Dr. Harry Floyd sits in the recliner with a piece of chocolate cake in one hand and a diet coke in the other…and vows he’s going to lose weight. Peggy accuses me of drinking too much coffee so I can write stupid things faster.
Today we’re going to take a trip on that old nostalgia ship. Dr. Harry Floyd arrived in Kingstree July 13, 1970. I ask Harry, “Do you remember your first patient?” Harry answered the question with one of his own, “Do you remember the first record your played on WDKD?”
In 1970 Harry had a lot more hair and a lot less weight. He drove a 1962 Porsche 356-C, which could go around the block on a tank of gas. He lived on Logan Street. The next week’s headline in the County Record proclaimed, “There goes the neighborhood!”
In 1970 I worked for WKYB in Hemingway, although Peggy, Chuck and I still lived at Sandy Bay. Dexter Stuckey and J.P. Askins made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. I left Hemingway when C.G. Bass, David McCutchen, Billy Cox, and I had the opportunity to purchase WDKD.
Dr. Harry Floyd is a native of Olanta. He worked at Morrell Thompson’s grocery store from 7a.m. to 11p.m. on Saturday for $3. He attended USC where he majored in pickin’ cotton with a minor in croppin’ tobacco. After graduating, he entered the Navy and everyone in Olanta sold their war bonds. He returned to USC for his medical degree. With maturity comes wisdom. That’s why Harry sent his sons David and Steven to Clemson. When I asked Harry why he chose Kingstree to practice medicine, he cackled, “Temporary insanity.”
Sam Burgess was the chairman of the board at Williamsburg Memorial Hospital in 1970. Harry first practiced with Dr. Poston, Dr. Montgomery, and Dr. Paul Watson in the building where Dr. Michael Holmes had his office on Hwy. 52. When Guy McIntosh passed away, Harry ran for coroner in the early 1980s. He lost by 50 votes, which proved that if ignorance paid dividends, everyone in Williamsburg County would be a millionaire. Harry served on the hospital board for 38 years and while rural hospitals are under financial stress, he believes our hospital is here to stay.
Dr. Brice delivered Peggy at Route 2 Box 233 Kingstree in August 1933.
When the Greyhound deposited me at Lybrands in July 1949 I had a job and a suitcase, but no doctor. I inherited Dr. Sanders from E.G. and Tiller Robinson. We later switched to Dr. Harry Floyd. He agreed to sponsor Williamsburg Academy football, where his son was an outstanding player, provided that I didn’t mention that I was one of his patients. When I showed up at his office, he would tell all those waiting that I was a patient of Dr. Walter Cottingham.
Dr. Harry Floyd claims he’s not bald. He says he has a lifesaver hair cut with a hole in the middle. Now there are so many things wrong with me I don’t know whether I was made in Heaven or Detroit.
Harry says he will hunt and fish. I don’t know what Nancy will do with twice the husband and only half the money. So after 40 years of chasing bacteria and cussing Medicare on March 31, Harry will say Adios. For four decades he has been Peggy’s and my doctor. Back in the 50s he listened to me on the radio. Back then I talked and he complained. For the last 40 years I complained and he listened. Now we’re both retired.
He will hunt and fish and aggravate Nancy and I will write prose nobody reads and aggravate “Ole Precious Metal.”