[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 147 (2001), Part 8]
[Senate]
[Page 11350]
[From the U.S. Government Publishing Office, www.gpo.gov]



                    TRIBUTE TO JACK McCONNELL, M.D.

 Mr. HOLLINGS. Mr. President, people who fuss about doctors 
should read this article from the June 18, 2001 issue of Newsweek 
magazine. I know of no other profession that has banded together as 
well as the doctors mentioned in order to continue to serve. South 
Carolina is proud of Jack McConnell. For launching this effort and 
inspiring others to do likewise, he deserves the Congressional Gold 
Medal.
  The article follows:

               ``And What Did You Do for Someone Today?''

                       (By Jack McConnell, M.D.)

       When I was a child, we observed Father's Day by walking to 
     the local Methodist church and listening to my father preach. 
     We didn't have a car--my dad believed he could not ``support 
     Mr. Ford'' on a minister's salary and still see that all of 
     his seven children went to college. While we understood it 
     was a special day--my mother would have something exceptional 
     like a roast or a turkey cooking in the oven--in many ways it 
     was not all that different from any other day. As soon as my 
     brothers and sisters and I got home, we'd all gather around 
     the dining-room table, where we took turns answering our 
     father's daily question: ``And what did you do for someone 
     today?''
       While that voice and those words always stuck in my mind, 
     they often got pushed aside by more immediate concerns: long 
     hours in medical school, building a career in medical 
     research, getting married, raising children and acquiring the 
     material accouterments every father wants for his family. All 
     the hallmarks of a ``successful'' life, according to today's 
     standards. When these goals were met and that busy time of 
     life was over, retirement followed on Hilton Head Island, 
     S.C.
       My wife and I built our home in a gated community 
     surrounded by yacht clubs and golf courses. But when I left 
     the compound and its luxurious buffer zone for the other side 
     of the island, I was traveling on unpaved roads lined with 
     leaky bungalows. The ``lifestyle'' of many of the native 
     islanders stood in jarring contrast to my cozy existence. I 
     was stunned by the disparity.
       By means of a lifelong habit of mine of giving rides to 
     hitchhikers--remember, I grew up without a car--I got to 
     talking to some of these local folks. And I discovered that 
     the vast majority of the maids, gardeners, waitresses and 
     construction workers who make this island work had little or 
     no access to medical care. It seemed outrageous to me. I 
     wondered why someone didn't do something about that. Then my 
     father's words, which had at times receded to a whisper, rang 
     in my head again: ``What did you do for someone today?''
       Even though my father had died several years before, I 
     guess I still didn't want to disappoint him. So I started 
     working on a solution. The island was full of retired 
     doctors. If I could persuade them to spend a few hours a week 
     volunteering their services, we could provide free primary 
     health care to those so desperately in need of it. Most of 
     the doctors I approached liked the idea, so long as their 
     life savings wouldn't be put at risk by malpractice suits. 
     They also wanted to be relicensed without a long, 
     bureaucratic hassle. It took one year and plenty of 
     persistence, but I was able to persuade the state legislature 
     to create a special license for doctors volunteering in not-
     for-profit clinics, and got full malpractice coverage for 
     everyone from South Carolina's Joint Underwriting Association 
     for only $5,000 a year.
       The town donated land, local residents contributed office 
     and medical equipment and some of the potential patients 
     volunteered their weekends stuccoing the building that would 
     become the clinic. We named it Volunteers in Medicine and we 
     opened its doors in 1994, fully staffed by retired 
     physicians, nurses, dentists and chiropractors as well as 
     nearly 150 lay volunteers. That year we had 5,000 patient 
     visits; last year we had 16,000.
       Somehow word of what we were doing got around. Soon we were 
     fielding phone calls from retired physicians all over the 
     country, asking for help in starting VIM clinics in their 
     communities. We did the best we could--there are now 15 other 
     clinics operating--but we couldn't keep up with the need. Yet 
     last month I think my father's words found their way up 
     north, to McNeil Consumer Healthcare, the maker of Tylenol. A 
     major grant from McNeil will allow us to respond to these 
     requests and help establish other free clinics in communities 
     around the country.
       According to statistics, there are 150,000 retired doctors 
     and 400,000 retired nurses somewhere out there, many of them 
     itching to practice medicine again. Since I heeded my dad's 
     words, my golf handicap has risen from a 16 to a 26 and my 
     leisure time has evaporated into 60-hour weeks of unpaid 
     work, but my energy level has increased and there is a 
     satisfaction in my life that wasn't there before. In one of 
     those paradoxes of life, I have benefited more from 
     Volunteers in Medicine than my patients have.
       This Father's Day, of course, my dad is not around. And my 
     children are all grown and out on their own. But now I remind 
     them the best way to celebrate this holiday is by listening 
     and responding to their grandfather's question: ``What did 
     you do for someone today?'' That's my father's most valuable 
     legacy--to me and my children.

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