The Greater Rock of Ages Baptist Church

I work in a busy hospital-based clinic, staffed by a large but competent and consistent group of secretaries, nurses, clerks, and other personnel. When the fiancé of one of the scheduling clerks was killed in an automobile accident, I felt obliged to attend his memorial service. Betty, the employee, was approximately my age, in her late 30s. Although she sometimes seemed overwhelmed by the needs of scheduling (and rescheduling) our many patients, she was always kind and helpful. I knew nothing of her personal life but was told that she had two sons from a previous relationship and had known Jim, her fiancé, for the past 7 years. For an African-American woman struggling to raise two boys in the Los Angeles area, losing the man who had served as their father and role model would be a great tragedy. Working as a physician, I have collected people's life tales as I obtain their medical details. Putting people in their personal context helps me understand how they may internalize the medical advice I dispense. Attending Jim's memorial service provided a large dose of context.

Directions to the service were hurriedly given to me while I was distracted in a busy clinic. I asked no questions and shoved the piece of paper into a pocket of my white coat. Two days later, as I pulled out of my driveway, I tried to decipher where I was going. After searching through my map book, I realized that I was headed for the heart of Watts, the vast, forbidding, primarily African-American ghetto in south-central Los Angeles. My previous experience with Watts had been limited to driving through it on the freeway (hoping my car wouldn't break down) and watching …