the questions.
“One more,” Thomas said. “Is there anything in the bylaws that would prevent us from forming a nonprofit foundation to ensure a succession of directors without altering our mission statement?”
Sid gazed into space with a thoughtful expression, then said, “Most people assume the power of attorney gives you absolute control, to vote, sell, dispose of, whatever. Likely, David McIvey has assumed that. But you’re right, if an attorney goes digging, he’ll find the documents. As for the foundation idea, I’d have to do a little research. It might require another petition to the court, but off the top of my head, I think it can be done. It would adhere to the original intent of the founders, but it would probably take a majority vote, Thomas, and you don’t have it. Fifty-fifty. Remember? McIvey could simply say no, and that would be it.”
“David can’t handle the workload and has no intention of trying,” Thomas said. “He’ll turn a few shares over to his wife and hang the work around her neck. And the minute he does that he won’t have fifty percent of the shares to vote.”
Sid regarded him soberly for a moment, then said, “I may have limited experience in such matters, but it seems to me that wives generally go along with what their husbands demand unless they’re engaged in a custody battle or a messy divorce.”
Thomas looked at Greg. “You tell him about Annie.”
“Well,” Greg said, groping for a starting place, “she’s pretty special to us, to Naomi and me, I mean. Almost like a daughter. I feel as if I know her pretty well. She grew up on a dairy farm over at Tillamook, then went to college in Monmouth and got out when she was still only twenty-one. She answered an ad in the newspaper for a job at the clinic. Very shy, a little afraid of Eugene, the biggest city she ever lived in, pretty…She was so innocent, not like most kids her age. Anyway, we gave her the job and let her stay in the guest room at the residence for a couple of months. She loves the clinic, the patients, what we do there. After she got married, she began coming as a volunteer. She’s there most days for several hours. I don’t think she’d want the clinic to be turned into a surgical center for wealthy clients.”
Although Sid thought that was a naive view, one which did not answer the question of whether she would cross her husband, he did not voice this opinion. “Okay,” he said. “Let me look into the foundation idea. I think it’s a good one if you can get the majority vote for it. And I think the court would agree. The law approves of an orderly succession of directors, maintaining the status quo. Let me get back to you in a week or two. McIvey isn’t going to do anything until he consults his own attorney. Then you’ll have to have another board meeting to elect Annie McIvey to office. Say she’s in by mid-October. You’ll have to allow another month for McIvey to consider your proposal before you can insist on a vote. Mid-November. Hang on, Thomas. Everything takes time. That’s just the way it is.” He put aside his usual caution then and added, “I think you’ve got him, Thomas. I think you’ve come up with the way out.”
Erica sat in the clinic kitchen with Stephanie one afternoon sipping coffee while Stephanie kept an eye on her prep cooks and the two volunteers.
“So what’s with this Dr. McIvey?” Erica asked. “Every time his name comes up it’s as if a cold front has passed through.”
“That’s good,” Stephanie said. “That’s what it feels like, all right. I’ll give you a couple of examples why he’s loved by all. A few years ago, five or six maybe, this kid comes in with McIvey’s referral for hydrotherapy. She was on the basketball team at the U of O and began having terrible leg pains. Diagnosis—stress fractures, shin splints. Hydrotherapy ordered. And if that didn’t work, McIvey was going to operate on her back, a disk problem or something. Anyway, that isn’t how it works here. Darren and Greg examine every new patient, take a history, do a complete workup, and if they decide therapy is needed, they decide what kind, schedule it, everything. If they decide they can’t help a prospective patient, they say so. Darren said no for that girl. Her mother protested, and he advised her to get a second opinion. Well, McIvey hit the ceiling. He said Greg was a medical hack who couldn’t make it in private practice, a know-nothing who should be turned out to pasture, God alone knows what all. And he called Darren a voodoo doctor, a shaman, an ignorant, superstitious laying-on-of-hands fraud who should practice in a tent at revivals or something.”
Her face was flushed at the memory, and her eyes were flashing with anger. “The mother took her kid up to Portland, to the Health and Science University Hospital, and got another opinion. It turned out the girl had a tumor that was causing pressure on her spine. A doc up there operated, and a few months later she was playing basketball again. McIvey knew it was Darren’s call. He’s the one who knows what will or won’t work. Greg backs him up every time, but it’s Darren’s call.”
“Wow,” Erica said. “McIvey made a bad diagnosis and got mad because they knew it? I thought people got second opinions pretty often.”
Stephanie nodded. “I guess he didn’t make the original diagnosis. First the coach said shin splints and sidelined the kid. A GP said shin splints and got some X rays and tests to confirm it. McIvey just went along with the diagnosis, didn’t bother to order more tests or look further. Darren said she’d had shin splints, but being out of action for six weeks or longer had let them heal. They weren’t causing pain anymore. And neither was a disk problem. No physical therapy would help her. Most doctors welcome a second opinion, but God doesn’t. And McIvey thinks he’s God.”
“You said a couple of examples. What else?”
“It isn’t quite as dramatic, I guess, but telling. After that, a few months maybe, McIvey came over one day and wanted to go through the personnel records. Naomi said no. She called Greg and he said no and called Dr. Kelso. Dr. Kelso came right over and told McIvey that the records were not open to the public, that only the directors had the right to examine them. McIvey said the only records he wanted were Darren’s, that he didn’t believe he was qualified to treat patients, and he wanted to check his background, his training and references, before he referred another patient to the clinic. Dr. Kelso made him stay out in the waiting room while he and Naomi collected some of the file and took it to him. McIvey said he wanted the whole file and Dr. Kelso said he had given him all he was entitled to see. Of course, Darren’s education, training, all of it is impeccable. He’s recognized as the best physical therapist in the Northwest, maybe on the whole West Coast. They say he has magic in his hands. They can tell him more than a dozen X rays. Anyway, McIvey was furious. See, he was out to get Darren. Still is, I suspect. The day he gets control here, Greg, Naomi and Darren will all be out before the sun goes down.”
Erica finished her coffee, then said, “But he still sends patients here, doesn’t he?”
“Sure. He knows this is the best facility for hundreds of miles, maybe all the way to Los Angeles.”
“I don’t understand any of this,” Erica said. “Why would he try to drive out the best therapist and get control? Be second-rate or something.”
“That’s the stickler,” Stephanie said, nodding. “No one here understands it. But that’s how she blows. I’ve got to get back to work.”
It was a glorious late summer, Erica thought when she left Stephanie to walk for a few minutes in the garden. Dahlias, zinnias, marigolds, chrysanthemums…too many flowers to name were riotous, defying the calendar. Back in Cleveland there would have been a frost by then, but here in Eugene, it was a golden time of color everywhere. Working in her own yard one day, she had asked Darren when to expect the first frost. He had laughed and said Thanksgiving, or Christmas, or maybe not at all this year. Of course, she had thought he was kidding, but it was the end of September and flowers were still
