Olny's Arm

OLNY'S ARM

Clyde might have been a world renowned brain surgeon,
if he had stayed in school after the seventh grade. His
interest in science and how the human body worked was
unquenchable. Long hours were spent at the public library
digesting medical journals and anatomy books.

His thirst for knowledge was equaled by an inherited
thirst for strong drink. Aside from the library, his
favorite haunt was The East Side Inn on State Street, third
stool from the door. Here also, he did some of his finest
work.

It would seem natural when seeking employment that
Clyde would apply for a job at Memorial Hospital. He filled
out an application and wangled an interview with Director
Andy McNeth.

"And what type of job do you picture yourself doing
here?"

"Most anything that would involve cuttin' and fixin'
up."

"Well, Clyde, too bad you weren't here last week. We
were looking for a neurosurgeon."

"Gosh Director Andy, Sir, I know the location of the
major cardinal ganglia, but I ain't ever actually cut into
any dura mater."

"Well, no matter, Son, we filled that position on
Monday. Let's see now. You went through the seventh
grade?"

"Actually sir, I didn't finish the seventh grade.
Would have if it wasn't for the teacher. She got all bent
when I cut up a dead cat I found. I didn't know it was
hers. Just wanted to see why it died."

"Unfortunate. Why did it die?"

"It was probably the massive brain hemorrhage when she
got hit by the car."

"Fascinating.
"Well Clyde, we do have an opening here for uh --
Junior Technician of Sanitizing--and uh--etc."

"Wow, really?"

"Minimum pay, but you'll be up for review in twelve
months."

"When do I start, Mr. Director, Sir?"

The new job met all of Clyde's requirements. The pay
was more then he ever expected to earn. He had access to
most areas of the hospital, even the operating room after
the operations were completed and the patient removed.
Clyde would scrub up with green septic soap, don his
surgical gown and rubber gloves, then start his own
operation of mopping and removing unwanted parts to the
incinerator.

Clyde's favorite place at Memorial was a large, little
used storage room in the basement. Shelves were built on
both sides of the room and contained row after row of
specimen jars of brains, hearts, stomachs, tumors, the whole
gambit, and all preserved in medicinal alcohol. Clyde could
gaze for hours on this wonder, and recalling his library
studies, could identify them all.

In the middle of the storage room were outdated X-ray
machines and other irreparably damaged medical equipment.
The latent genius poured over the mechanisms, identifying
parts and seeing how each contributed to the total function.
The storage room was a heaven on earth for Clyde Nevers.

Working as a handyman in the Maintenance Department was
a local rounder named Jake Barlow. Jake and Clyde had a lot
in common: the love of strong drink. They also liked each
other's company, and in time Clyde introduced his friend to
the storage room.

"Jake, look at this X-ray machine. Old now, but it
must of cost a hundred-thousand bucks new."

"Neat, Clyde."

"Check this out. An ulcerated duodenum."

"Yeah, sure is interesting."

"And Jake, here's the best," said Clyde as he opened a
specimen bottle. "You can pour off a little of the alcohol
and no one will miss it. And with all these bottles, there
seems to be five or six lifetimes supply of drinken' stuff."

And so the glasses clinked and Clyde and Jake toasted
the specimen that supplied the libation.

Olny Watts lived east of town where he farmed about 120
acres, mostly corn. One sunny day, late in September, he
was picking in the front forty when the machine groaned as
it jammed with weeds.

"Herbicide didn't take worth a damn," he muttered, and
proceeded to clear the jam.

In his haste he forgot to turn off the power--but-- too
late. Olny's arm was jerked into the picker. A passing
motorist saw the tragedy and phoned for an ambulance.

Surgery went on far into the night as the medical staff
of Memorial Hospital tried to save Olny's life. His arm lay
in a nearby cooler with the outside chance that it could be
reattached despite its mutilated condition. But all was to
no avail. With the massive blood loss and shock, Olny's
life ebbed, and despite nine hours of heroic effort by the
doctors, he died.

Early the next morning Clyde scrubbed up with green
soap, put on rubber gloves, grabbed his mop and went to
work. When he opened the cooler there was the mutilated
Olny arm. Propping the mop against the wall, he dropped the
arm in a plastic bag and headed for the incinerator. A few
steps down the hall it came to him.

Clyde Nevers, Medical Researcher.

Quickly he reversed his steps and headed for the
storage room. Pulling parts from various machines he worked
furiously. A pump, aerator, rheostat, cam-operated impulse
director, bio-therm controls, all the things he needed.
Quickly he assembled the junk pile into a life support
system for an arm.

He made minor repairs to the severed limb, hooked it
up, and turned the switch. Blood circulated and Olny's arm
lived.

He couldn't wait for Jake to appreciate his triumph.
And Jake didn't disappoint him. Looking at the work in
wonder and awe, Jake realized his drinking partner's true
talents.

"Let's go get Mr. Andy, Jake. Call the newspapers.
Call Mrs. Watts. The world will hear of Clyde Nevers."

Jake, sensing big trouble, said, "Clyde, remember the
Frankenstein movie? Remember the townspeople coming with
torches and clubs to the castle? I think we ought to keep
this under wraps."

Regretfully, Clyde agreed that silence was best, and
instead of a public announcement, they had a grand party in
the store room. With a contribution of alcohol from one
Clara Prior's pancreas, toasts were made to Olny's arm.

About three months later a pink lady blundered into the
store room. Director McNeth was called, and all hell broke
loose. He failed to see the magnitude of the
accomplishment; he could only see the reputation of Memorial
Hospital besmirched.

"Disconnect and destroy," were his orders.

Fortunately for Olny's arm, the pink lady called her
husband, who worked at the local television station. Over
the airways the story was spread, "Olny's arm lives,
although shortly to be destroyed."

One Pastor Lannie Watkins of the local Baptist Church
heard the news and headed for the hospital. Director McNeth
initially ignored his pleas to not end the life in Olny's
arm. But he did reconsider after threats of eternal
damnation and all the area Baptists switching to a competing
hospital. Still after thorough contemplation, Andy could
see no solution except, disconnect.

Little did he realize the resolve of Pastor Watkins.
That night a group of 40 held a continuous prayer vigil
complete with songs and candles. They displayed signs
saying, "DON'T PULL THE PLUG" and "SAVE LIFE, DON'T DESTROY
IT." Pastor Watkins told the eager TV reporters, "We intend
to stay until Olny's arm is saved."

A judge issued a temporary restraining order preventing
the hospital from arm termination, and Director McNeth vowed
to fight this interference in hospital policy to the bitter
end.

The Protestors marched and sang and prayed and lit
their candles for five days and nights. This broke the
previous record for length of vigil set by a group in front
of the Joliet State Prison protesting an execution.

The group made frequent use of the rest room at Al's
Mobile Station across the street. It greatly upset Al, who
felt that anyone who insisted on complete immersion for
Baptism should go back to the country they came from.

"I don't care one whit if Olny's arm lives or dies, but
I didn't intend to be no toilet cleaner for a bunch of
Baptists."

Pastor Watkins and his protestors stopped people coming
into the hospital for surgery. Right on the front sidewalk
he performed faith healings. With a yard full of abandoned
crutches and walkers and a constant stream of the healed
leaving in an aurora of heavenly light, a beaten and totally
embarrassed Director McNeth rescinded forever the destroy
order.

The Baptist vigil left. The TV stations returned to
attacking politicians. Al's Mobile placed a sign on their
rest room door, "Gas customers only." All was resolved.

Today at Memorial Hospital, in a dusty specimen storage
closet in the basement, the last of farmer Olny Watts
connected to life support lives on.

Nearby on a shelf is a new specimen bottle with a
label.

LIVER
Clyde Nevers
Cirrhosis

Occasionally Jake Barlow stops by and opens that
specimen bottle. Then he drinks a toast to the memory of
Clyde, whose liver, basking forever in medicinal alcohol, is
in perpetual glory.

END

Story ID:	314
Written by:	Dick Dunlap (bio, contact, other stories)
Story type:	Story
Location:	Beloit Wisconsin USA
Year:	1962
Person:	Clyde Nevers