The Washington times., 1934-09-06
For. Humanity

He had a round face, blue
eyes, and a benevolent smile.
He looked so kindly and so
gentle that you might have
mistaken him for a conf
dence man or a card sharp.
Actually, he was a great hu-
manitarian. DR.. Jason Brown.
An Institution
All types of people found their
way to Doctor Browns office.
Old women with shawB over
their heads. Thin men with
worried expressions. Scared
young couples, and old people
who found life difficult. Doc
tor Brown helped them all
physically, mentally and NOR
ally. He was a neighborhood
institution.
He had the smallest, barest
sort Of office. Luxurious trap
pings are out Of the question
when patients don't pay their
bills. Doctor Browns didn't,
most Of them. He never pressed
them for the money. If they
needed medical assistance, they
got 1t regardless of the state Of
their finances,
It was always something Of
a mystery how the man man.
aged to exist. He employed va
rious assistants for brief spaces
of time. They came and went.
In most cases, their admiration
and devotion for the doctor
diminished when the weekly pay
envelope failed to materialiZe.
Only Mrs. Flanagan stayed.
Hired as a housekeeper, she was
also cook, nurse and confidante.
She grumbled plenty, and on
more than one occasion she set
forth her own ideas on the sub
ject of the money owed the doc
tor.
"They amt ever going to pay
you," she pointed out, unless
you keep after 'em for it. My
land, I don't know what they
think you're going to live on.
Air, most likely. You send out
those bills, doctor. It's only
right you should"
Ordinarily Jason Brown was
a mild-tempered man. Upon oc-
casion, however, he could be
reused deeply. This was one of
the occasions. His blue eyes
cleaned with a light that was
almost fanatical. His voice took
on a new note when he spoke.
mol" he cried. Because
then those people would do
without me If they didn't have
the money. And that's wrong,
all wrong! Think of it-human
beings suffering because they
haven't money to pay for med
ical assistance. There's too much
Of that now; too many lives be-
ing sacrificed because people
can't afford to pay for treat
ment."
And invariably Mrs. Flanagan
would sigh and wish that she
hadn't brought up the subject.
Because, once started, Doctor
Brown could go on for hours on
that one strain.
There isn't much one man
can do," he would mutter, "but
I do what I can. Money doesn't
matter here. Let them come!
None of them will be refused
treatment because they don't
pay"
Nor were they. All through
the lean years he worked un-
tiringly am uncomplainingly.
His enthusiasm never dwindled.
If anything, it grew as he be-
came older.
He had one ambition, and it
was a consuming one. He longed
to establish a clinic, a place
where people could come from
all over the city and be treated
free of charge. 1t was a dream
that he had cherished for years.
It was a goal toward which he
worked ceaselessly.
His Ambition
There was little time to de.
vote to his ambition. Little
money. But he gave as much
of both as he could. The re.
suits were slow. Here was a
doctor who would give a few
hours two mornings a week:
the philanthropist who would
contribute a few dollars. A
charitable organization which
would assist in the raising of
funds. Slow work perhaps, and
tiresome. But not to Doctor
Brown.
To anyone who would listen
he spoke of his pet project. This
was only the beginning, he de-
clared. Some day he hoped to
have clinics all over the city.
"Thert need be no one then"
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