On "Right People": Henry "Buzz" Armfield-Of-The-Asheboro-Armfields Vs. Edward Cone-Of-The-Moses-Cone-Healthcare-System-Cones

This post is unique in that I am “outing” someone who has consented to the outing . . . as he moves on (from a public-service job in Asheboro) to work for the citizens of another county . . . in a building that has not been foreclosed on . . . and under bosses who do not expect him to “be nice” (translation: drink with and/or suck-up) to the attorneys representing the deadbeat Dads that he labors and is charged to hold fiscally accountable to their children.

(In the interest of full disclosure, one of the attorneys in question is actually my ex-attorney . . . the one who must have missed the class about “aggressive/honest representation” of one’s client in law school . . . the one who, in fact, lied to his client . . . and who, when finally busted on his negligence and/or incompetence and/or complicity-poorly-disguised-as-collegiality, did NOTHING to make it right.  But hey, if you want a round of free drinks at “the Pig“, Steve Schmidly is your man.)

This post is about my friend, Henry Millis "Buzz" Armfield, Jr., of the Asheboro Armfields.  It actually should have been up two weeks ago, but I've been waylaid by one diversion or another and have only been able to get it completed this week.  But, as "perfectly aimed missles" go, it seems especially timely . . . since Buzz's cousin, Bedford Cannon, is throwing around money in Asheboro like there's no tomrrow.

Bedford tells the Courier Tribune that Asheboro has been "very good" to the Armfield family. 

Well, yes . . . and no.

This is actually a great story about the unexpected benefits of blogging.  And while it’s not exactly the happy ending I was seeking when I originally answered GSO N&R Editor, John Robinson’s, invitation to “citizen journalism” (back in 2005) and dived into the Greensboro blogosphere (that will only happen when the locals in Asheboro & Randolph County rise up in outrage & disgust to give two lying, cheating, over-paid, over-rated, “non-profit” hospital executives a taste of their own medicine), it is a happy ending nonetheless.

And it’s not really an ending. In fact it’s actually about re-connecting and the renewal of a wonderful friendship.

Way back in March 2007 . . . before the Dave’s Mountain annexation wars and the Asheboro alcohol referendum and the national elections . . . back in the day when a good portion of the more gullible world still thought that John Edwards would be a fantastic President (and that Lizzie was a saint) . . . back before I was banned on JR’s blog and de-linked/black-listed by Edward-Cone-of-the-Moses-Cone-Healthcare-System-Cones . . . back when Randolph Hospital’s Cancer Center was just a gleam in Bob Morrison’s greedy-gotta-capitalize-on-the-citizens-of-Asheboro’s-well-known-generosity-for-those-afflicted-with-cancer eye . . . I put up a post on Randolph Hospital’s fund-raising techniques.

It specifically questioned the “due diligence” that the Edward M. Armfield, Sr. Foundation had conducted in deciding to gift Randolph Hospital with ONE MILLION DOLLARS to help fund their brand new Cancer Center.

ONE MILLION DOLLARS will get your name on a plaque beside the front door.

Shortly after the post went up, I got a fairly indignant e-mail from Buzz (who I now like to call Buzzy).  Edward was Buzz's uncle.

Before we continue, the reader ought to know that Buzz and I were in the same Asheboro High School Class (the Class of 1980), and while we did not run in the same circles and were not close friends, we did cross paths occasionally. When I got his e-mail, I remembered him as an affable, good-natured, very intelligent fellow with a wicked sense of humor and the gift for sarcasm (even then) . . . who under-played his intelligence . . . and whose bearing & demeanor belied his “right” name.

In short, Buzz was “fun” . . . and exactly this former high-school under-achiever’s (at least that’s what Senora Campana said about me) kind of guy.

(Senora Campana’s son went to medical school too. Very wisely, he did not come home to Asheboro.)

I don’t remember how the Buzzman said he found my blog (that‘s from a computer ago).  But I think it was by virtue of my then-strong presence on the N&R's boards (a habit I long ago eschewed for more productive pursuits) . . . giving JR and then-medical-blogger-now-ex-employee, Lex Alexander hell for pretending that I and my local story-of-mill-town-woe did not exist.

(I wonder to this day if Lex might have kept his job if he‘d had the courage to go the extra mile as a journalist and done the research and written the story - as I had gone the extra mile for a tiny patient back in January 1998.)

But find the blog, Buzzy had. And, as other ex-classmates/homeboys & girls have done over the years, he was compelled to click on my profile and drop me an e-mail.

Like Ed Cone before him, Buzz bristled at my affronts to the family name.  I had mentioned something about the old Armfield mansion on the corner of Fayetteville and Salisbury streets (where the main branch of Randolph Bank now resides) . . . and offhandedly remarked that I always thought it was haunted.  I think that got his goat.

But at the same time (and in contrast to Cone & his progressive, blindly-loyal-to-the-deep-blue-corruptos-in-Raleigh ilk), Buzz was very polite - and almost dared me to explain myself (I think, knowing already that he would not like the answer).

To paraphrase/summarize the indignant e-mail, Buzz asked, “Why was I up the Armfield Foundation’s shorts about that uber-donation to the Cancer Center?”

So I told him. And me being me, I was also polite, albeit a just little world-weary and snarky. Moreover, I PULLED NO PUNCHES about how I felt about Asheboro‘s mill-town elite (particularly as it pertained to their treatment of patient advocates - be it me or someone like Billie Vuncannon) . . . or the simmering contempt I held for anyone (be they a well-named individual or a mighty Foundation-dripping-with-money) that might support (either passively or actively) what the town's elite had done to me when I came home.

Now here, dear readers, is where the "right people" diverge. Unlike Ed Cone, a local “journalist” (these days I use the term lightly) who I believe to this day has actively worked to keep a fellow blogger down and her story buried (because what Randolph Hospital did in order to "service" the best interests of Cone Hospital does not reflect well on the family name), Buzz did not flinch. Having grown up in Asheboro, and knowing how the game in our fair mill town has been played for decades, Buzz heard more than a ring of truth in the story I told.

And, as totally unbelievable as it was, the story-of-me got under his skin.

An e-mail exchange ensued which blossomed into a renewed friendship based on very common ground & experience.

And here’s the thing that I think hooked Buzz:  For all that he might deny it now, at one point in his life, Buzz Armfield loved Asheboro too.

I’ve also got to say right here and right now, that at the time we re-connected, this particular well-named-ex-classmate might as well have been an angel sent from a merciful God.

As he read and absorbed what I’ve posted on the Asheboro Pediatrics website (which has not been updated in a long while) and have blogged on Housecalls, the most refreshing difference between Buzz Armfield of the Asheboro Armfields and Edward Cone of the Moses-Cone-Healthcare-System Cones became very apparent.

Buzz was REAL. He was genuine. He was not fronting a political or ideological agenda . . . or trying to lay a trap . . . set me up for a fall . . . or play “gotcha” . . . or push my buttons.  He didn't parse words.  He wasn’t doing an elaborate “I-wish-you-well-in-your-endeavors-but-not-really” dance.  Buzz says what he thinks and certainly has no use for sitting on the fence.  

Buzz honestly, genuinely wanted to know what happened and to understand why (inasmuch as it can be understood by anyone with a conscience or a moral compass). He knew that I had once loved our hometown of Asheboro . . . far more than he ever had . . . and that I'd come home for all of the right reasons . . . and that, despite my very hard feelings towards “the right people”, I still loved the town/ordinary people in it - particularly the Church people (I’m talking about the REAL Church people - not the people who attends some of our larger Churches in order to be seen and hobnob and do “business”).

What horrible thing - or string of horrible things - could have happened to have scarred and soured Mary Johnson so? And why was I so willing to subject myself to the gutless, fake-name-flame-throwers (like “Alfred” at the Courier) and cyber-stalkers in the blogosphere in order to get the word out about what had?

So, in stark contrast to Ed Cone or John Robinson or Roch Smith Jr., Henry Millis Armfield, Jr. read my posts and digested them and mulled them over and took them very much to heart. With a journalist's precision, he e-mailed me questions and asked for clarification . . . not to punch holes through my story or make me jump through hoops or discredit me, but to simply try and understand what exactly had gone down.

Buzz actually put himself in my shoes . . . from the over-a-decade I spent in training (from college at UNC-G . . . to medical school at Bowman Gray . . . to residency at Brenners) in order to become a Pediatrician (overcoming an undiagnosed learning disability to do it) . . . to my experience as a grunt-doc in Bill Clinton’s village (working for the government being something Buzz could identify with) . . . to being cast off by a pair of lying, greedy, power-mongering carpet-baggers for the horrible sin of saving a newborn infant’s life . . . to being SLAPP-sued by a bunch of rubber-stamping mill owners & bank executives masquerading as Board members because I had dared tell the government I served the truth . . . to being snookerd & swindled & uber-low-balled at the settlement (in my favor) that Randolph Hospital brokered with smiling-Steve Schmidly under false pretenses.

My medical history as a patient at Randolph (two botched surgeries) didn't exactly instill Buzz's confidence in the hospital-whose-cancer-center-now-boasts-his-family-name.

As he strolled in my shoes, Buzzy got angry. He totally GOT it.

And that’s because my friend Henry Millis Armfield, Jr. had been there and done that. For you see, once-upon-a-time in his younger days, Buzz came home (just like I did) to work for Mike Miller at First National Bank (FNB). We’ll get to that.

E-mails progressed to lunches on the weekends I was home. We’d meet at McAlister's off New Garden in Greensboro (because I’ve been addicted to their iced -tea since my night-shifts in LeBonheur’s ED in Memphis). The conversations often went on for an hour or so . . . as we caught up and compared notes & lives.

We talked about our Fathers (both imperfect, both dearly loved, both deceased, both desperately missed) . . . our Mothers (both forces of nature) . . . our significant others (his wife is a real steel Magnolia) . . . his children (one of them a Marine) . . . my YaYas . . . and my new happy status as an Aunt. We talked about our respective jobs - past and present (again, we‘ll get to that).  We talk about politics (we're both in the same ball park - which I would characterize as slightly right of center field) and religion (the agnositic is intrigued by the Christian-whose-faith-has-endured-more-than-one-trial-by-fire).

When I bought my Red Ford Truck (as of this year, officially an antique), I drove it up to Greensboro so Buzz could see it and marvel at its exquisite American-made beauty . . . and maybe get a better feel for the Father it memorializes.  As Buzz oooooo'd and ahhhhhhh'd over my new magic carpet, I knew I had found a friend-for-life.

Along the way, Buzz has been full of sage advice - particularly as it pertained to Asheboro's lawyers. As a Child Support "Inforcement" Agent he encountered La Familia Schmidly on almost a daily basis.  He actually provided some useful "intel" during the alcohol referendum (like me, Buzzy was fairly indifferent to the notion of allowing alcohol sales in the town he often referred to as "Mayberry" - he just had no use at all for the bull-in-a-china-shop way "the pros" went about it - and he suffered under no illusions that alcohol would "save" the town economically).

Buzz also knew that the DA’s office would totally throw me under the bus (again) on the cyber-stalking case, but he did not discourage me from pursuing it . . . knowing full well that it was not in my nature to let sick, warped slime-ball cowards masquerading as satirists or “friends” (courtesy of their bug-eyed lawyers-on-the-Asheboro-City-Council-who-hate-me because I won‘t EVER set foot in “the Pig") threaten or libel me without a fight.

He’s not real thrilled that I’m seriously considering legal action against the state/JCAHO/the Medical Board now. He thinks I’ll get hurt (again), and he's tried to talk me out of it. Not because I’m wrong - but because, generally speaking, the North Carolina system is so warped and corrupt (as the current SBI debacle more-than-proves), and probably beyond any significant repair. But once again, Buzz knows that Tom Johnson’s daughter is NOT EVER going to roll over and “just go away’ as long as Bob Morrison and Steven Eblin, and indeed Randolph Hospital, are not made to account for their amoral/unethical/illegal acts against a doctor who, one-night-in-the-middle-of-the-night-twelve-years-ago, put an ordinary couple's daughter above their threats - and before her own happiness and well-being.

But this post is not about me. So, to coin an over-used phrase in this blogosphere, let's "move on" to Buzz’s story. Because unfortunately, as a homeboy who came home to give back, my friend-with-the-right-name also knows something of being burned in Asheboro.

And not just once.

As I said earlier, once-upon-a-time, after getting his education, Henry Millis Armfield, Jr., of the Asheboro Armfields, came home to work for First National Bank. He worked in what was known as the Dealer Department - under the management of an Asheboro banking iconoclast/former “Wachovian” named Walt McCraw. The Dealer Department helped folks with what was called “indirect loans” . . . the kind where you walk into the Auto Dealer (or the Farm Equipment/RV dealer) and they arrange financing for you. It was a small operation (Walt, Buzz and two clerks), but it was a tightly-run ship and they did a good job.

Then Walt got cancer. He went out on medical leave and left the helm of his little ship to Buzz. But clouds were already looming and rips were soon to be made in the sails. For those were FNB’s high-flying-heading-towards-$30/share days, when corporate managers and executives (unable to make decisions themselves) hired consultants to tell them what to do next (consultants actually ran Randolph Hospital for years - it was for damned sure Bob Morrison didn't have a clue). Back in the day, new executives coming on board any operation were notorious for wiping slates clean and starting over (unfortunately the slates were usually deeply-stained with the real blood of good people and their careers). The Dealer Department was not a powerhouse of profit at FNB (much like a new ‘non-profit” Pediatric practice down the street with three new Pediatricians, recruited at the same time, trying to get a foothold in the medical community) - so the writing was more-or-less on the wall.

The consultants that Mike Miller hired decided to sink Walt’s ship and close the Dealer Department.

Now, while bank "Elders" were taken care of (moved to other positions or gifted with nice early retirement packages), mere minions like Buzz, if they were unwilling to accept the crumbs FNB threw, were scuttled in favor of “new blood” and a hand-picked “team”.

It’s actually a longer, uglier story (at least from Buzz‘s perspective) . . . in many ways similar to mine. Suffice it to say that one day Buzz wound up in the FNB Boardroom after a meeting (as Buzz describes it, “with the place looking like a meal had just been finished up - with the dirty bank china still on the table”), getting fired.

Henry Millis Armfield, Jr., of the Asheboro Armfields, got a three-month severance package. Fortunately, unlike the less-well-named Dr. Mary Johnson, he was actually set free to seek work elsewhere. And/so with good recommendations, he was able to score a nice job at another bank (in Greensboro) within about six weeks. His life was able to go on without any real blood being shed. But it left a bad taste and soured Buzz on banking.

The real kick-ass epilogue to this story is that Buzz's Department was replaced with Commercial Equipment Leasing - an endeavor that lost FNB boatloads of money. It was just one of Mike Miller's brilliant decisions that let to FNB stocks trading as low as 45 cents a share.

Now, on the day Buzz got axed, Mike Miller swooped in and stopped by Buzz’s cubicle. I’m going to quote Buzz here (from an e-mail) - because I think some things come best from the horse’s mouth:

. . . He (Mike) wanted to come across as caring, or compassionate (I've had more compassion from people that hated me), he stood there and said, "I suppose this is the worst day of your life?"

. . . At that stage in my life, my worst day had been when I had buried my father from a lost battle with cancer in 1981. So I said..."No Mike, the worst day I ever had was when I had to bury my father. This...it isn't even close to being that". With that, Mike abruptly left.

My friend Buzz actually has a whole lot more to say about Mike Miller, but it's not for public consumption. Suffice it to say that (although he hates it for the ordinary people caught in the crossfire) Mr. Armfield-of-the-Asheboro-Armfields is not exactly torn up about FNB’s meltdown or Mike’s ugly fall from grace.

Of course, his high-school classmate, Dr. Mary (who grew up in a house a hop, skip & jump away from Mr. Miller's childhood home) is of like mindset. Since Mike Miller once served on the Randolph Hospital Board of Directors & Corporate Membership (and, along with all of the other rubber-stamping mill-town gods "serving" as "non-profit" overseers, did all kinds of contortions trying to avoid responsibility for the malice and forethought their executives sank into derailing my career), I share Buzz’s fantasy of one day encountering Mr. Miller on the street (maybe at a future Fall Festival) and making the observation, "Hey Mikey, I bet the day they cut yer ass loose was the worst day of your life".

One day, I hope to say it to Bob Morrison and Steven Eblin.

Fast forward a few years. Mr. Armfield-of-the-Asheboro-Armfields ultimately left banking and wound up working for the State of North Carolina for Child Support Enforcement. In short, he chases down dead-beat Dads.

Randolph County is blessed with an abundance of them.

It's a noble calling in my book (please note from here-on-in, as I use terms like deadbeats and slugs and dirtbags when referring to men who've abandoned their children, those are my words, not Buzz's).

As a state employee, Buzz was very fortunate in that he was not subject to the “incestuously incestuous” way that the Asheboro City & Randolph County governments (and “non-profits”) are managed. He liked to say that while he was still in Asheboro, he was not of it.

Moreover, he was back in Randolph County for the best reason of all . . . he wanted to serve its people. His people. My people.

Alas, as the current mental health care debacle more than proves, the great state of North Carolina has never managed a program (particularly a program that had anything to do with child advocacy) that it could not totally screw-up in a relatively short period of time. And since the great state of North Carolina (in addition to being corrupt and morally bankrupt) is financially bankrupt, a few months back, it dumped Buzz’s Department back on Randolph County to fund and run.

And as soon as it did, (1) I knew the deadbeat Dads had cause to dance on Sunset Street, and (2) I started to WORRY. During our tea-parties at McAlister's, Buzz was always ripe with war stories - like the Randolph County Sheriff’s Deputies who could find all kinds of lame reasons not serve Buzz's warrants on one of their friends (one Deputy had borrowed the deadbeat's lawnmower - another knew his friend would not be able to make bond - both are great reasons for a child to go without basic necessities). But the stories Buzz shared after the switch - particularly about the way his immediate supervisor was behaving - were very disturbing to me - and very reminiscent of the bad old days at RMA.

For instance, it is simply not right that Randolph County Public Health Director, MiMi Cooper, can make a phone call and suddenly Buzz has to drop everything he is doing for the long line of women & children in front of his desk in order to play fetch for one of her cronies.  If he had still been working for the state no one in the County offices would have dreamed of doing something like that.

As time progressed, my worry (which I originally kept to myself) escalated to actively encouraging Buzz to follow his instincts and get the hell out of Asheboro - no matter how much he liked and wanted to protect his colleagues in the Department (“the women“ as he called them). His wife wanted him out too.

Buzz started looking and quickly found an opening for the same kind of position under the supervision of Forsyth County DSS. He applied and got the job.

Winston-Salem offered more money, less cases for individual agents to manage (Randolph County’s caseload is quite simply OBSCENE - 800-1000 cases per agent - it is amazing they can bring anyone to justice), as well as full time legal and paralegal support.

Forsyth County also offered much better opportunities for advancement that were less infested with social incest and mill-town nepotism.

Buzzy accepted the job and offered a 2-week notice to his newly-appointed supervisor at Randolph County’s Department of Child Support “Inforcement”. And even that was not fast enough for me.  Because I was picking up on all kinds of bad vibes.  Based on what Buzz had shared with me, his immediate supervisor was/still is on some kind of misguided power-trip. Worse, it felt as if Buzz's boss was operating on the direction (or at least the passive approval) of someone higher-up in the food chain in County or DSS management (we'll get to why I think larger forces are at play as I wind this puppy up).

His supervisor's tactics remind of Mike Bridges.  For instance, shortly before he gave notice, Buzz was told that one of his "weaknesses" was that he wasn't "friendly enough" towards the local defense attorneys.  In other words, Buzz went to Court, and he did his job, but he didn't yuck it up or pal around with the sharks in the hallowed halls or after hours.

(At RMA, he would have been told he was "arrogant and cliquish".)

This particularly rankled me - because those attorneys include Steve and Brooke Schmidly . . . both of whom seem to fancy themselves movers & shakers in the wake of the alcohol referendum.

(Of course, it's a medical fact that too much alcohol kills brain cells and clouds the thinking.)

Now, anywhere but in Randolph County, one would think Buzz’s reluctance to fraternize with the lawyers he confronts on a regular basis in Court (in other words, keeping a respectable professional distance) would be kind of a good thing . . . as too much collegiality (like drinking with them every night at “the Pig”) might present a conflict of interest - and actually interfere with genuine child advocacy (not to mention the cause of justice) . . . given that Buzz’s JOB is to collect child support from these lawyers' dirt bag clients (the attorneys for these gentlemen are largely appointed by the Court and paid $65/hour by the taxpayer to defend them).

It's an adversarial relationship by definition (DUH).  And these cases should be about the merits - not about wink-&-nod deals struck over bar tabs.  IMHO (clearly never worth much in Randolph County), it's just not in an agent's job description to become push-overs for local defense attorneys. No law firm should ever be afforded the notion that it "owns" a county agency by virtue of hob-nobbing with . . . or intimidating . . . the agents in it.

But the new leader of Buzz's old department doesn't see it that way.  Buzz has related how his ex-boss once allowed a local District Court judge (who for this purpose shall remain nameless) to set up shop in the Department’s meeting room and collect campaign contributions from the staff. On another occasion, he set up shop in the CSE office selling sweatshirts to raise money for former Clerk-of-Court, Linda Skeen's campaign.

Another very experienced agent had to pull her clearly-wet-behind-the-ears supervisor aside and tell him that what he was doing was actually illegal and could get him in a crap-load of trouble.

The supervisor has since repaid this subordinate’s kindness by waging an active campaign to get rid of her (never mind that in 2007, Janice Rayburn was voted “Agent of the Year” . . . Translation: she was the top child support agent in the entire state). What’s worse, in the wake of Buzz’s departure, the supervisor has very quickly targeted other capable/loyal colleagues for termination - with trumped up allegations and warnings-from-out-of-the-blue (I know something of that game too). Buzz is very upset about it, and went so far as to ask for an exit interview with Human Resources in order to let the County know what was going on right under its stuck-up nose. He was surprised to hear that Randolph County doesn’t generally do exit interviews (it didn’t surprise me at all - because I’ve known all along that the powers-that-be don’t care what people who are leaving think) but Buzz got an interview and he shared his concerns.

Of course, since that interview, the powers-that-be (including County Manager, Richard Wells) have yet to reign their manager in (I'm not saying he should be fired or anything . . . maybe just sent back for a corporate refresher course on how to treat good employees . . . or, if he truly is an evil corporate shill, how to be less obvious about it).   It's almost as if the powers-that-be in Randolph County want to destroy/gut Child Support "Inforcement" from within . . . so the service can be down-sized or out-sourced.

And won't that be great for the 800-1000 children per agent? (I wonder what those kids could do with Bedford's $500,000?)

As he worked out his 2 week notice, Buzz had second thoughts about leaving (mostly because he wanted to protect his colleagues) and actually retracted his resignation. But despite the fact that Human Resources had told him they’d wish he reconsider, his supervisor told him that the resignation was accepted and that was that. False rumors have since flown all over the Courthouse about the "real" reasons Buzz left (including that he could not get along with Scott Dunn . . . the new County Attorney . . . a particularly LAME lie because Dunn has done work for Buzz and his family).  Indeed, part of my desire in writing this treatise is to set Buzz's record straight. So allow me to share his exact words (again, from a recent e-mail):

For the record, I never wanted to manage anything in Randolph County.(Translation: Buzz had ZERO interest in his supervisor's job - he wanted to go to work, do his job, be left alone and go home - i.e. he was not a threat to ANYBODY.)  I was content to stay as I was as long as I felt that I was being treated fairly. It was the concern for fair treatment in the future that made me leave.

And right now, as someone blistered and burned by the same kind of micro-managing/back-stabbing/self-serving tactics Buzz's former supervisor is employing against his ex-colleagues, I'm feeling my friend's pain and just a little bit angry on his (and their) behalf. For you see, I know a great deal about coming home to Asheboro and doing a stellar job and only wanting to be treated fairly (and perhaps with just s little bit of respect) . . . and instead, getting crap-canned by a corporate weasel whose name wasn't even on my contract - over a steaming-stinking-pile of trumped-up/bogus accusations  . . . seeing years of hard work and sacrifice derailed without so much as an opportunity to defend myself . . . and then having people-with-very-ugly-things-to-hide deflecting attention from their less-than-noble deeds by outright lying.

The least I can do for my friend-with-the-right-Asheboro name (on his second exit from Asheboro) is to provide him with the kind of avenue I never had. Even if it is "only" on a blog.

While Buzz is very happy in his new position in Winston-Salem (he's told me it's like the difference between night and day - Forsyth DSS is a well-oiled machine - of course, having done my Pediatric training in Forsyth County, I told him that before he took the job), Buzz has still taken this exit from the old hometown very hard. My crusty friend thinks that I don't know he cares more about "Mayberry" than he wants to admit. He is also worried sick about the friends he left behind. - it's the reason he gave me leave to write this.

But as I’ve told Buzz, it’s just classic Asheboro.

What Henry Millis Armfield, Jr. never really understood until the week he walked out the door is that he did indeed pose a "threat" in Randolph County because he is his own man (like Mary Johnson was her own woman) and because the things that mean so much to his bosses (Country Club memberships, hob-nobbing at Rotary or drinking at the Pig) mean next-to-nothing to him.

And, while they talk a good game, things like honesty and integrity, a history of success, or a hard work-ethic mean NOTHING to the powers-that-be.

In Asheboro, you've got to be able to lick the right boots.  And if you can't do that, it's best to put your boots on and walk.

On his second magical mystery tour through Asheboro (particularly over the last three years) Buzz's eyes really got opened to Asheboro's good-ole-boy ways. Of course, as an Armfield he'd always known that "the boys" were out there working their magic, and he knew something of the games they play from what he had seen in the right circles growing up. Like me, he also knows where some of the bodies are buried (figuratively speaking, of course). But Buzzy had not really appreciated how ugly things actually were (and can quickly become for those not paying close attention to the area behind their back) until the state of North Carolina dumped him and his fellows on Randolph County. As he observed the players (and how they interacted with one another through the County Clubs and Rotary etc., and used people as pawns in their various schemes and power-plays), what happened to me became easier and easier to believe.

And since his departure, Buzz had told me that he is sorry he ever doubted anything I ever told him about Randolph County, it’s powers-that-be, it's Court system, the hospital or the way things are done.

Of course, it's nothing I haven’t heard before.

THERE ARE SEVERAL BOTTOM LINES HERE:

First, there’s good reason people who grow up in Asheboro (for the record, Brooke Schmidly didn’t) pretty much run from the place screaming when they graduate AHS and do not come back.

Second, if you the reader (or the geniuses at the Randolph County Economic Development Corporation or the Courier Tribune) think that stories like mine and Buzz’s do not get around, and do not serve to scare away young professionals and businesses from Asheboro & Randolph County (an area that so many "progressives" in our state already regard as Hicksville), you are smoking some of that really good stuff some of the more colorful locals grow in the nether-regions of their rural properties.

In short, until the mill-town-honorables-who-have-run-Asheboro-into-the-ground-over-the-last-decade acknowledge at least some of their mistakes and fix at least some of what's really wrong (for instance, if you want businesses like Caterpillar to take Randolph County seriously, maybe your technical college needs to clean up its act and emphasize something besides photography) . . . or, better yet, until some of these socially-incestuous posers are shown the same door as Mike Miller . . . don't count on a robust economic recovery.

The zoo is nice.  Tourism is nice.  Fixing up Sunset Theatre will be nice.  But no one really wants to spend their lives making beds or waiting tables in restaurants that now smell like Roman vomitoriums . . . or getting clunked in the head by an entitled troupe of unruly boys at the local antique movie house as you clean up their popcorn.

The town's reputation precedes, people. Young professionals who've spent years or decades training to do what they do . . . who've invested huge chunks of their time and money into homes and businesses (especially in this economy) . . . really don't like getting screwed over (or seeing their children screwed over) for all of the wrong reasons . . . or watching nepotism or suckupism beat out hard work and merit every time.

With a town that has this kind of history . . . a town whose leaders have not cared to do anything about it . . . a town whose citizenry sits back and allows it to happen . . . whose newspaper plays favorites and turns a blind eye . . . why take the risk?  Move on along down the road to somewhere else.

It may be trite, but what goes around has finally come around for Asheboro.

Third, children in Asheboro and Randolph County are second-class citizens . . . particularly if they are poor . . . and especially if they are poor and mentally-ill. With the economic down-turn, it's only going to get worse. As I tell Buzz’s story here (particularly the bit about MiMi Cooper), I can only flash back to being expected to just drop everything I was trying to do for a homeless/battered woman and her children in my office, in order to cater to the uber-entitled histrionics of an exalted member of the Board of Health (that would be Cheryl Freeman, DDS) over the phone . . . a "right person" wannabe who fancied herself more important than anyone else in her Pediatrician's orbit . . . and who (with malice and forethought) abused her power in order to DESTROY a lowly public service doctor who would not do exactly-what-she-wanted-when-she-wanted-it-no-matter-that-she'd-been-told-she-didn't-need-it.

For Cheryl, in Randolph County, it was a simple and easy as picking up a pen.  The accusation was enough.

The truth did not matter then.  And it has not mattered since.

Child advocates in Asheboro are regarded as “a dime a dozen” (Steve Eblin's exact words are in blue because they're just so damned "progressive" ) and for a very LONG TIME have been treated accordingly . . . by the hospital . . . and by the town’s local Bar (pun intended) . . . and by its school system.  I should have realized it way back when my Mother (who taught in Asheboro for 30 thirty years) served as local NCAE President, and Keith Crisco & his ilk on the Asheboro School Board could not even refer to her by her name . . . she was "that woman".

It is SOCIALLY CRIMINAL that a home-grown Board-certified Pediatrician, very popular with her patients/parents (the patients/parents Randolph Hospital had to snow and flat-out lie to in order to keep) . . . respected by the staff (see the letters from doctors in the sidebar - I'm too tired to do the links) . . . and brought home with taxpayer dollars, can be treated the way I was by a “team” of medically-clueless, over-paid, over-rated, scum-bucket liars who are STILL collecting their phat paychecks and have not been clocked for perjury (because they're just too "important" for the DA's office to touch).

It is equally SOCIALLY CRIMINAL that a home-grown public servant who is damned good at holding deadbeat “Fathers” accountable to their children has to walk out the door . . . and take his knowledge & skills to another county (as I took mine to other counties) because he is concerned for his professional safety.  It is equally SOCIALLY CRIMINAL that the people he left behind to help Randolph County's children are living in fear of the people who are supposed to be leading/defending/encouraging them.

Of course, this particular man’s family name just happens to be on the front door of Randolph Hospital’s Cancer Center. And, for the record, he’s none too happy about that (the decision was made by the cousins - like Bedford - in control of the family trusts).

And/so (back to comparing and contrasting "right people"), unlike Edward Cone, local journalist living his happy, politically-correct life with his dogs and children in Greensboro . . . Edward Cone, champion of "citizen-journalism" . . . Edward Cone, the blogger-king whose name graces one of the hospitals involved in my 12-year-old saga-that-NEVER-should-have-happened, Henry Millis Armfield, Jr. TOTALLY GETS what happened to Dr. Mary Johnson.  He understands the home-grown doctor's pain and rage that so much of what other people consider a "normal" life was denied her because the morons running Randolph Hospital/Asheboro played dirty and the people running our state government (for all of their talk about accountability and transparency and ethics) have so far allowed them a free pass.

Buzz Armfield knows that, while she is mad as hell (and rightfully so), the VERY LAST THING Dr. Mary Johnson is is "crazy".  And again, that's because he’s had a very small taste of what his friend has had to endure.

In allowing her to blog on his own experience returning home to Asheboro, Henry Millis Armfield, Jr. has done more to help the good-doctor-done-very-wrong than Edward Cone ever did with all of his high-minded, progressive, mealy-mouthed, empty “wishes” . . . Edward Cone, who if he really wanted to BE relevant as a local journalist (not-to-mention truly progressive as a human being), could have/should have sat down with fellow blogger, Dr. Mary Johnson, a very long time ago (as Henry Armfield did) and looked at the evidence and reported her story . . . regardless of what side of the political aisle she sat on . . . BECAUSE WHAT WAS DONE TO HER WAS JUST WRONG.

But here's a hint as to the underlying dynamic there:  As someone who has been in a hole since the Clinton/Hunt administrations . . . and as someone with the scars to prove the healthcare reform is about so much more than feeding entitlement (and that while the Dems talk a noble talk, they totatlly SUCK at follow-through and oversight) Dr. Mary Johnson does not worship at Edward Cone's deep-blue altars.

Unfortunately for Dr. Mary Johnson, North Carolina has been run by Democrats for DECADES.  And short of a sex-tape-starring-the-baby-daddy, Edward Cone does not have the journalistic fortitude to either admit that he was wrong - or upset the rotten applecarts of his own kind.

No.  Ed Cone-of-the-Cones has more important causes/agendas to blog/write columns about.  Making it easier for child pornsters to get their fix at the GSO public library comes to mind . . . or the Constitutional right to build mosques anywhere NEAR the WTC site - no matter how fundamentally, viscerally WRONG that is.

I mean really, Ed (and call me what every nasty name you like).  Viscerally wrong.  19 Christians were not flying those planes.  And Christians were not dancing in the streets after it happened.

Perhaps now those AHS classmates pestering the both Buzzy and I to attend our thirty-year high school reunion in October will understand why neither of us is exactly feeling the love.

While Cousin Bedford flings around the money to Asheboro's generals, we both got clobbered in the trenches.

Of course, I’ve thought all along that there was another reason the Randolph County powers-that-be had their knives out for my friend, Buzz. It's because they know he's my friend. You see, back before Jeff Martin indulged his sociopathic tendencies and the comments at Housecalls had to be shut down, Buzz buzzed in frequently - under the moniker, “Vigilant For Pianos Falling From The Sky”. As a registered anon, he made the newbie mistake of signing his name to one of his comments early one - revealing his identity to my almost daily online stalkers from Randolph Hospital and the Randolph County Courthouse and Randolph Public Library who cannot stand that I’m here in the ether - and especially cannot stand that there’s absolutely nothing they can do about it without inviting very unpleasant consequences for themselves . . . consequences that they richly deserve.

(It goes back to owning up to your mistakes. I think it's a small town value.)

And for the benefit of those online-corporate/legal-stalkers-who-stop-in-every-day-at-the-blog-but-who-somehow-in-twelve-years-have-never-had-the-guts-to-sit-down-with-me-or-speak-to-me-or-treat-me-like-a-human-being, let me be crystal clear:  I wrote this. Not Buzz.

Moreover, I'm going to continue writing until someone owns up to their UGLY.  I hope their heads explode.

One more thing. Buzz’s wife was recently diagnosed with breast cancer. She’s fighting the good fight and we all hope/pray things will go well. He laughingly told me a while back that one of Asheboro’s "right people" had asked him if his wife was getting her therapy at “The Armfield Cancer Center”.

He replied, NOT NO, BUT HELL NO!!!

When they pro-offered the befuddled, deer-in-the-headlights look, Buzz referred them on to Dr. J's Housecalls.

Friday Morning Epilogue:

The post has been tweaked a bit this morning . . . and the subject of this treatise has provide feedback (I gave him the "heads up" last night).

Well . . . . . . "bittersweet" is the word that I'd use this morning. Time to move on again.  New door to walk through, new people.  Honestly, I didn't read it too closely, no need to.  I lived it.  We both lived it.

Initially, the thought of this gave me a degree of elation, but not now. Sadness. Things don't have to be the way that they are in this world. Individual change is an internal process.  To achieve what they need to to do there externally, they must all look inward to see what it is which they need to change in themselves . . . and perhaps then . . . ?

I know exactly how Buzz feels.  As freeing as writing this blog is . . . as theraputic as it has been to "purge" all of the ugly and get it all out there (in the hope it would cause some of the "honorables" involved to look inward), and even as I've moved on with my life (and through forty-some doors), any elation over any given post almost always gives way to sadness and despair.

(The lawyers and DA's and judges at the Randolph County Courthouse . . . dodging their own sorry record . . . who don't want to admit that their Courthouse and their town is TOTALLY F**KED UP . . . would line up alongside the "Fecs" and the "Alfreds" to tell you that makes me/us "stupid" and/or "crazy" or even "bipolar".  I think that the ordinary folk of Asheboro know better and that's what has always mattered most to me.)

I had thought about once again re-opening the blog up to comments with this post.  But I've decided to give my friend born on the "right" side of Asheboro's tracks the last word:

Okay Doctor Johnson, thank you for "treating" me. I wished it had all worked out for what both of us wanted early on.  I'd still be a small town banker, and you'd be running a Pediatric practice in your hometown.