County mourns loss of beloved family physician
By MICKIE F. MCGEE

Weems Pennington as an Army flight surgeon.

With the death last week of Dr. Weems Pennington, Lincoln County lost one of the last significant links to its past. A beloved physician who was part of a dying breed of family doctors whose thirst for knowledge and passion for healing allowed them to meet the broadest yet most basic health care needs, Dr. Pennington had the wisdom of the aged and the curiosity of a child.

The German-born physicist and Nobel Prize winner, Albert Einstein, said that the most important thing about life was to never stop questioning.

"Curiosity has its own reason for existing," he said. "One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvelous structure of reality. It is enough if one tries merely to comprehend a little of this mystery every day. Never lose a holy curiosity."

Weems Rufus Pennington, Sr., in his 47 years of service to the citizens of Lincoln County, never once lost that curiosity, and it was that characteristic, among others, that endeared him to three generations of families. His insatiable quest for knowledge, in light of the fact that he held numerous educational and medical degrees, spoke volumes about this small-town Georgia boy who lived life to the fullest.

Dr. Weems Pennington and Margaret, his wife of 65 years, are pictured celebrating their wedding anniversary.

"They broke the mold when they made Doc," one old-timer said recently.

This man, who spent almost half a century meeting the medical needs of the people of our community and introduced many of them to the light of day, was 89 when he died last week of an extended illness that slowly and sadly dulled one of the most brilliant minds in the entire southeastern medical community.

Born in Matthews, Georgia, on October 31, 1917, to Corinne Matthews Pennington and Luther Thomas Pennington, "Pee Wee" would go on to graduate from the University of Georgia where he ran track alongside 1936 Olympic Gold Medal winner, the legendary Spec Towns. Doc would be a die-hard Bulldog fan for the rest of his life.

The young physician arrived in Lincolnton in June of 1946, just after the war, in search of a car and ended up with not only a car, but a career that would last a lifetime.

A young Dr. Pennington looks quite handsome in his surgical scrubs.

"Back then you couldn't find a car to buy anywhere," Doc once recalled. "We happened to hear of one for sale here [in Lincolnton] and we came over to see it."

Doc's wife, Margaret, whom he met and married while he was an intern at Macon General Hospital and she was a nurse, accompanied him on the fateful day and mentioned to Doc that before they left town after the car purchase, she'd like to have a cold Coca-Cola from a soda fountain.

Clad in his Army flight surgeon's uniform, Doc, with Margaret in tow, stopped in at City Pharmacy which was then located in the old downtown hotel building, more recently occupied by Badcock Furniture. The pharmacy was owned and operated by Dr. Clark Spratlin.

Noticing the medical insignia on Doc's uniform, the pharmacist asked Doc if he'd consider practicing medicine here since the only two doctors in Lincolnton were approaching retirement.

"We said, 'Yes,'" Doc stated, "but we only intended to stay about a year."

The townspeople had other ideas and soon adopted the Penningtons and their three children, Weems Jr., Penny, and Peggy as part of their own families.

"Doctor Pennington was that oldtime country doctor who made house calls in the middle of the night, delivered babies, stitched up accident victims, performed emergency appendectomies, treated every possible ache and pain, and a thousand other things that most city doctors nowadays wouldn't even consider doing without a specialist's degree," said an Augusta dermatologist.

Dr. Weems Pennington, in his office, in his home, and in various and sundry other places, delivered over 3,000 of Lincoln County's babies and often several generations of the same family.

"He stopped delivering babies when new technology overtook his oldfashioned know-how," commented Walter Baran, author of an article about the doctor, which appeared in the May 27, 1986, edition of "STAR" magazine.

"They had such sophisticated

medical] equipment at that time in obstetrics that Weems just decided it was time he stopped [doing that]," said Margaret, his loving and devoted wife of 65 years.

Doc added with a laugh, "I'm glad

don't deliver babies anymore. They're such hard work...and they always pick the wrong time to be born...like in the middle of the night."

As if that ever really bothered him. He might gripe and mumble sometimes but Doc enjoyed every minute he spent doing what doctors do. And he did it, on call, 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

"He loved what he did," said Bobbie Bradford Wilkinson, Dr. Pennington's nurse for over 12 years, "and despite his gruff exterior, he had a big heart."

He practiced medicine because he loved it. "I remember his saying one time that he didn't do it to get rich," noted Wilkinson. "He said he just wanted to make a living."

Dr. Pennington saw almost as many patients at his home in his basement clinic as he did at his office in town, many times in the middle of the night. He has given many a shot or sewed up a gaping cut while still in his underwear and T-shirt. His aim wasn't to be on the Best-Dressed List; it was to take care of his patients in the quickest and best way he knew how.

That way, it turned out, was usually the right way. Often called the best diagnostician in the southeast, Weems Pennington was ravenous when it came to learning all there was to learn about the practice of medicine and his diagnoses were always right on the money.

I don't recall Doc's ever being wrong on a diagnosis. He might opt to send a patient to a specialist in Augusta if he thought it necessary but ultimately, his initial diagnosis would more than likely be confirmed by the doctor he had recommended.

Consider the time the good doctor diagnosed one of his patients with tuberculosis. After examining the patient and determining the problem, Dr. Pennington sent the patient to Augusta for further treatment. The doctor in Augusta looked at the patient and was adamant that the patient did not have TB and called Dr. Pennington to tell him so.

Dr. Pennington, in his characteristically salty vernacular, told the doctor he was dead wrong and he'd better go back and look again. The specialist reluctantly obliged and was surprised to discover the patient did indeed have TB. Such was the measure of Weems Pennington's intellect and commitment to healing those whom he treated.

If Dr. Pennington said you had thus-and-so, you'd best believe that's what you had.

When asked several years ago about Dr. Pennington's expertise at diagnosing illness, Billy Norman put it this way: "Listen, if Doctor Pennington told me I was pregnant, I'd go right out and buy maternity clothes!"

Although Dr. Pennington could be blunt, he was one of the most trusted physicians ever to practice family medicine. A doctor to the elderly, the middle-aged, teens, and toddlers, he was a healer 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

On a personal note, Dr. Pennington not only delivered me but my father worked for him for 28 years as manager of City Pharmacy. As I understand it, Daddy was instrumental in persuading Doc to stay in Lincolnton on that fated day in '46, and despite my father being a rabid Yellow Jacket fan and Doc being a Junkyard Dawg, the two remained friends until the day my daddy died.

The day of my father's funeral Dr. Pennington arrived at the funeral home ahead of the other pallbearers and as he stood by Daddy's casket, I heard him tell my mother, "I'm wearing this because Mitchell was my friend."

Paying a final tribute to his football nemesis, he smiled and pointed to the shoulder of his sport coat which had a Yellow Jacket pin on the lapel.

We were neighbors. Doc and Margaret's house and ours had adjoining back yards that afforded us friendships that weathered stormy days as well as sunny ones. Dr. Pennington was like a second father to me and his daughter, Peggy, one of my best friends to this day.

Truth be known, Doc was everybody's friend. He was not a stranger to anyone or, as we all know, to their refrigerators. Stories are legion of Doc's stopping by on a house call and before he would even take a look at the patient, he would head for the kitchen to see what he could find to eat. He was a member of the family...all our families.

I never had a problem that Dr. Pennington couldn't solve with a shot of penicillin or a shot of bicillin or simply by saying, "Little girl, what in the world are you worried about? It's not a d- mn thing but (insert malady)!"

I've watched in awe as he sewed up a Saturday night reveler; I've cringed as he cut off a piece of steak, raw and ready for the grill, and ate it; I've sat as still as a mouse and played guinea pig as he pierced his second pair of ears ever. (My mother's were the first.)

I've listened spellbound as he talked shop with my dad, and heard such vivid descriptions of medical conditions that I was certain I had all of them including (until Doc explained why it was impossible) prostate cancer.

I have marveled at the patience of the man who would obligingly tape my finger in a splint so I could pretend I had a broken finger and at how he would, on impulse, come outside his house where we were playing and take his turn on the pogo stick.

I've seen him contentedly watching his cows in the pasture; I've heard him sharing secrets of successful gardening with his patients; and I've listened in amusement as he talked to people all over the world on his ham radio.

I've been with him as he made a mad dash to Sanford Stadium and literally bounced over curbs and an occasional street sign to park as close to his seats as he could get. If he ever got a ticket, I didn't know it.

I've seen him tear up at the sight of a child in pain and I've seen him heartbroken at the loss of one of his own. I've also seen him resolute in demanding and expecting the very best out of his children, all three of whom followed their mother and father into the medical profession.

I've seen him playing leapfrog on the living room floor with his first grandson and I've seen the look of pride on his face at the mention of any of his five grandchildren and four great-grandchildren.

He saw me and my sister through all the usual childhood diseases and remained our family physician long after my husband and I married and moved away from Lincolnton. Doc even treated my son for chicken pox, long-distance, over the telephone, 250 miles away! When we began moving all across the south, before any doctor was allowed a diagnosis or to prescribe medicine for me or my family, Dr. Pennington had to give the goahead, again by phone.

Once my sister went to Doc's office with a terrific earache. Sitting on the edge of the examining table explaining her symptoms to him, she noticed he was staring at her hair. He leaned down as if he were about to check her ear and to her surprise, Doc yanked a strand of hair from her head.

"Has your hair always been this coarse?" he asked incredulously. My sister just sat there stunned.

"Bobbie, come here!" he shouted to his nurse. "Get me the micro- scope."

For 10 minutes, Doctor Pennington studied that one strand of hair on the slide, mumbling all the while, then pulled down his medical book to show the two women what he had discovered.

I'm quite certain Dr. Pennington finally got around to the earache but in the process, he took his first steps in becoming an expert in the field of trichology.

A gifted healer of mankind, Dr. Weems Pennington's legacy is one of service, knowledge, passion, benevolence, humor, love of family, God and country.

Our town was truly blessed that sunny day in June of 1946, with the arrival of a man, the likes of whom we may never see again. May you rest in peace, Doc. You've earned it.