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The Suppression of Alternative Medical Therapies 123
Randolph Street, was my father's attorney. I'll consult him and be guided
by his advice. Perhaps he'll suggest some changes. . .."
Dr. Harris' smile turned frosty. "There won't be any changes," he
snapped. "We've set forth the only conditions under which your treatment
can be ethically established. Unless you accept them in their entirety, no
reputable doctor will have anything to do with you or your treatment."
With considerable effort I kept a tight rein on my temper. He has a
powerful organization behind him, I kept telling myself. You musn't
antagonize him.
"In any case, I'll have to have some time to think over your proposition."
I stood up.
His eyes, friendly as a cobra's, took my full measure. "Hoxsey," he said
levelly, "until you sign that contract you can't see Sgt. Mannix again."
He picked up the telephone, called the hospital, asked for the superintendent,
Brother Anthony. "This is Dr. Harris. Until further orders, neither
Hoxsey nor Dr. Miller are to be admitted to your hospital, or to communicate
in any way with the patient Thomas Mannix."
I waited until he hung up the receiver, then seized the telephone and
called the Mannix home. Before I could be connected Dr. Harris reached
over the desk and tried to take the telephone away from me. My left elbow
flipped up, caught him squarely in the chest and sent him flying into his
chair. It promptly toppled over, depositing him in a most undignified position
on the floor.
Miss Mannix came on the wire and I explained the situation to her. "If
you want your father to get well you'd better get him out of the hospital
and take him home. I'll be over to see him this evening and change the
dressings."
She assured me she'd get him home immediately.
Dr. Harris picked himself off the floor, his dignity considerably ruffled,
his face as red as a boiled lobster.
"You'll never get away with this!" he shrilled. "If you as much as touch
that patient I'll have you arrested for practicing medicine without a
license. As long as you live you'll never treat cancer again. We'll close
down your clinic, run you and that quack doctor of yours out of Illinois.
Try and set up anywhere else in this country and you'll wind up in jail."
Without bothering to reply I walked out.
Returning to the hotel, I received a telephone call from Dr. Miller. He
was in a booth across the street from the Alexian Brothers Hospital, where
he'd gone to see our patient. They'd refused to let him in. I explained what
had happened at Dr. Harris' office. When I finished, there was a long
silence. Finally he sighed:
"Well, that does it. Harris won't rest now until he's put us out of busi-