’t cause us to be late for our plane.
We got to the airport in the nick of time. After we checked in with the agent and threw our luggage on the platform next to the desk, within moments the lobby began to quickly fill-up.
I started getting star struck. One after another, congressmen and senators who I had seen on TV and read about in Time came into the huge room. There were so many of them that for me it soon lost its glamour. I swear it did.
But then fellow-Texan John Connally, who at the time was the Secretary of the Treasury, came in the door that was at least a football field away from where we were sitting. I have never experienced anything like it. All I could see was John Connelly among a sea of what to me were now out of focus Little Orphan Annie-esque, eyeless people.
It was the first time that I ever truly experienced seeing someone that I knew without a doubt had charisma. Very tall, in a dark and perfectly tailored suit, white shirt and rep-striped tie, with square, chiseled face and mounds of white hair. He was all I could see.
Now if you’ve flown in or out of Washington-Dulles you’ll recall that they have what they called mobile lounges. Passengers ride out to their planes on these big busses. And when the bus arrives, it has a scissor jack underneath that lifts the bus’ cabin so that its door and the plane’s door are side by side. Then the passengers simply walk onto the plane. These things hold at least a hundred people..
My associate and I were among the first to get on the mobile lounge, a few others came on, then a familiar looking person got on. He was dressed in black pants, a black turtle neck sweater and black motorcycle boots with the silver chains across the fronts. His hair looked greasy and it was way too long, and he had on very large-lens glasses. And this fellow wasn’t a kid.
And then it hit us. It was famous heart-surgeon Dr. Michael DeBakey. He sat down to my right, one row up, and was totally unrecognized by the other passengers.
John Connelly was the last person, everyone recognized him, so he got a round of applause.
As we were getting ready to leave for the ride to the plane, the driver came back to Dr. DeBakey and said, “Doctor, are you going to drive us to the plane today?”
I couldn’t believe my eyes when Dr. DeBakey got up from his seat, took the driver’s seat and drove the mobile lounge to the plane. And when he got there, as if he had done it a thousand times before, he engaged the scissor jack, and raised us so that our door and the plane’s met perfectly.
He stood up, turned around, and everyone by now knowing who he was, gave him a standing ovation. Mr. Connally stood and clapped, too.
With that, Dr. DeBakey smiled and walked on to the plane. John Connally did, too.
But interestingly, as we walked off of the plane, that Mr. Connelly had ridden with us was no longer such a big deal.
Last month, I found one of my Tulane University yearbooks. I knew Dr. Debakey had done his undergraduate and medical school work there, but I was surprised to see that his son, Michael, had as well, and we had been classmates.
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