A Boston Story

Despite the recent hurricane, Boston is a city with many charms. If I had forgotten, a walk through Beacon Hill on Halloween was a great reminder—little ghosts and goblins everywhere and old brownstones decorated to the hilt. As I looked up at something protruding from a large bay window on Mt. Vernon Street, I realized that what I was seeing was two legs with old fashioned striped stockings and buckled boots hanging out as if crushed by a falling house. Ding Dong, the wicked witch was dead. Taking a shuttle bus to the Convention Center daily triggered memories of my medical school “away” rotation at Boston University Medical Center, and years later, dinners with my husband at St.Botolph’s restaurant in South Boston and First Nights celebrated with the kids downtown. But there was one sight I was unprepared for. On my last day at the meeting, I happened to glance up at just the right time to look to my right and see the Cary Akins Pavilion at the Boston Health Care for the Homeless Program, at the corner of Massachusetts Avenue and Albany Street. Since my old Blackberry is nearly worthless for “surfing the net”, I quickly emailed my husband and said, “Google this!” because Cary Akins was the name of my heart surgeon neighbor in Dover MA twenty five years ago. I wanted to know if he had died and left a lot of money for a good cause.
Within minutes, he had emailed me back. Here is the story, from the Boston Globe, 2006.

A Wealth Of Goodness
By Brian McGrory, Globe Columnist | February 7, 2006

<<Rich people are getting a bad name, maybe deservedly so. If it’s not Jeffrey Skilling and Enron in the news, then it’s Bernie Ebbers or everyone’s favorite money pig, Dennis Kozlowski of Tyco.How bad is bad? Big oil executives are reaping huge bonuses simply because the cost of oil soared in the wake of Hurricane Katrina, according to a New York Times report. What a country!

Then along come a few guys in our own little hamlet who might make you feel a bit different about rich people, if only for a moment. One is Jack Welch, perhaps the most legendary chief executive officer of the last 50 years. Critics will point out that he’s been well compensated by General Electric, even in retirement. But there’s a world of difference between Welch and the slugs mentioned above. Welch built up a company, rather than tore it down; he helped enrich everyday investors, not fleece them; he put people to work, instead of sending them to the unemployment lines.About ten years ago, he showed up at Massachusetts General Hospital for major heart surgery, which is when he met his surgeon, Dr. Cary W. Akins. Akins, by his own account, doesn’t normally befriend his patients, ”because it could cloud my judgment.” But Welch, he added, ”wasn’t going to let it be any other way.”
The surgery was a success. Soon, Welch and Akins were talking regularly and socializing, along with their wives. One night last summer at the restaurant of The Wauwinet on Nantucket, Welch leaned in and made a proposal.As Welch tells it: ”I said, ‘What’s your favorite cause? I’d like to give them a million bucks, whatever they are.’ ”
As Akins recalls, ”He told me what he wanted to give, and I almost fell off my chair.”
Fortunately, Akins kept his composure long enough to call Dr. Jim O’Connell, probably the closest thing Boston has to a fully functioning saint. He runs an organization called Boston Health Care for the Homeless, and as part of that rides around the city in a van several nights a week, giving medicine, food, and a few moments of comfort to the men and women who live on the streets.
To most passersby, these street dwellers are nameless, faceless nuisances. To O’Connell, they are people in dire need. He’s learned not only their names, but their ailments and quirks. He persuades them to visit his two clinics. He opened a convalescence home for those recovering from illness or racked by disease.
”He is,” Akins said, ”Boston’s equivalent of Albert Schweitzer and Mother Teresa.”
Akins had met O’Connell a few years before at a medical presentation, and, as soon as Welch made his offer, Akins picked up the phone and called O’Connell about the million dollars. By coincidence, Boston Health Care for the Homeless was raising funds in hope of renovating the old city morgue on Massachusetts Avenue and turning it into a comprehensive, one-stop clinic and shelter for those without anywhere else to go. O’Connell needed about $13 million in contributions to do it. Some local foundations wanted to give money, but were waiting to gauge community support.
One thing turned to another. O’Connell and Akins visited Welch. Welch was floored. ”This guy is unreal,” he said of O’Connell. Welch made one demand: The entry pavilion would be named for Akins. Akins, in turn, was overwhelmed and embarrassed, two qualities not typically associated with cardiac surgeons. ”I had some pointed words with Jack,” he said. ”I don’t deserve to have my name on the building. Words really fail me.”
Last week, Welch handed over the $1 million. ”We’re just trying to kick things off,” he said.
Yesterday, John Harrington, the head of the Yawkey Foundation, raved about O’Connell and strongly hinted of a multimillion dollar grant to come. ”We’re going to be one of their major givers,” he said.This is how it’s supposed to work, but in the era of greed and ego, it rarely does.>>

Miranda, again.  I didn’t know Cary and Barbara Akins well, despite the fact that they lived next door to me for six years.  He was a very busy surgeon, and I was an overwhelmed young mother with three kids and a career just getting started.  We worked at different hospitals, and I am sure that he spent many long nights and weekends dealing with acute coronary events.  But I am so happy that I happened to glance up from my emails and my Blackberry at just the right time on Wednesday to see what Jack Welch and Cary Akins have done.

When my kids were little, one of their favorite books was a beautifully illustrated childrens book by Barbara Cooney called Miss Rumphius, published in 1982.  In it, Miss Alice Rumphius travels the world as a young girl, but comes home to coastal New England as an old woman to plant lupine seeds which bloom on the road sides every spring.  She tells the small children of the town, “You must do something to make the world a more beautiful place.”   I still do not know yet what that will be.