In re Doctor Malcolm Burns
Drove up a street near the Kalispell Regional Medical Center named “Burns Way” and got to thinking about the man it honors. Not many can remember Doctor Malcolm Burns, but it seems only yesterday he was a greatly admired Flathead personality.
“Doc” graduated from college as an engineer to design big structures and supervise construction, but he felt personally unfulfilled. Went to medical school, and we locals were blessed when he chose Kalispell to practice. He added 29 years to my father’s life through medical expertise and world-class persuasion.
My one peek into his childhood was a fascinating yarn he spun off his father, playing in marathon poker games with local characters, from a kingpin cattle rancher and Chinese Tong leader to lumber tycoons.
To understand how enthralling his stories were, it is vital to know Doc Burns had a deep oratorical voice which eloquently portrayed instinctive feel for the nuances of plot, character and emotion. I’ve no doubt he could have been a Shakespearean actor of wide acclaim. He would transfix and awe anyone, if he chose to.
The most transfixed I ever was by a Burns story was in his examination room while I was in college and the only listener. He related going to a classical concert in his college days, probably in New York. At curtain time, an announcer said the featured singer was unable to appear; however, “A gifted replacement had been found.”
There were murmurs of disappointment and shuffling of feet in the massive theater, but the lights were fully dimmed as the curtain rose. A brilliant spotlight fell on the grand piano as a pianist struck a dramatic musical intro. The spot stayed on the piano, while from the darkened stage came a male voice ranging effortlessly through rich baritone to tenor scales, until it filled the vast space with an aria that sent shivers up the spines and held the audience enraptured.
The last note faded into a magical silence before applause and cheering grew to a deafening homage for the performer. The spot swept suddenly to the singer to reveal a startling reality for those days. The man was black.
I didn’t get any details at the end of Doc’s spellbinding account because there were other patients waiting. His story haunted me, and I finally decided, “Doc had actually witnessed the startling world premiere of Taylor Gordon.”
Taylor Gordon was raised in White Sulphur Springs, Montana, and as a little boy ran errands for the whorehouse madame, before overcoming great difficulties to become an international sensation during the 1920s. (Gordon’s autobiography “Born to Be” is in the archives of Montana’s Historical Society.)
While waiting impatiently one night in the hospital for the birth of my first child, I overheard a conversation between Burns and another doctor. Their talk was about the number of patients who took up valuable time over imagined afflictions.
Highlight was a Burns story of one wealthy man who drove him crazy until he figured out a method where he charged higher fees for baseless complaints and helped poorer folks with real troubles.
Maybe 1952? Had my only debate with Doc Burns. Went to his office about a painful neck injury caused by a parachute opening shock. Got a lecture, “George, you possess a propensity for dangerous activity. The last few years, you got tossed off a bucking horse, hit a tree while skiing, and this is the second or third parachute thing. You’re a bright young man, so you should consider living more sanely.”
I replied, “Doctor Burns. Yes, there are some things in life more risky, but going the other way, do you think when babies are born they should be put in padded room with no hard objects and raised in a sanitized and non-threatening environment?”
“Of course not, George. I like outdoor activity and do a little fly fishing on the Swan. An important part of life is drawing a sensible line between what is imprudent and what is not; however, I have a feeling you don’t know there is a line.”
“Let’s see if you can fix my neck, Doctor Burns.”
G. George Ostrom is a national award-winning Hungry Horse News columnist. He lives in Kalispell.