“Only two or three nights earlier, he and I were both sitting in at a poker game in the Elks’ Club, when someone said something or other about Long—probably something in connection with the special session of the legislature that might be called any day. Dr. McKeown said in jest, the way any person might in the course of a sociable card game: ‘If ever he has to have an operation, they better not let me give the anesthetic, for I’ll guarantee he’d never get off that table.’ Let me say again, and with emphasis, that this was not a threat, but a jest, something to underscore the man’s uncompromising anti-Long partisanship.
“Naturally, when within a matter of days he actually was summoned to serve as anesthetist for an operation to be performed on Huey Long, he demurred. He pointed out that Huey was a bad operative risk in any case, and for all anyone knew to the contrary, might already be dying from a wound which was in itself mortal. ‘If the man dies during the operation,’ Dr. McKeown pointed out, ‘many of those who have heard me pop off about him might actually think I killed him.’ No one who knew Henry McKeown, of course, would think any such thing. Finally he agreed to serve, provided I watched and checked every move he made.
“I told him I would do so, but while I looked now and then across the operating table to its head, where he was standing, and saw what he was doing, I really paid no attention to it, nor did he stop to see whether or not I was checking on him.
“Later, while the operation was in progress, Dr. Clarence Lorio, my brother, came in and stood beside Dr. McKeown to the end of the operation. On the side of the table at Huey’s left stood Dr. Vidrine. Opposite him was his assistant, Dr. Cook. Beside Dr. Vidrine at his left, I stood, handing him instruments and materials as he called for them. As I said, I am not a surgeon, but a pediatrician.
“The operating room was a strange sight. All sorts of people, mostly politicians, I assume, had crowded into the small room. It was not an amphitheater, and they ranged themselves all along the walls, not even being suited up. As Mother Henrietta, the head of the hospital, said later, after she had vainly tried to keep all who were not physicians or properly gowned out of the operating chamber, it was anything but normal surgical procedure.”
It is indeed a pity the original chart, such as it was, could not have been preserved. But as in the case of most hospitals, the time came when the absolute limit of storage capacity was exhausted, and the charts on file were microfilmed. In making these microfilms it was customary in many hospitals not to include the nurses’ bedside notes in the filmed record. Hence these do not appear in the film of the chart of Huey Long at Lady of the Lake.
But even what does remain is fragmentary, and in many cases unsigned. As Dr. Rives observed many years later: “The situation that night, even after I arrived, which was after the operation was completed and Huey was back in his room, could only be described as chaotic. Several physicians seemed to be on hand, and in the case of a critically injured patient, when no one of the attending doctors is actually in command and giving the orders to the crew of which he is the captain ... well, all I can say is that even during the four hours or so when I was there between about 1 A.M. and the time I started back for New Orleans which I reached at daybreak, the situation was nothing short of chaotic.”
A transcript of the microfilm was made by Dr. Chester A. Williams, the present coroner of East Baton Rouge parish. According to this document, the admitting note, set down on a plain sheet of paper, is not even signed; obviously the last two lines were added by someone else after the operation was concluded. It is preceded on the record by a standard summary form which reads:
Hospital No. 24179. Sen. Huey P. Long, 42 yr.w.m.
Admitted Sept. 8, 1935, to Dr. Vidrine.