Diary of a Neighborhood Pharmacist, Entry #23

The last vestige of professionalism in pharmacy is talking to people. Of course, sometimes we don't even talk about drugs.

When I was filling in at a pharmacy that serves active duty and retired military personnel, an elderly gentleman wearing a clerical collar and with a large cross around his neck came in. He looked about 70 years old. He glanced at the small selection of OTCs that the store carries, then said, "I remember this base when it was really active, when they had airplanes taking off from here all the time from Grumman and Curtis." That, I realized, hadn't been since World War II. "I was in the Army back then, I was the youngest regimental sergeant-major in the Army. When the war was over, I had 17 years in, and my wife said it might be a good idea to stay, to qualify for retirement. Of course, after the war they didn't need Black sergeants, they were breaking up our units…."

(Leslie*, the technician, who knows the computer system and the formulary and stuff that's all a mystery to me, asked if I needed any help. I said that I didn't, that we were talking about the old segregated Army. I wondered if Leslie even knew that as late as the 1940s, the United States Army fought Hitler and Mussolini with segregated regiments.)

"… but I asked the Colonel if there was some assignment I could get so I could stay in to finish my time. He found a slot for me as assistant chaplain right here, and that was my start in the clergy …."

It struck me, among other things, that while I think of myself as growing old, he had retired from the service just about the time I had been born. I was tempted to bring up his profile, just to check his age, but that wouldn't have been right. I just listened as he spoke about raising five children, teaching them the importance of getting an education, about his youngest child, who just finished her PhD and is working on a book about segregation in the Army.

After a while he stopped. He said, "I've been talking a lot. Thank you for listening," and walked out.

"What was that all about?" Leslie asked.

I said, "I'm not really sure, but it was interesting," and we went back to work.

*not her real name

See the previous installment, Diary of a Neighborhood Pharmacist, Entry #22, or the next installment, Diary of a Neighborhood Pharmacist, Entry #24.

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