Bryson City Secrets: Even More Tales of a Small-Town Doctor in the Smoky Mountains

by Walt Larimore, MD

  “Oh dear,” I muttered, feeling utterly beyond any more words.

  “Here’s what I suggest, Walt. You and Barb come to my office and file a formal complaint. We won’t charge him formally, but we’ll have enough evidence to get a court order to put a tail on him twenty-four hours a day. That and the two informers we have will allow us to collect the evidence we need to put him away for a few years — let him see the inside of a state facility for juvenile offenders until he’s eighteen and then he’ll likely face some prison time. We’ll get him, we’ll put him away for a while, and we’ll keep your kids out of the public spotlight. What do you think?”

  I took a sip of my coffee and thought for a moment. “Buck, if I could have a day to talk it over with Barb and pray about it, I’d appreciate that.”

  “It’s the least I can do, son.”

  “So, Buck, you also mentioned you had some good news.”

  “Yep, I do.” Buck took a sip of his coffee as I waited. “I think you helped me break up a gang that’s been infesting this neck of the woods.”

  “Are you serious?”

  Buck smiled. “You ever know me to kid?”

  It was my turn to smile. “No sir.”

  “Well, the impact you’ve had on Sam Tanager has caused that gang to break up. That kid has turned over a new leaf. Since he was leading the gang and it had his name, it just wasn’t able to keep going without him. Not only that, he’s recruited some of the gang members from his supposedly secret gang and got them involved in church.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I exclaimed, realizing at the same moment that he was not. “And what do you mean the gang was named after him? Wasn’t it called the ‘Satan Gang’?”

  “Well,” Buck responded, “just look at Sam’s name.”

  I furrowed my brow. “What do you mean, Buck?”

  “S-A-T-A-N,” Buck spelled out.

  “I don’t get what you’re driving at,” I responded.

  Buck pulled out a pen and reached over to my desk to pick up a prescription pad. Then he wrote on the pad two words that made his contention make sense.

  SAm TANager.

  “Oh my!” was all I could mutter.

  Buck’s famous smile flashed across the room. “It’s a win for the good guys, Doc! We’ll keep watching the kid, but I think he really has turned over a new leaf. And the way I hear it, you played an important role in that.”

  He took a last sip of coffee as I wrestled with conflicting emo-tions: joy and satisfaction for my impact on Sam and his apparent redemption, fear and uncertainty for my family. I knew I could claim little credit for the former — and I knew I needed wise advice for the latter.

  Ken Hicks and I met at Super Swain Drugs for lunch. But rather than sitting in our usual spot, we took a corner booth in the back — where we could have some privacy.

  As I explained what had happened to Kate and Scott, my friend looked shocked. But as the story went on, the shock wore off his face, and he assumed his role as a pastor. He asked questions and listened. And by doing so, he helped me clearly see the options that lay before me — along with the costs, benefits, and risks of each.

  As our time together was drawing to a close, Ken asked, “What do you think you’re going to do, Walt?”

  “I don’t know, Ken. I just don’t know.”

  “Can I share a passage from the Bible with you?”

  “Sure.”

  Ken stood and walked across the grill and behind John’s counter. “Doc John,” Ken explained to the pharmacist, “OK if I borrow your Bible for a moment?”

  “No problem,” John called out.

  Ken was flipping through the pages as he walked back. As he sat down, he found what he was looking for.

  “Mind if I read a passage to you?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “It’s from 1 Samuel, chapter 19.” Ken cleared his voice and then began to read: “But an evil spirit from the LORD came upon Saul as he was sitting in his house with his spear in his hand. While David was playing the harp, Saul tried to pin him to the wall with his spear, but David eluded him as Saul drove the spear into the wall. That night David made good his escape. Saul sent men to David’s house to watch it and to kill him in the morning. But Michal, David’s wife, warned him, ‘If you don’t run for your life tonight, tomorrow you’ll be killed.’ So Michal let David down through a window, and he fled and escaped. Then Michal took an idol and laid it on the bed, covering it with a garment and putting some goats’ hair at the head.”

  As Ken read, I was trying to figure out what the passage was saying to me. I couldn’t see the message. “What are you trying to tell me, Ken?”

  Ken took a deep breath as he looked up at the ceiling for a moment. Then he looked back at me. “Walt, let me tell you a secret. Tina and I are in the process of considering a call to another church. My focus lately has been in another direction as opposed to taking care of my flock. Emotionally, in some ways I think Tina and I have already left Bryson City, even though we’re still physically here. Does that make sense?”

  “I’m not sure,” I replied, not having a clue where this conversation was going.

  Ken took a sip of his iced tea and smiled reassuringly at me. “I remember doing a marriage enrichment study with Tina and me, you and Barb, and a couple of others. I remember going water-skiing with our family and yours. I fell when a boat wake hit us, and a sharp boat cleat punctured the base of my right palm. You took us to your office and sewed me up. I still have the scar.” Ken showed me his palm.

  “I remember taking you flying in that old Cessna 172 that belongs to the Jackson County Flying Club. As you know, the flying club lets me keep the plane here in Bryson City, and Leroy Sossman has given me permission to keep it tied up at his airstrip.”

  I nodded as I remembered flying over the town and the surrounding countryside with Ken. It was a glorious afternoon of soaring.

  “And, Walt, I remember when you came to meet us at the hospital when Tina had the placenta previa. The hospital bed was covered with blood. I was so scared that Tina had lost the baby, but the electronic stethoscope picked up Jacob’s rapid, steady heartbeat. Our baby was fine! It was Tina’s blood, not his. Do you remember praying with us and for us?”

  I smiled and nodded.

  “And,” he continued, “just a few months later, Jacob was born safely, alive and well, wasn’t he?”

  I nodded again, recalling other times Ken and I had supported each other spiritually and emotionally. We’d gone through the trial of the handyman together. We both testified, and we prayed for each other while on the witness stand. We prayed together several times for the accused — before and after his conviction and sentencing. Ken had confided in me how troubled he’d been after visiting the handyman in prison and hearing the man confess to some terrible things he’d done. Ken had also shared his hope for the convict, who had been open to hearing what the Bible had to say about forgiveness and redemption. The last Ken had heard from a chaplain at the prison, the man had been actively considering the truth of the gospel and whether or not he would seek a personal relationship with God.

  “Walt,” Ken continued, “we’ve been through a lot together. We’ve learned together. We’ve soared together. We’ve been scared together. We’ve ministered together. We’ve prayed together. You’ve cared for me and my family, and from time to time I’ve had the privilege to care for you and yours.”

  “I’ve not thought of it that way, Pastor,” I commented, “but it’s true.”

  “I know I could stay here in Bryson City and do much good. But circumstances and the leading of the Spirit have convinced us it’s time to go in another direction.” Ken was quiet as he took a bite of his sandwich.

  “Ken, are you saying I should leave? That I shouldn’t fight this evil and put a stop to this kid’s evil activity?”

  “I’m not saying one way or the other, Walt. You see, I don’t think it’s especially important what I think you should or shouldn�
��t do. What I’m saying is this: I believe circumstances, the Holy Spirit, Holy Scripture, and God’s people can offer excellent clues as to what God wants you to do.”

  “So Ken, what does the passage you read have to do with all this?”

  Ken reached across the table and placed his hands on mine. “Walt, the one who inspired its writing, the Holy Spirit, is perfectly capable of letting you know the answer to that question. I encourage you to meditate on this passage. Listen carefully to others who give wise counsel — and then make a Spirit-led decision. If you do that, you won’t go wrong.”

  I nodded, and he gave my hands a squeeze.

  “Mind if I pray for you, my friend?”

  I shook my head and then bowed it, my eyes filling with tears.

  Arthur Stupka was scheduled to lead a walk from the Hemlock Inn the next morning. And as had become our habit, I planned to meet him after work that Friday afternoon to take a short walk together up Deep Creek.

  We greeted each other in the Deep Creek parking lot and headed up the trail. The summer crowds of tubers and hikers were gone, and we had the trail to ourselves. I was hoping just to get lost in his historical, biological, and botanical lessons, but his simple question — “What’s goin’ on, Walt? You seem worried” —unleashed a flood of emotion. I told Arthur about the events of the week and the incredibly difficult decision Barb and I were facing.

  On one side was my desire to make Mickey pay — not only for his evil but for his completely unrepentant spirit. I wanted to break his stiff neck. I wanted his dad and mom to be forced to face what their child had done. I believed that when they got past his incredible denial, the truth would lead them to want to get Mickey the help he so desperately needed.

  On the other side of the coin was the fear I had about what this would do to Kate and Scott. The therapists told us that with some counseling — for us and them — they thought there would be no scars left on our children’s souls or spirits. But dragging them through a public trial — or having John Thompson drag them across the barbed wire of the local gossip lines for untold years to come — was of deep concern to me.

  Then there was the fact that Rick was leaving and there were barely enough paying patients to support one of us. While the state supplemented our salaries and office expenses, I was still making less money than I did as a medical resident — and it was unlikely that any of this was going to change any time soon. Recruiting a new doctor would likely be difficult as long as the older docs continued to provide care for the insured and paying patients. And there were no retirements or deaths likely in the foreseeable future.

  Nevertheless, I told him, I was sure the Lord had called me to Bryson City, and I was willing to tough it out — for as long as it took — as long as that was the Lord’s will.

  By the time I had finished pouring out my story, we were at the base of Indian Falls.

  “What advice do you have for me, Arthur? What do you think I should do?”

  Arthur motioned at a log bench, and we had a seat together. He was quiet for a while as we absorbed the stillness of the forest and the soothing sounds of the ice-cold torrent pouring over the cascade of ancient rock. After a few moments he asked, slowly and softly, “Doc, what’s the easy decision?”

  “I guess the easy one would be to stay and fight. It wouldn’t really matter what Mickey’s father said in the community; the local newspaper and the court testimony would reveal the truth.”

  “So,” he asked, “you see leaving as the hard decision?”

  I nodded. “I think it is. I’m leaving my practice — my first practice. Rick and I have worked so hard to build it up — against all odds. We’ve had to struggle upstream in so many ways. I’ve come to love Bryson City and her people. I guess it would be hard —really hard — to leave.”

  “Walt, I’m truly sorry you’re having to walk this path. And I’m probably the last person on earth you should ask for help. I’m just a simple man — a naturalist. I’m not skilled at law or politics or theology. I just know nature and what her Creator teaches me through her.”

  Arthur looked up at the sky for several minutes as he thought. Finally he looked down and continued.

  “Let me tell you a story about something that happened the other day. It was as remarkable a thing as I’ve seen in many a decade of wandering this park. I was out on a trail in a lonely valley deep in the park, walking through a thick grove of rhododendrons. It was cool and dark in the grove — and totally quiet. Up ahead of me, I could see a small clearing that was awash in warm sunlight. And in the middle of the clearing was a great big rattlesnake a sunnin’ on top of a flat rock — just trying to warm up. All of a sudden, that old snake and I heard something — a noise in the brush. He immediately coiled up into a defensive stance, and his tongue was lashing in and out, searching for scents. I could see his rattles pointing straight up in the air.”

  Arthur was suddenly quiet — staring at the waterfall. I wasn’t sure if he had forgotten the story or was just reliving it in his mind’s eye. After a moment, he continued.

  “Then I smelled ’em. I knew then there were some hogs moving through the brush — Russian boar. I was praying they wouldn’t see me and spook — or be spooked by that rattler and hightail it up the trail toward me. Pigs like that, when angry or spooked, can use their nasty tusks to gore a man something terrible.”

  I nodded, having cared for men and dogs that had been gored. The wounds were nasty indeed.

  “Anyway, they came into view — a big boar with several females and a bunch of piglets. Well, those piglets saw that snake and started to squeal and jump around. Seems they either wanted to attack the snake or play with him — and either would have been a fatal mistake.”

  Arthur took another deep breath and stared into the waterfall for another several moments.

  My impatience overcame me. “So what happened?”

  Arthur smiled at me. “Well, that old daddy hog was wise beyond his years. He immediately began herding his piglets and the females around that snake. He knew it wasn’t the time to deal with that venomous serpent head-on. So he led his charges in a wide circle around that rock — keeping those pigs a safe distance away. Then they disappeared into the woods behind the snake. And for a moment, all was quiet.”

  “For a moment — ”

  Arthur smiled. “You knew there was more, didn’t ya?”

  “I suspected.”

  “Well, that snake didn’t think that. He relaxed and spread himself out on that rock, not realizing that old boar was in the woods right behind him — waiting and watching. And then it happened — ” Arthur was quiet, looking at the falls. I knew he was waiting for my question, as any great storyteller would.

  “OK,” I chuckled, “I give up. What happened?”

  “Before that snake could react, that boar charged out of the woods, straight from behind him. And before that old snake could even hiss, that boar had him in his jaws — he’d bitten him right across his neck, just behind his head. Then that boar went into a frenzy, whippin’ that snake one way and then the other. Finally he stopped and dropped the snake dead — at his feet — with its head nearly bitten off. Then that boar did something I’d never seen and never heard about. He reared up on his hind legs and then crashed his front hooves on that snake’s head. He crushed its head into the dirt. Then the boar looked down, snorted, and trotted off into the woods.”

  I was fascinated by the story. The way he told it, I could actually see it happening as he shared. But I had no idea what he was trying to tell me. I think he knew that. After a few minutes, he mercifully interpreted his story for me.

  “Walt,” he began, “think for a moment about one of those sows. Perhaps she had two little piglets who were in danger. Do you think that her walking around that snake and leaving it be was the easy decision or the hard one? You think it was easy for her to just walk away from that fight — to leave that snake to possibly bite another piglet on another day?” He paused and then answer
ed his own question. “Nope. Those sows are made to fight. That’s their nature. But in this case, like in most, the hard decision and the right decision were the same.”

  He took a deep breath and then slowly let it out. “The way I see it, you’re like one of those sows. You wanna attack the snake that’s after your kids. You wanna be sure he doesn’t hurt anyone else’s kids. You wanna see him put away — defanged and drained of his poison — crushed. Isn’t that right?”

  “Yes!”

  “Well, maybe the Lord’s like that wise old boar. He knows that doing so will actually endanger you and your kids. He knows that snake is riled up and just daring you to attack. He knows his venom could kill or cripple one or both of your kids. So maybe he’s leading you away from a fight that’s likely to hurt you and your family. Maybe he’s leading you away to protect you — to keep you all from harm. And then, when that old snake is cocksure and relaxed, then the vengeance comes. But it comes from another one, Walt — not from you.”

  “Are you saying I should press charges later?”

  “Nope. But it sounds like Mr. Buchanan is telling you to leave that viper alone for right now. He’s telling you to protect your wife and your kids. And he’s telling you he’ll be watching that monster, and when the moment is right, he’ll crush its head under his heel.”

  His lesson was beginning to sink in as he reached his arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. “It wasn’t easy for the parent of those piglets not to attack. But it would have been foolish. The mother pig wisely left the vengeance to one who was stronger and able to extract the maximum penalty. In the end, walking away wasn’t only wise — it was lifesaving.”

  I sat for a long time on the bench behind our home that night.

  For several hours, I pondered the advice of three very wise men — one with a lifetime of training in the practice of law, of dealing with evil at every turn; the second with formal theological training and pastoral wisdom beyond his years; and the third with a lifetime of observing the goodness and the righteousness of the Creator, of surveying the wonder of his beauty and majesty as revealed through his creation.