Back in ‘the last century’ I was teaching. I promised myself I would be out of Cleveland before I turned 28. In the meantime, I decided to volunteer at the well-respected Free Clinic. I drove down to check it out.
Too nervous to notice the gloomy neighborhood, I focused on the old wooden sign above the modern double glass doors of the Free Medical Clinic of Greater Cleveland. The sign, paint peeling, was out of place with the newness of the building, but I, along with most citizens of the city, knew the proudful history of this institution. One of the first free clinics in the nation, it was founded in the late 1960’s in an old 3 story frame house by a group of dedicated health care volunteers. It had grown over the years into a multimillion-dollar clinic, but its original tenet remained the same: To provide free health and legal care to anyone in need. The sign was from the original clinic. I was honored to start volunteering there.
“Honey, we don’t bite!” A heavy-set black woman opened one of the glass doors and welcomed me in”
“I’m Lillian. I work in the Hypertension Clinic.”
Lillian shook my hand gently. “We can use all the help we can get. Let me see who’s around to show you around. Come on child, follow me.”
The inside of the clinic belied its sterile exterior. Thirty odd years of memorabilia hung from the walls and ceiling. A spacious skylight kept the myriad of my eye. I followed Lillian. One room led to another. They must have been added on and on in a helter-skelter fashion. I noticed a framed photograph of a very young Senator Edward Kennedy touring the clinic.
Lillian introduced me to a woman, about 40, who looked like she had just returned from the original Woodstock.
“Jane, this is Susan.” Lillian continued, “Jane is one of the few original staff members still here. She’ll fill you in.”
The large woman winked and slowly made her way down one of the many corridors.
“Welcome, Susan.” Jane had a gravelly voice, a huge smile, masses of freckles and flowing strawberry-blond hair. “What do you think of the clinic so far?”
For the better part of an hour Jane walked me through mazes of rooms and hallways, peppering the tour with stories from the past.
“Here is the intake room, where I started out.
See there?” She pointed to a cozy corner table in the corner. “I had to do my first medical intake on a rough, huge, bearded patient, obviously a biker. He was so encrusted in leather and studs, there was no room to take a pulse, let alone blood pressure. I was too timid to ask him to remove any of it. It was a long evening!”
We walked in to a more isolated area. “And back here?” Jane continued, “One Friday night I was working psych. intake alone, and a lanky, bald-headed black man came in on all fours, insisting he was a cheetah. I didn’t argue! You’ll meet all kinds.”
The clinic was all encompassing. There was a dental clinic, mental health and drug abuse services, legal aid, and thrift shop as well as the medical clinic. Safe Space, the runaway shelter for teens and battered women, was in the adjacent building. The tour ended in the art center.
“I imagine this is where you’ll be spending most of your time.” I’ll introduce you to the art director, Cab. She does a great job and has her own interesting stories to tell!”
“Maybe beginning with her name?” I laughed, already feeling more at ease.
Cab was an energetic woman with smiling eyes and a wicked sense of humor. Her laugh was a borderline cackle that always embarrassed her, but much to her dismay, she couldn’t seem to tame.
She had worked at the clinic while in art school, then left town for 15 years.
“Had to have my adventures,“ she laughed.
Cab had traveled, freelancing her art, settling for a time in northern California, where she’d gotten pregnant and married. The marriage didn’t last but she had a beautiful little girl that she doted on.
I watched her for a minute.
“Cab, why did you come back here? Don’t you hate the winters after all that California sunshine?”
“My folks got sick and I was ready to come back for a while.” She looked at me, atypically serious, “Follow your dreams. Have adventures. Listen to that voice inside of you and you’ll never be sorry. Even if you make a million mistakes along the way.”
She gave me a side-hug and walked me back to the entrance.
“See you next week. Thanks for the day. It loved it,” I proclaimed.
In fact, I felt happier than I’d felt for a long time.
P.S. I eventually left teaching and started on staff at the Clinic while going to art school.
