The Life of a Public Servant
By age 10, he had seen enough sadness to alter his life. I recall seeing the sorrow behind the laughter and in the twinkle of his eyes.
Paul Eugene Walker, born in 1908, was my grandmother’s eldest child, known for his dimpled chin, light blonde hair, and blue eyes. He was followed by his sister Ruth, brother Robert, and another younger brother in 1914. My father, Ray, is the youngest sibling.
In 1918, the Spanish Flu epidemic swept through the mountains and struck the residents of Paul’s hometown in Monterey, Tennessee. Paul witnessed the disease claim the lives of his new baby sister, aunts, cousins, friends, and even his father before the spring of 1920.
How does one endure so much at such a young age? Would trauma break the boy? Would heartache turn to anger and leave young Paul hopeless?
No, it did just the opposite.
Despite the challenges of providing for her family, my grandmother gathered her children and moved throughout Tennessee, operating boarding houses and, for a time, managing the Governor’s mansion. Gritty, determined, and fierce, she instilled a strong work ethic in each of her children. Laughter, music, and deep Appalachian resilience grounded Paul and kept him from succumbing to sorrow.
A determined soul
After Paul graduated from high school, he decided to pursue a career as a physician.
“What?” my grandmother exclaimed. “How could you possibly afford this education?” No one in our family was a doctor; most Walkers were in the lumber business and doing well.
Despite this, Paul was determined. He bravely approached his uncle, who owned the lumber mill, and asked if he could fund his education.
With his family’s aid, Paul Eugene Walker graduated from the University of Tennessee medical school in Memphis in 1933 and became a surgeon. By 1936, he joined the United States Public Health Service as the nation grappled with a changing world.
In 1941, he sailed into the Pacific. Like my uncle, other USPHS officers were fully integrated into military operations, acting as chief medical officers on various US Coast Guard and Navy ships.
I’m not sure exactly how many lives Paul saved in WWII, but there were many, including operating on the old film star César Romero. Uncle Paul would chuckle and say, “Hey, that’s my claim to fame!” He never mentioned that he and Mr. Romero stayed in touch for years or that he was an incredible surgeon.
He didn’t talk about how he changed the field of medicine, the suffering he endured in his personal life, or how deeply he loved others. Instead of discussing the scars left by pain and turmoil, he carried them as tools, transforming them into badges of honor.
United States Public Health Service
After the war, he soon became Medical Director of the United States Public Health Service while in Seattle, Washington. He was far away from the hilltops of Appalachia, but not for long.
In 1953, Paul conducted a study on the effectiveness of hot-air hand dryers in reducing bacterial contamination on the hands and forearms of operating room personnel after an antiseptic scrub. The findings contributed to the widespread use of hand dryers in public restrooms today.
Did he make a lot of money from that idea? No, it was intended as a service to the public. However, he did receive some criticism when my father complained about “those darn things” at the local gas station restroom. Uncle Paul laughed as if he had no connection to that “darn thing.”
After he retired from USPHS, Paul could have established a medical practice anywhere in the country. He was regarded as one of America’s finest surgeons. We thought he would return to his beloved Seattle after serving in New York, Virginia, Missouri, and Alabama.
On to West Virginia
“Ray, we are moving to the Tug Valley region of West Virginia.”
“Paul, what in the world are you doing?” my father replied.
“Well, brother, we are heading to the poverty-stricken coal mining area straddling the border of West Virginia and Kentucky. Those folks need help.”
Paul Walker founded a much-needed clinic and dedicated ten years to serving the community. He gained the respect of Governor Jay Rockefeller for enhancing emergency medical services in rural areas, becoming a notable example of civic dedication in revitalizing the Appalachian region.
After enduring long hours of standing in surgeries, he finally decided to lay down his scalpel and move to Florida to be close to his brother, Ray.
Just a few short years later, his journey came to an end. He passed away at the age of 71.
Dr. Paul Walker carried sadness throughout his life, but it never interfered with his dedication to helping others. He was a wonderful uncle and a committed American public servant.
What will we do with our sorrow?