George Stories

An occasional but ongoing series

When I sent the email informing friends and family of George’s imminent leave-taking, I received so many beautiful responses.

Here are a few, particularly poignant…

From Charlie Zibitt:

Dear Renate and Family, our hearts go out to you and your family in this most difficult time. We all love George and hope that his final time is peaceful and tranquil. We can only imagine how difficult it must e to live through the decline of such an extraordinary human being. Few people are a legend in their own time but Doc was one of the few people who fit that ill. I truly felt safer living in this town when George was here. He’s sewn me up on your kitchen table on numerous occasions, mostly on a fresh copy of the SF Chronicle with a little Lytocaine and lots of compassion and patience.

Our most memorable experience with George came on August 29th, 1980. We lived directly across the street and Debra went into hard labor. We planned on a home birth and paged our doctor who unfortunately was in SF at a sauna and did not respond. Out of caution we called the Stinson Beach emergency number to have an ambulance on standby in case of any complications. George was on call and asked to come over and check on Debra’s progress. He came through the door in a plaid shirt, jeans and red suspenders, having planned to go hear the Average Beach Band at the Over The Hill Bar & Grill. After examining Debra he calmly said “I’ll be right back, this baby is coming now” He returned with John Washington and his medical bag in minutes. I asked him nervously “have you delivered many babies?” to which he replied, much to my relief, “about 500 or so”. He got right to work with John holding a flashlight and assisted Debra in delivering our beautiful daughter Samara. Her birth was not without risk as the umbilical cord was wrapped around her neck as she emerged so Doc got right on it and cut the cord quickly which left a spray pattern of blood on the wall behind us. We left it there as abstract art for some time. Samara will be 38 this August and we are forever grateful to George for that.

This is one of my very favorite George stories. Samara still sends me a Christmas greeting every year and when her son was born a few years ago, she gave him the middle name of Flynn.

From Dr. Bill Redden, one of my favorite ER docs:

Renate,

There are no simple words, phrases or stories that properly express my feelings after reading your letter to friends and family regarding George…

But for me,…despite our lack of tangile contact over the past few years, George has always been family. He was not only a superb mentor and the primary professional reason that I stayed in Bakersfield; he was a friend and confidant. His insightful guidance has been invaluable to my early career in Emergency Medicine and a model of excellence to which I continually aspire.

I’ve been extremely fortunate in life…I’ve had 3 great “Dad’s…James, my biological father; Eugene, my stepdad and OB/GYN who provided the framework for my path in life;…and George, who showed me the way.

From an old friend, Deb Ashcraft:

“…[My boyfriend] had bad acne especially on his chest. So bad it left very bad scars. Medicine to treat the acne was outstanding in the price! But doc got it for him and did not want any $. Just a beer would be fine. If I’m not mistaken he even when far and beyond with help in bailing him out of some trouble he got himself into. Doc was always there if you needed him, no matter what time of day or Night!…You are a very lucky lady to have found the love of your life in doc. As I’m sure he feels the same of you!…Give him a Hey Doc! Love that man and also very thankful!

From Dr. Mike Witte, our longtime local primary care physician and founder of West Marin’s Coastal Health Alliance:

Dear Renate,

I feel very privileged to be counted among your and George’s friends. I also feel very blessed to have your exquisite, and so very poignant!, letter in my possession. My history with this amazing human being goes back to the 70’s, when I joined the West Marin Medical Center’s docs. Stories seemed to slip over the transom nearly daily about Doc Flynn trunk-of-my-car cures, and kitchen-table-surgeries. I often envisioned George sitting at the Sand Dollar [a local bar and restaurant], minding his own business, then calmly following one of the many locally injured or ill to the parking lot and his”office”. NO was clearly not in George’s lexicon. But adventure sure was! It seems to have defined him! I still remember George, in his ever-present navy blue overalls - with “Big hat, few cattle” or something like it, embroidered on the chest - limping into a Coastal Health Alliance Board meeting:

“You OK, George?” “Oh, yeah. Just flipped my pick-up in the dark on a tight curve by the ranch the other night. Looks like I might’ve broke my pelvis. I’m fine.”

Fine! I think it was much harder for George to sit through those blah-de-blah meetings, than it was to deal with a broken pelvis!

George had the great fortune, and good sense, to choose the perfect partner. What an incredible adventure you both have had together, Renate!

From Madison Mori, one of our dear friends at the ranch:

Renate…George’s generosity surpasses anyone I’ve known and motivates me to bless people the way he has. His life was dedicated to helping others…I hope to be as selfless and caring as him someday. I’m grateful to be a small part of his story, though he is a big part of ours. So much love…

From our friend and former coworker, Kathy Mashburn:

Hi, Renate…When I was a new nurse at SJCH in 1979, one of my assigned patients was expected to die and when that occurred I was to call the ER physician. I called, before my patient died. I never had anyone die and I was very nervous and concerned. Dr. Flynn responded to the call. He was very kind. He gave me some patient instruction, and he was very patient with me.

One night at midnight I was riding my bicycle home after work. Next thing I recall, awaking in the ER, and ER (male) nurse saying, “don’t worry, I’m not shaving too much.” Then Dr. Flynn began stitching up my head. A little while later George asked me if Dr. (neurologist) was ok, and I responded, “does he treat patients like people (I was pretty sure he didn’t)?” As he walked away I heard him, saying, “patients like people, patients like people.”

You both were so gracious sharing your home with me, with my friends, whether you were home or not! One of my last visits there, my last morning, George took me to breakfast in Stinson Beach. I loved that time. He talked about the book he was reading, told me a paramedic story from Nevada. He is a big man living a big life. So very generous.”

From George’s first wife, Ingrid:

I met George on the beach in Santa Barbara where I was living with my sister. He had found a silk parachute somewhere and had set it up on the beach, brought a keg of beer, and moved the city owned picnic tables around. We were water skiers…

His father…did not like me…He threatened to not pay George’s medical school costs if we married. So of course, we did. And then moved to San Francisco for his medical training at the University of California at San Francisco…

When I was pregnant [with our first child], “Doc” was in his first year of medical school. I slept a lot. One week-end, George was doing lab work on pregnant mice, trying to maintain the pregnancy after removal of the ovaries but with continuous use of estrogen.

One late morning I woke up to what appeared to be an incredibly enlarged nose. Cross eyed, I reached up and removed a still warm and pre-birth naked baby mouse that George had carefully splayed on to my nose. He had carried it arefully from the UCSF Med Center down the 10 blocks of Parnassus Ave. to our basement abode on Belvedere Street.

This was George.

From Matt Lewis:

I first met Doc when I was 5 year old and I was suffering from pneumonia. My Grandmother, Jane, had brought me to your house. I just remember that there was one lamp on by the front door, and down the stairs came this huge guy. He came towards me with these huge arms outstretched and a giant grin on his face. I was scared to death! He picked me up and put me on the couch. I couldn’t believe that this person was a doctor and that a person who stood a foot-and-a-half taller than my grandmother could be that gentle.

He would visit me at home on the end of Seadrift twice over the next three weeks to see how I was doing.

That was just the beginning of the many times over the years that he healed me and caused me pain (the pain being Doc’s way to act as a reminder and a lesson of, “not to do that ever again”).

When I turned 21, my Mom and Dad were living in St. Thomas for the year. I always figured that I would celebrate that day with my Dad, but he wasn’t there! So, I asked Doc if he would please step in? He jumped at the chance.

It being a weekday, I left early from college and parked my truck at home, so that I wouldn’t be tempted, later, to drive home from the ar intoxicated. I sowed up at the Sandollar at 12:30pm and bought my first drink.

Marcus White was bar tending and didn’t blink twice that this was the first time that I had ever sat at his ar and ordered a drink. Shocked that he didn’t card me, I asked him why? He said, “Why would you sit at my bar and ask for a drink if you were not 21 years of age?” I was quite disappointed.

Anyways, Doc showed up at about 1pm with Bunky Nealson and more than adequately adapted to his roll as surrogate Dad. Between the two fo them, I was served all the worst conoctions available at the time. Doc had his arm around me the whole time, I presumed to keep me from falling off my bar stool…

Dinner definitely sobered me up a little, for as I had blown out the candles, on what had to be the ugliest cake that I had ever seen, I just couldn’t bring myself to stick a fork in it and take a bite!

It seems that at some point during the afternoon, Doc and Bunky had taken the time to make a cake just for me! They had gone down to the Conradi Ranch and selected the freshest cow-pie that they could find and prepared it [in] a beer-flat, covered in whipped cream and candles. All I remember is seeing [the server] walk out of the kitchen with this catastrophe ablaze in a ardboard box and the entire restaurant singing, “happy Birthday” to me! Doc and Bunky were just howling.

As I staggered back home that night, I kept thinking to myself, “Oh…am I going to feel awful in the morning!”

I will never forget my 21st birthday with my Dad, Doc Flynn! (tears)

From JP (name concealed for privacy):

George, our dear friend, our medical advisor, car enthusiast and fellow barn sitter! [Friday nights when we were home, were barn sitting nights at the Peterson barn.] We are so lucky to have you come into our lives! You helped [me] with so much during some trying medical times. A couple of memories stick out:

After I was placed on blood thinners I awoke covered in blood (it was everywhere). I called for council around 5am. You and Renate immediately raced over and assured me I was not having a brain bleed. You calmed my nerves, cleaned up most of the blood before [my partner] arrived home (she has a history of vasovagal syncope - which I know you know is fainting at the sight of blood). You two hung out with me until I stopped bleeding and even politely drank the coffee I offered in my blood ridden clothing.

Another time, I called to request you come a little early for the Friday night “barn sit” to check out a pretty good cut on top of my head (again, lots of blood). You rushed over checked it out and up to the medical clinic we drove. Doc Flynn Walks right in, leads me into an empty patient room and requests the nurses on duty provide you what you needed to stitch me up as the nurses in charge looked on in horror (you were no longer a treating doctor at the clinic at that time). That was one hell of a haircut, too!

[I had] a recent dream. [Mutual friend] Steve and I were riding [their weekly horse riding time together] and became trapped…where a steep cliff was preventing us from continuing our forward movement. I dismounted and walked to the edge looking for a safe passage when all of a sudden I realized the edge of the cliff was giving way and my balance was off. I knew I was going to go over and I began to think of how I was going to control the fall to in hopes of coming out alive. Then out of nowhere a large strong hand grabbed my shoulder and pulled me to safety. Of course, it was George! Always there, if needed and bigger than life! As he turned away from us to leave, he proceeded to broad jump a stream that was running, gave us that smile, as if to say, I am here and I am alright…never fear!

We love your stories at the Friday barn sits hearing about the early days in Stinson, your love of the ranch and of course, your love for your children and Renate.

We love you for being that great big gentle soul with always a smile on his face, we love your intelligence and humble demeanor. We love that you let us into your life and shared yours with us!

So, we ask that you please get the “barn” ready - as one day, our dear friend, we will see you again and the drinks will still be on us! We love you, Doc!

I am so very grateful to everyone who took the time to respond to my request for stories of George during that most difficult of times right before he died. The stories brought tremendous comfort and remembering him with friends brought such smiles. There are many, many more stories I look forward to sharing; and many I’ve not heard but long to. If you knew my George and have a story, please mention it in the comments or email me at lightshareletters@substack.com. And, if you would also please grant me permission to use your story in a future Lightshare Letter and, possibly, a future book, I’d so appreciate it. Thank you.