Doc Kelly

I first learned of Doc Kelly during my initial interview for the job as elementary school principal in Addison.  That was 1977.  Everyone I met spoke of him.  He was a veterinarian with an office just outside of town. The more people talked, the clearer my vision of the man developed.  I knew that he was tall, slender, wore a shirt and tie, polished shoes, spoke softly but direct, and was someone who should be listened to.

We met the evening of August 16.  It was my first school board meeting.  When he  walked into the room I assumed that he was a spectator.  As he took a seat at the board table, Roger, the superintendent, introduced me to “Doc Kelly”.  I shook the strongest hand that had ever engulfed my puny paw.  He looked me in the eye, welcomed me to town, and took a seat.  He was dressed in blue jeans, a clean white t-shirt, and boots that indicated that he had walked into his house to change his shirt just after calling it a day at work and heading to the meeting.  He was a couple inches taller than me with arms as big as my thighs.  My initial vision flew out the window, but I did listen whenever he spoke.

Almost weekly, I heard more stories of this local legend.  My favorite was about a bull that Doc was working on.  The bull turned on Doc, and faced with no way out, Doc hit him square in the nose.  He dropped the bull.  Shortly after that he turned his practice to focus on small animals.  He wasn’t afraid, he just didn’t need the grief.

Ruth and I had David, Elizabeth, and Buffy (a shepherd/malamute mix) when we moved to Addison.  Michael was born eleven months after I was hired.  Shortly after Michael’s birth, Buffy became ill.  I took him to Doc Kelly.  Doc diagnosed “heartworms” and the only treatment was “arsenic”.  “If you don’t treat him, he’ll die, and if you do, the treatment may kill him.  You’ll need to leave him with me for a few days.”

We let Doc do his magic.  The arsenic killed the heartworms, and although he was hurting when he got home, Buffy survived.  When I went to pay the bill, there wasn’t any. “You do your job working with the kids, and I’ll take care of your dog.”

I worked with Doc the first few years of my time in Addison.  He was level headed, loved his community, and especially the children that he was elected to serve.  He spoke and people listened.  He didn’t always agree with everyone, but he knew that was part of the job.

After a few months in Addison he asked how things were going.  I told him that my biggest revelation was “No matter what I decide, I know that someone is not going to like it.”  His reply was simple, “If you don’t upset at least one person each day, you’re not doing your job.  You’re not here to make everyone happy, you’re here to do the right thing for your students.”  He was correct.

Doc died last week at the age of 90.  Although our paths haven’t crossed for several decades, I’ll always remember the man and the lessons he shared through his words and deeds.