Doc: Memories from a Life in Public Service

by Otis R. Bowen, William Du Bois Jr.

Overview

"Being governor is like no other job although it has similarities to being a country doctor. Like a physician, a governor is on call 24 hours a day, seven days a week, asleep, awake, eating, in the shower, traveling in a car, or at a meeting. There are emergencies, so he lives with unpredictability. As earlier noted, many state government activities involve health and medical questions, areas in which I have expertise. There, the similarities end. There is nothing like being governor, not even being a member of a president's Cabinet."—from Doc

No Indiana governor in the 20th century has been more popular or successful than Otis R. Bowen. In his long-awaited autobiography, "Doc" writes in rich detail about the hard work and persistence that got him into and through medical school. His commitment to serving people made him a beloved family physician in Bremen, a respected state legislator and legislative leader, and one of the most esteemed governors in Indiana history.

Otis Bowen grew up poor in Fulton County, but was rich in the things that matter. With the support of his parents, siblings, teachers and friends, he pursued a dream of becoming a family physician, making many sacrifices to finance his way through medical school

As a newly minted doctor, Bowen first practiced medicine in the Army. He describes his experience on the field of combat in the Pacific during the last major battle of World War II, and tells of his life after coming home from the war to serve the medical needs of a small northern Indiana community. We learn, too, of his personal life, about his own family and his first two wives, Beth Bowen and Rose Bowen, the loneliness and emptiness he endured after they died painfully of cancer, and how his third wife, Carol, has filled that void.

An almost accidental entry into politics and public life led Bowen to the capitals of Indiana and the nation. Drafted as a candidate for Marshall County coroner in 1952, Bowen moved up from that office to become a member of the Indiana House of Representatives, to House leadership as Minority Leader and Speaker, to the governor's office in 1973, and to President Ronald Reagan's cabinet in 1985. The first person to serve eight consecutive years as Indiana's Governor, Bowen candidly explores the challenges, crises and triumphs of that period. In an equally candid way, he recounts his efforts and frustrations as Secretary of the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services.

As warm, down-to-earth, and genuine as its subject, Doc will be welcomed by all Hoosiers, no matter their political stripe.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780253028556
Publisher:	Indiana University Press
Publication date:	12/22/2021
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	262
File size:	4 MB
Age Range:	18 Years

About the Author

William Du Bois, Jr., Hoosier by birth, spent 20 years as a journalist, half of that period as editor of Portland and Muncie newspapers. He later served on the executive staffs of governors Otis R. Bowen and Robert D. Orr. Before retiring in 1998, Du Bois also spent a decade in higher education as president of the Independent Colleges and Universities of Indiana and as the system marketing and public relations director of Ivy Tech State College.

Read an Excerpt

Doc

Memories from a Life in Public Service

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By Otis R. Bowen, William Du Bois Jr.

Indiana University Press

Copyright © 2000 Otis R. Bowen
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-253-02855-6

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CHAPTER 1

Family, Friends, and School

I was born on February 26, 1918, to Vernie and Pearl Irene (Wright) Bowen at the farm home of my paternal grandparents, John Pierce and Rebecca Jane (Hartman) Bowen, who lived north of the Tippecanoe River between Richland Center and Leiters Ford in Richland Township, Fulton County, Indiana. My understanding is that I weighed between seven and seven and a half pounds at birth.

When a few months old, Pm told, I had a severe case of whooping cough that raised questions about my survival. We now know that I lived, and I have concluded that there were no permanent ill effects.

My first childhood memory is the birth of my sister, Evelyn. I was two years old. I don't recall where my mother was, but I remember Dad shepherding my older sister and me around. When he made breakfast, I didn't like the boiled egg he prepared. I'm reputed to have been a "mama's baby," so that probably accounts for my protest.

Another early memory involves crocks of apple butter we were taking home from my Uncle Leo and Aunt Alice Norris's place. We were in our family car's back seat, the crocks on the floor in front of us. My father says I fell asleep, awoke with a start, and put one of my new red shoes through the paper covering on a crock. Forever after, Aunt Alice teased me for saying, "I stepped in the apple butter."

My light-colored hair and freckles may be why my great-uncle, Daurcy S. Smith, husband of Berdelia (Della) Rush, my Grandma Wright's sister, called me "towhead."

I can't explain why I recall these isolated episodes and facts but remember nothing else until I started school at age five.

The Bowens are a typically American mixture of Welsh, English, Irish, German, and other nationalities. My roots run deep in Fulton County. Constant Bowen (1781–1843) and his wife, Sarah (Hill) Bowen (1799–1849), my paternal great-great-grandparents, came to Fulton County at least two years before the Potawatomi Indians were removed west. Two sets of maternal great-great-great-grandparents, Jeremiah and Achsah Ormsbee and Joseph and Mary (Horn) Robbins, came to Fulton County in the 1830s. Many other ancestors came there before 1850.

Dad was just plain Vernie. He had no middle name. I always thought Grandma and Grandpa Bowen ran out of names or lost interest when they got to Dad, who was their fifteenth child. After graduating from high school in 1915 at age 17, Dad attended a six-week Valparaiso University summer course. That fall, he taught all eight grades in a one-room school for $2.50 a day. He was the janitor and nurse and carried in wood for the stove and water for drinking. For that extra work, he received another 10 cents a day.

To keep his teaching permit, Dad attended "summer school" at Manchester College and Valparaiso University for seventeen straight years and took courses by correspondence. His studies took him away for six weeks each summer. We lived on a small farm most of that time. In his absence, Mom and I (and, to a lesser degree, my older sister) tended our big garden and did the chores. As a high school sophomore, I attended Dad's college graduation. He later worked on his master's degree.

Dad started teaching in one-room rural Fulton County schools, including Germany Station, District 11, and "Dead Man's College," so called because it was on the site of an old cemetery. He later taught at Kewanna (1920–24) and Fulton (1924–34) in Fulton County; Francesville in Pulaski County (1934–36); Crown Point in Lake County (1936–41); and McKinley, Roosevelt, Washington, and Riley schools in East Chicago, Lake County (1941–51). In 1952, he bought the Village Hardware in Leiters Ford in Fulton County, intending to retire from teaching. Local officials needed a math and shop teacher and persuaded him to return to the classroom at Leiters Ford, where he taught until 1958. In forty-three years of teaching, Dad touched thousands of lives in a positive way as a teacher, coach, and counselor, and through his involvement in the communities where he lived.

Back then, teaching was no easy job. At Fulton, Dad taught five subjects and coached the schooPs basketball teams — the boys' varsity, second team, and seventh- and eighth-grade teams and the girls' teams. In the spring, he coached baseball. He even swept out the gym. When players had no way home, Dad took them. (While doing that once, Dad ran over a skunk. His player trapped animals for fur and insisted on retrieving the dead animal. He smelled of skunk for a week. Dad had a tinge of skunk odor, too.)

Dad was firm and strict but fair. I don't recall spankings, but probably got a few taps. (Dad said that if I ever got a spanking at school, I could expect a second one at home. Luckily, I never did.) Dad was the family disciplinarian and Mom the balm who kept us children at peace with each other. Dad was indulgent to a point, then "explained" what he expected. My lasting images of him are of a beloved and admired teacher. He loved sports but was too busy for fishing or other diversions. Totally honest himself, he instilled that value and those of hard work and thrift in us.

To augment his meager teaching income so he could feed and clothe us, Dad took the toughest farm jobs, stacking straw from the threshing machine and mowing back hay at a time when it wasn't baled. The hardest-working farmers gladly paid someone else to do these dusty, dirty, choking jobs.

A master carpenter, cabinetmaker, and woodworker, Dad made a pulpit, lectern, and communion table, all with fancy carving, for a Crown Point church. He created beautiful candlestick holders for his children and grandchildren, a masterpiece cradle for a grandson's newborn child, end tables, and wooden bowls.

My mother was the daughter of George Wright and his wife, Sarah Eleria Rush, of near Tiosa, a crossroads village near Talma, Richland Center, and Leiters Ford in Fulton County. My youngest sister, Sarah Jane, got her first name from Grandma Wright and her middle name from Grandma Bowen. Mom was a quiet, hard-working, uncomplaining, always encouraging, and ever-protecting angel. She appreciated it when we helped with dishes or yard work without being asked. An excellent cook, she made tasty dishes from vegetables we grew and the strawberries, cherries, and peaches we picked. Except for chicken and side meat or fish I caught, meat dishes were not plentiful.

An excellent seamstress, Mom made her own and many of my sisters' dresses. Her housecleaning was as good as any. I didn't like such work, but I helped her with spring cleaning, when rugs had to be hung on a clothesline and whipped with a rug beater and curtains had to come down to be laundered, ironed, and re-hung.

Our life had its routine. Sundays were for church and visiting grandparents. Mondays were wash days. We used washboards and a hand-cranked wringer and hung the clothes outside. On Tuesday, we dampened and rolled up the clothes for ironing on Wednesday. I don't recall special Thursday or Friday duties except garden or yard work.

Saturdays were for baths, haircuts, and baking. Mom saw that we took weekly baths in a wash tub filled with water heated by the sun in a woodshed. She cut our hair — my dad's, my brother's, and mine. Using only egg whites, keeping the yolks for noodles, she baked angel food cake from scratch. When she baked devil's food cakes, she warned us not to roughhouse because her cake would fall. Inevitably, with our encouragement, some did. Then we got thicker fudge icing — sometimes a half-inch thick, like a good piece of candy.

Like Dad, Mom taught us thrift, honesty, and the value of work. She added a certain gentleness and consideration for others. She gave us tender, loving care, sacrificing things she needed so that her kids could be better dressed or more content.

My oldest sister was Esther. Then I came along. Next were Evelyn, my brother, Dick, and my baby sister, Sarah Jane. Dick passed away in 1991 from colon cancer. Esther (Bowen) Plain, Evelyn (Bowen) Amacher, and Sarah Jane (Bowen) Scandling are in pretty good health. Esther lives in Munster. Sarah Jane, a retired nurse whose husband, Lee, passed away in 1998, lives in South Bend. Evelyn, who has lived by herself for forty-five or fifty years, resides in Kouts.

My brother and sisters were the best. I had no favorite, but I probably neglected Evelyn, the "in-between" child. Our relationships were no different than those of other groups of siblings. We had spats and quarrels, but defended each other against outsiders.

I recall sitting in an easy chair, feverish, with warm cloths on my neck and cheeks because they were swollen from the mumps. Dick, about two then, looked up at me and said, "Oleo, how you are?" His question showed his concern, but for the rest of his life he was reminded about how he had phrased it and how he had mispronounced my name.

We worked together a lot — especially in the pickle patches, which provided needed income for the family. We planted, hoed, weeded, and dusted for pickle bugs, then did the backbreaking work of picking. Every other day, we were in the patch at dawn, picking pickles until we left for school at 7:30, After school, we went back to finish.

The top pickle grades were small and just a little larger, A first-class pickle had to be perfectly straight. Other grades were nubbins ("nubs"), crooked pickles ("crooks"), pickles that had grown beyond first-class size after we missed them two days earlier, and cucumbers, the largest size. Dad sorted and separately sacked each grade. We filled our Model T's back seat with sacks and stacked them on both fenders and over the hood. We must have looked like Okies or the Beverly Hillbillies chugging along to the Heinz Pickle Company's receiving station at Fulton. There, sharp-eyed graders invariably found fault with Dad's sort. Pickles with a slight crook, one end a bit bigger than the other, or a fraction of an inch longer than allowed got a lower grade — and we got a lower price.

We first lived at Kewanna. As Dad accepted new teaching positions, we moved to Fulton and then to Francesville. After I went to college, my parents moved to Crown Point and East Chicago. In Kewanna, we lived in two rented homes. In Fulton, we lived in four different rented homes, two on farms and two in town. We loved and wanted to stay on the farms, but the owners needed their places. Our last Fulton home had indoor plumbing. So did the one at Francesville, the best house in which we lived in my youth.

When we lived out of Fulton, we kids slept upstairs. About five o'clock one morning, I smelled smoke and roused my parents. In the center of the room, fire was coming up around a big register. Dad ran across the fire to the phone and dialed the operator. (Everyone was on a party line then, and an operator handled all calls.) The fire was spreading fast enough that Dad broke the bedroom window so we could get out.

The town's sidewalks came to the other farm. My sisters and I used a coaster wagon to deliver milk to a few customers at five cents a quart.

One year I had a 4-H hog, the next a calf. The hog was a beautiful, spoiled, tame Chester White. I named the Hereford steer Ted. At the fair, I won second with the hog, third with Ted. Dad let me raise five more Chester Whites. I kept track of feed and other expenses. When the hogs weighed about two hundred pounds, we sold them for $10 each. Feed for each had cost about $11. Dad absorbed the loss. I learned about the risks of farming and came face to face with the fact that we were in a depression.

In my early years, I don't remember anything remarkably mischievous. When I was 2 or 3, I'm told, my older sister boosted me up onto a woodshed roof, then got up herself Our mother got us down safely. I once wandered out of our yard and down a railroad track. A neighbor brought me back. These escapades occurred at Loyal, called Germany Station until World War I. Loyal no longer exists.

When I was 10 or 11, I fell out of our haymow, breaking my arm. I went to Dr. Frank C. Dielman alone. His son held my upper arm while the doctor pulled on my hand and manipulated the bone. He then put it in a yucca board splint.

Blessed with compatible, understanding, caring, and loving parents, we had a very good home. Mom and Dad didn't show their love and caring publicly, or even much at home, but it was there and we knew it. Although poor, we were content and happy and not really envious of better-fixed families. We didn't want or need much. There was nothing complicated about my parents' way of life. They survived the Depression without panic, by hard work and careful monitoring of their means.

Despite his life of unrelenting hard work, serving, and giving, or because of it, Dad lived to age 85 and was in good health until his last six weeks. He spent those weeks in Rochester's Woodlawn Hospital after a stroke involving the medulla, the lower part of the brainstem, left him unable to move or speak. A feeding tube down his throat caused fluids to accumulate, necessitating a suction tube that irritated him immensely. He understood us, but could communicate only by blinking his eyes. Mom stayed with him in the daytime. She had to rest at night, so we sat with him then. Occasionally Rose sang softly to him, and that had a soothing effect.

When we were alone one night, I said to him, "Dad, I'm so thankful for you and so grateful for all you taught and showed me. I would never have been able to accomplish the things I have without you." I know I didn't imagine the way his eyes lighted up and the faint but very visible smile that came to his face. His response told me that he understood what I said and knew that I meant every word of it.

Dad passed away on July 13, 1983. This reflection on my father's life, written by editor William Freyburg, appeared in the Rochester News-Sentinel of July 22, 1983:

After 43 years on the job, a man could look forward to a slower pace and the good life of retirement. And if those four decades had been spent as a public school teacher, as was the case with Vemie Bowen, the man could feel he had left his mark in having touched the lives of countless people over the years. But Bowen, who died last week at the age of 85, did not retire when he left his teaching career. And his influence over others did not cease, either. For another 25 years, Vernie Bowen continued to take an active part in the world about him — and to make a difference.

When he gave up teaching in 1958, he chose to remain in the tiny town of Leiters Ford, where he had taught for six years. For the next 13 years, he devoted full time to the Village Hardware Store which he had purchased seven years previously. But that was not all he did in his "retire' ment." Bowen was a trustee of Aubbeenaubbee Township for four years. He was an active member of the Leiters Ford Merchants Association, a variation of a chamber of commerce. He was a Sunday School teacher at the Leiters Ford United Methodist Church for several years. Truly, Vernie Bowen was a person of consequence long before he became known statewide as the father of one of the most popular political figures in Indiana history.

It was the father who administered the oath of office when his son, Otis R. Bowen, became the first Indiana governor since 1851 to be elected to a consecutive four'year term. It was because of Vernie Bowen and his wife Pearl that the little town of Leiters Ford managed to have the governor of Indiana crown its Strawberry Festival queen five consecutive years.

But the difference that Vernie Bowen made extended beyond his hometown. Fulton County's modern hospital exists today partly because of this unassuming, quiet man with a reputation for integrity and good sense. For 14 years, he was a member of the Woodlawn Hospital board of trustees. He was in the forefront of the effort to upgrade this county's health care facilities. It was not an easy task to bring the dream of a new hospital to fruition. Indeed, the first attempt failed. But Bowen and other members of the hospital board were determined that this county should have adequate facilities for the care of the ill and the injured. And the ultimate success of this determination was due in no small part to the fact that some people felt that "if Vernie thinks it's a good idea, it must be the thing to do."

For this, as well as for all the other contributions made to improving the quality of life wherever he resided, we say, "Thanks, Vernie."

Mom remained home in Leiters Ford after Dad's death. My sisters stayed with her for a few weeks. She was her old sweet self except for her deep grief over the death of her husband, to whom she was married almost sixty-eight years.

In the fall of 1984, she went to a doctor with abdominal pain, but got no relief. After a trip to Leiters Ford, I convinced her to come to Indianapolis and stay with my wife Rose and me. As a professor at the IU Medical Center, I had access to specialists.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Doc by Otis R. Bowen, William Du Bois Jr.. Copyright © 2000 Otis R. Bowen. Excerpted by permission of Indiana University Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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