The Doctors Heise

In the white dawn of a Minnesota winter day, goateed Dr. William F. C. Heise put on his homespun suit, wing collar and black bow tie, and was helped into his greatcoat by his wife. One of the boys helped him hitch up the horses. When the doctor set off in the sleigh, two boys went along, whipping the horses through the big drifts. It was an emergency surgery case. Operating on his patient on a farmhouse kitchen table, by the light of kerosene lamps, Dr. Heise was glad to have his rugged sons on hand as assistants. Driving home afterward, they talked over the operation.

A country doctor, as old Dr. Heise likes to point out, has to be ready for anything. "Dr. William" is. In Winona (pop. 27,000), a southern Minnesota farming town, Dr. Heise is the leading general practitioner. He is also a trained surgeon, and a good one. The Mayo brothers, who had been his best friends ever since his graduation from Rush Medical College, often came to Winona from their Rochester Clinic, 42 miles away, to watch his operations. The Mayos wanted him to join their clinic. But Dr. Heise said no; a doctor, he explained to his five sons, values his independence.

Dr. Heise never urged the boys to study medicine. But somehow all five wound up in medical schools (they chose different ones). The doctor insisted on only one thing: they must all take a turn in postgraduate training in general practice. He wanted no "cockeyed specialists" in his family. The boys obeyed--but came out specialists anyway. Herbert (the eldest) and Paul became surgeons, William a pediatrician, Philip an obstetrician-gynecologist, Carl (the youngest) an eye, ear, nose and throat man.

Last week the Heise boys unveiled a unique project. In Winona, they opened the Heise Clinic. Its staff: Papa Heise & sons. Except for a nurse hired from outside, the clinic was manned entirely by the family. Daughter Dorothy was the receptionist; son-in-law John Curtis, the X-ray and physiotherapy technician. The building (financed by $100,000 the brothers had chipped in) looked like a gleaming vision straight out of Arrowsmith. A two-story limestone affair of 68 rooms done in tile, birchwood and oak, with shiny new medical equipment, the clinic had been personally planned and its construction supervised by the five boys.

The first Sunday it was open, thousands upon thousands of Minnesotans and Wisconsinites, most of them patients and friends of 72-year-old Dr. William, came to inspect the clinic and attend Lutheran services inside. Its rooms were banked high with flowers from Winonans, whom the old doctor had attended for 51 years. The Heise boys beamed. Dr. William tried not to look too proud.

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