Memories of Walter Reed Medical Center

It was déjà vu. Looking at the focus of national and international TV news cameras last weekend, I remember a similar view from my backyard.

Of course, I'm referring to the tower at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center during the President's coronavirus treatment.

Cameras were set up on Wisconsin Avenue pointing in a northeast direction.

South Drive, located behind the media gathering, is one of the entrances to the National Institutes of Health, which is directly across the street from WRNMMC.

In my days during the 1950s and '60s, it wasn't called Walter Reed. It was the National Naval Medical Center. President Franklin Roosevelt approved the plans in 1938 and the facility was completed in November 1940. It has been one of the most famous United States military landmarks ever since.

One might ask: Why the name change - especially since Walter Reed Army Medical Center was located on Georgia Avenue in Washington D.C. for over 102 years?

After more than a century, it was considered old and outdated. Either a complete renovation or a new hospital was needed. It seems Congress did not want to spend big money on military care facilities when combining the two hospitals at the already existing Bethesda, Md. location was a cheaper way to go. That's what happened in 2011.

I'm sure the Navy was not happy about losing their exclusive Bethesda landmark.

I know my father, once an executive officer at the NNMC, would have been furious if he had lived to see the change.

The original Walter Reed location had added some newer buildings over the years. One was the Armed Forces Institute of Pathology, dedicated in 1955. It was designed to be atom bomb resistant. But the structure was soon obsolete, as more powerful nuclear weapons came under development.

The AFIP housed the finest medical museum in the world. Physicians from all over the globe sent tissue samples for evaluations by prominent pathologists located there.

But as a costcutting measure, that facility was closed in the early 2000s. Apparently, politicians thought taxpayer money was better spent elsewhere rather than preservation of a peerless national medical treasure.

From my 11 years in Bethesda, I have many memories about that hospital. Those brass front doors you've seen on television I saw many times, as I rode with my mother to pick up Dad after work. It's true we lived less than a mile away, but my father was not going to soil his gold-trimmed, pressed and perfect white uniform while trying to walk across busy Wisconsin Avenue.

Since combining the two hospitals in 2011, several new buildings have been erected on the Bethesda property over the last nine years. Parking, which once was a cinch, is now a real problem for both staff, families and patients.

In the 1950s and 60s, there was no iron fence around the facility and no guarded security gates. Anyone could enter the area without concern. Years later, the events of 9/11 changed all that.

One speedy day while on my way home from the AFIP (where I worked as a histology technician), I ditched the local police by going though a back entrance to the NNMC. Being federal property, the locals had no jurisdiction there. OK, I was young and stupid at the time, but now with modern security, those days could not be replicated.

Since its inception, The National Naval Medical Center was the medical care facility for most presidents. John F. Kennedy even had his dental work done there. His dentist was one of my best friend's father. The Kennedy assassination autopsy was also performed at this hospital led by Drs. James Boswell and James Humes - assisted by AFIP ballistic expert, Dr. Pierre Finck.

So based on my past history, would I want to live in Bethesda today?

It was a wonderful place to grow up, but it's different now. Highrise banks, businesses and condominiums dominate much of the landscape. Traffic is bad and parking is challenging. Single homes and a suburban atmosphere still exist in some parts, but prices are not for the faint of heart.

A house my parents purchased in 1957 for $30,000 is now valued at $850,000. A home we occupied earlier from 1953-55 was recently torn down and replaced with a $1.2 million showpiece — not an unusual story for desirable Bethesda. As a result, many retired people have headed for states were life is less hectic and dollars go further.

I have fond memories of Bethesda, but things are not the same as they once were.