by Robert Bloch
From a Report Filed by Kenneth Loach, M.D., Ambulance Intern, Los Angeles General Hospital
“The victim was suffering from multiple fractures and there was evidence of internal bleeding. There were bruises and lacerations around neck, head and limbs. The victim was unconscious, breathing sporadic . . .”
From the Associated Press Wire
0550 13 October
LOS ANGELES (AP)—Former Olympic gold medal champion Anton “Tony” Polanski was seriously injured tonight in a freak automobile accident. Polanski, who has been confined to a wheelchair for the past thirteen months, crashed into an automobile at the intersection of Modeno Avenue and Roman Street. According to witnesses, Polanski’s wheelchair went out of control as the former Olympic 400 meter record-holder was descending the steep Roman Street incline. The chair struck a car driven by Samuel Sandoz, address unknown. Doctors at Los Angeles General Hospital described Polanski’s condition as serious. He has been placed on the critical list.
Pick Up Canned Bio
The former UCLA star returned to Los Angeles in triumph after winning two gold medals in the Sao Paulo Olympic Games. He broke both the world and the Olympic records in the 400 meter and then anchored the U.S. team’s successful 800 meter relay combination. Two years later, disaster struck. On the eve of the Melrose Games in New York City, Polanski complained of muscular spasms. He was committed to the hospital where exhaustive tests indicated a spinal atrophy. Despite intensive medical care, he lost the use of his legs. He has been confined to a wheelchair for the past thirteen months.
Like former Brooklyn Dodger great Roy Campanella, Polanski never lost his sense of humor. He was a familiar figure at track and field meets and other sporting events in the Southern California area and made a number of telethon appearances for national charity-fund drives . . .
Continued Extract From the Statement of Leonard Piper, M.D.
. . . They sent down Polanski’s blood samples from Emergency and I was working on them in Homograft when Everett came in. I’d better explain about that. What you do is extract lymphocytes—the white cells that carry antigens involved in graft rejection—and test them against samples of serum containing antibodies to lymphocytes. The results can be compared to a similar test run on someone else’s blood samples to see how the body tissues of the two patients match. In this case, of course, the other patient was Hollis Todd. We already had computerized his data, and I assigned a nurse to pull his card while I ran my tests on Polanski’s samples to get the blood profile.
“One thing you don’t have to worry about,” I told Everett. “They’re both AB-negative.”
He didn’t say anything. I knew what he was waiting for—the tissue match. That’s important. Well, I finished up and jotted down the findings and then the nurse handed me Todd’s cards for the comparison. I did a double-check on the data—in this kind of situation you can’t afford to make an error—and Everett just stood there sweating it out until I finished my rundown and was ready to give him the answer.
“It’s a perfect match, Charlie,” I said. “The tissues match perfectly. Imagine the odds against that!”
He still didn’t say anything to me, just shook his head. “When do you operate?” I asked him. When he didn’t answer I thought maybe he hadn’t heard me, so I repeated the question.
He gave me a funny look. “You’re forgetting something,” he said. “That boy is still alive.”
Continued Extract From the Statement of Melvin De Toledano
. . . I of course was informed immediately that Anton Polanski was a possible donor as soon as the report came up from the Homograft Department. I called Dr. Geiger at once to see if Polanski’s parents had been contacted. You see, consent is a delicate matter and I asked if he wanted my help in securing it. Inasmuch as he had failed in a similar situation earlier in the evening, I thought I could be of some assistance. He declined my offer, rather rudely I might add, and said that he thought he could handle the matter. It was shortly after this conversation that the hospital was informed of Mr. Todd’s ETA—estimated arrival time—at Los Angeles International Airport. An ambulance had been dispatched, of course, but I thought it might be best if I met him.
I could not help reflecting as I drove to the airport how fate sometimes orders up strange coincidences. I mean, here was Mr. Todd arriving, a man who had been so instrumental in charting the future greatness of this hospital, and exactly at this crucial moment, fate intervened so that this hospital could, in effect, repay him. Anyway, when I got to the airport they directed me to a hangar and told me the plane had just come in. I arrived just in time to greet Mr. McCullen. He was the first one off the plane, and he was surprised to see me. I told him I thought we had a possible donor if consent were given. I of course did not tell him the possible donor’s name—that would be in strict violation of medical ethics.
Mr. Todd was lifted off the plane then in one of those hoists. Dr. Mantle and Mrs. Veillier were with him. He was in a stretcher but he seemed in very good spirits. He saw me talking to Mr. McCullen and he said, “The least I expected was a brass band. What are you doing here?” When I told him, all he said was, “What are we waiting for?”
Then they wheeled him into the ambulance. Mr. McCullen, Dr. Mantle, and Mrs. Veillier went with him. Mrs. Veillier started to cry—I can imagine her relief at the news, after the great strain she’d been under, not knowing what to expect—and Mr. Todd reached out to take her hand. Just before they closed the ambulance door I heard him say something to her. It sounded like, “Remember what I told you—the run hasn’t ended after all.”
Continued Extract From the Statement of Charles Everett, M.D.
. . . After leaving Homograft I made another attempt to reach my wife at the apartment. There was still no answer. Then I went down to Emergency. When I walked through the anteroom I saw a middle-aged couple sitting near the nurse’s desk, and I guessed they must be Polanski’s parents. The woman had some rosary beads.
The nurse told me Dr. Geiger was inside. She said the press kept calling but her orders were to give no information. I verified this. The woman heard the nurse calling me “Doctor” and she came up and introduced herself—I was right, she was the mother. She asked if she could see Polanski, be with him.
I told her not just yet, not until I checked with Dr. Geiger. And I went into Emergency then. Dr. Geiger was getting a report from the R.N. on duty and I asked him how it looked. Irreversible brain damage, he said. Only a matter of hours now.
That’s when I told him we had a perfect match—blood and tissue.
He didn’t comment on it directly, just asked if I’d take Polanski’s parents into his office, he’d join us there in a moment. I left then and—
You know something? I never realized it until now, but all the while I was in Emergency with Geiger, I never once looked at the patient. Never once . . .
Extract From the Statement of Walter Geiger, M.D.
My name is Walter Geiger. I am head of the Cardiology Department at Los Angeles General Hospital. You know what I do there. It has been a subject of some interest to all media. I understand that I am here to tell you in some detail about two meetings which took place at the hospital on the morning of October 13th. I would prefer not to have to tell you about the first, which was with Mr. and Mrs. Andrezcy Polanski, the parents of Anton Polanski. To tell a mother and father that their child is dying is difficult beyond any imagining of it—everything the parents know may already have told them that the child is beyond hope, but the hope still remains. Until the doctor tells them. The doctor is supposed to be God. A great many years ago I lost a child of my own, and I can tell you that it was no different for me. I refused all evidence. I had to be told. This meeting with the Polanskis was no different from the others. Dr. Everett was with me. He suggested a sedative for Mrs. Polanski, but I said no. Grief is grief, better to face it. Dr. Everett has not yet been acquainted with exactly that kind of grief. I told Mr. and Mrs. Polanski the prognosis,
what they must be prepared to expect, and when. I emphasized that we had done, and were doing, everything possible under the circumstances to keep their boy alive, but that there was no way of repairing the brain damage or averting its consequences. And then I asked Mr. and Mrs. Polanski if we could take their son’s heart and give it to another man. As laymen you might imagine that such a suggestion at such a time would intensify their distress, but in many cases it has an actual positive effect. The immediate thought is that something will still live. So they agreed.
Q. Did you tell them who the recipient was to be?
A. Yes. I told them that. Mrs. Polanski did not know who Hollis Todd was. In her world, women do not read newspapers, do not extend their interest beyond their family. Mr. Polanski knew only that Hollis Todd was “some kind of millionaire.”
Q. After the consent was signed, what was the procedure?
A. I sent Dr. Everett to prepare for the possibility of transplant surgery. Do note the word, “possibility.” Anton Polanski was still living. It is a sensitive area. I went myself to tell Hollis Todd that consent had been given.
Q. You knew Mr. Todd before that meeting?
A. As you are doubtless aware, he had been a patient at Los Angeles General several times since his first heart attack three years earlier. As you are also doubtless aware, he had contributed a rather large sum of money to the hospital. You are perhaps not aware that I had hunted in Canada with him, at his invitation, on two occasions. I knew him, yes. And I liked him. Unlike many rich men he was not merely an accumulation of capital. He was intensely alive. He knew how to do physical things and do them well. I watched him dress out a caribou once, clean as a surgeon would. When I told him we had a heart for him he said something which I thought was very characteristic of the man. He asked me if I knew of anyone else, anyone younger, who could make better use of the heart than he could. I said I knew of no one.
Q. Did you tell Mr. Todd at that time who the donor was?
A. Yes. After the consent had been signed. That is standard procedure.
Q. Was he familiar with Tony Polanski’s name?
A. Of course he was. Tony Polanski was almost as famous in his own way as Hollis Todd was in his.
Q. What was his reaction?
A. He was shocked. He wanted to know what had happened. I told him what I could. I then informed him that we were moving Polanski into surgery so that if and when he died the transplant could take place immediately.
Q. And then?
A. We waited. God help us, we waited.
Extract From the Statement of Georgia Rosen, R.N.
My name is Georgia Rosen. I am a registered nurse on duty at Los Angeles General Hospital, assigned as head surgical nurse to what we call “the team.” We call Dr. Geiger and Dr. Everett and the other doctors who work on heart transplants “the team” just so you understand who I’m referring to. But you want to know about when I first saw Tony Polanski. It was in the Emergency Room, the day of the operation. He was still alive, of course. Dr. Everett took me there and said that consent had been given, that we were going to remove Tony Polanski’s heart. “If he dies,” Dr. Everett said. “You know he’s going to die,” I said. “I said, ‘if he dies’ and that’s what I meant,” Dr. Everett told me. Right from the beginning Dr. Everett had always been that way about these cases. Of all the doctors on the team he was always the most—well, I wouldn’t say reluctant, because he wasn’t, but after the first operation we ever did I read a story in some magazine about the “moral dilemma” of heart transplants, and believe me I wouldn’t be surprised if somebody told me that Dr. Everett had written that story. Anyway, that morning we moved Tony Polanski from Emergency up to Surgery A. We got an ECG and an EEG hooked up, and Dr. Everett kept checking the EEG tape while another doctor—Dr. Palmer, he’s new, just did an assist on the last two operations—Dr. Palmer monitored the ECG. Dr. Everett asked him, “What about the heart?” and Dr. Palmer said, “Not so good. There’s an increase in fibrillation.” So Dr. Everett said, “Put the heart on a pacemaker.” Well, Dr. Palmer looked at the EEG tape and then he said, “With the brain pattern we’re getting, do you think that’s justified?” Dr. Everett just stared at him. “Yes, I most definitely do think it’s justified,” he told him. “Our job here at this moment is keeping this patient alive, not preparing him for post-mortem surgery. And don’t you ever forget that.”
Q. Did Dr. Everett examine the patient at all?
A. Well, that struck me funny at the time. Moving Tony Polanski up from Emergency and giving us instructions the way he did, and then checking the EEG, he really didn’t have a chance to do more than what he was doing. I mean he really had his hands full. Besides, Tony Polanski had been examined up and down in Emergency, you see, and whether Dr. Everett liked it or not we were just waiting for him to die. So there wouldn’t be much point in making an examination now. Anyway, while Dr. Palmer and I were putting on the pacemaker, Dr. Everett watched us, and then all of a sudden I noticed he wasn’t paying attention to what we were doing anymore. He was looking down at Tony Polanski, almost staring you might call it, as if this was the first time he’d really seen him. And he asked Dr. Palmer how the heart was doing now and Dr. Palmer said the beat was stronger. “That’s good,” Dr. Everett said, “That’s very good.” But all the time he kept on staring at Tony Polanski and then he started to examine his throat. There were some bruises there, but he was covered with bruises, I don’t know what looked so special about these. Dr. Everett touched Tony Polanski’s neck and then he ran his finger along it. And then he said to me, “Have we got the accident report here, the police report?” I told him there would probably be a copy down at Emergency Admitting, and he said to get it for him, now. “Now?” I said. And he didn’t answer me, because that’s when it happened.
Q. What happened?
A. The ECG stopped and then there wasn’t any more lung function and then—we were all watching the tape and I can tell you nobody moved—there just weren’t any more complexes on the EEG. So that was it.
Continued Extract From the Statement of Eva Veillier
. . . Mr. De Toledano had arranged for Hollis to be put in a suite and there was a nurse on duty with him all night. We—Dr. Mantle, Crosby McCullen, and myself—had been given rooms of our own just across the hall. Dr. Mantle waited until he was satisfied that Hollis was settled and then he went to his room to rest. Crosby and I stayed in the parlor of the suite. The nurse came out to tell us that Hollis had finally fallen asleep, but we stayed. It was like Crosby to stay. All during the bad months, the bad times when he had to take over for Hollis—not just help to make the decisions about business, but follow through to make sure they were carried out—Crosby was still there when Hollis needed him. I do not know how he survived with so little rest, to say that he was dedicated is not to explain. It is true that I myself stayed but that is another matter. With Crosby, it was different. Perhaps the business meant to him what Hollis meant to me, and he was devoted to Hollis because without him—but that is not important. We stayed.
I do not think we exchanged more than a few words all that time, we were both exhausted and neither of us wanted talk, it was enough not to be alone. I stretched out on the sofa and I remember seeing the sky lighten outside the windows just before I closed my eyes. I was sleeping when Crosby ordered breakfast. He made no effort to wake me, and he was already eating and reading the newspapers when I opened my eyes again. He showed me bulletins about Hollis flying out to the hospital and they were all quite short, with no details. That was good, he said, because at this time it was not desirable to have publicity. But the stories of the accident were on the front pages, in the Los Angeles paper there was a headline. I am not a follower of sports and I had not realized the boy was so famous.
Had there been a further report about the boy’s condition, I asked. And he told me no, we must be patient. And would I care for breakfast? I was not hungry, all I wanted was to see Hollis now. So I went in to him and h
e was awake and there was another nurse, a day nurse, with him. He looked better this morning, because of the rest.
He too wanted to know if there was any news about the boy. But before I could answer him, Dr. Geiger came into the room with Crosby. And I knew, even before he said it, that the boy was dead.
It was of course what I expected to hear, but I was not prepared for my reaction. I got frightened then, the kind of hard fear that clutches inside your stomach. I am not a fearful woman. But I fear loss. All my life I had lost things and I did not want to lose Hollis. Hollis was—Hollis was unlike anyone I have ever known. It was not that he was rich. I have spent most of my life with the rich. The usual rich are very different from you and me, yes, but they are also very different from Hollis. Hollis—well, Hollis lived. And now he might die. It was not a matter to be decided by hope or prayer, it would be in the hands of strangers. This was what I had not prepared for in all the waiting and the anticipation. The moment when I realized there was nothing left for me to do, no way to help him anymore, not even time to say anything to him.
Because suddenly the room was full of people, nurses and attendants and the anesthetist telling Hollis not to be afraid, as if Hollis would be. I was the afraid one. While they were giving him the hypodermic injection I touched his forehead and he held my hand to his cheek, my hand and the sleeve of my coat. It smelled of a perfume he liked. “I wish I could take that with me,” he said. “You come back for it,” I told him.
And then they took him away.
Continued Extract From the Testimony of Georgia Rosen, R.N.
. . . It’ll be over your head, no offense. But I’ll tell you as simply as I can. First we prepared Tony Polanski’s body for surgery.
Q. Was there anything unusual about that process?
A. Well, one thing. There was a little blood in the mouth, around the lips, dried blood, and Dr. Everett said not to wipe it clean. That was unusual. That was peculiar. Maybe I looked at him funny, because he said, “We’re not operating on the face, Miss Rosen.” Then there was another thing, which was that Dr. Everett was still kind of examining the body. For example, he looked at the hands, turned them over.
