Dedicated doctor

DREXEL, Mo. -- Dr. Charles Marsh says he's just a country doctor who enjoys caring for his patients. But there's a lot more to the story.

For one thing, at 81 he's one of the oldest physicians practicing in the state. For another, he's been here since 1948, and in some cases he's treating the fourth generation of families.

And, the town's only physician doesn't take insurance, doesn't require patients to make appointments, answers his own phone and charges $10 to $20 for an office visit.

He's a fixture in this rural town of 1,100 hugging the Kansas border some 40 miles south of Kansas City, Mo. -- a man simply known as "Doc."

"Nobody calls him Charles. You say Doc and everybody knows who you're talking about. Even his children call him Doc," said City Clerk Phyllis Hocker, who has known him for 36 years.

Around town, mention Marsh's name and people respond with a smile and words like "kind," or "gentle."

"He's what every small town needs. He's an icon," said police chief Leonard Harrison. "This is a person who has given his life to this town."

Marsh shuns the praise.

"I'm no hero. I'm just a guy who likes to practice in the country," said Marsh, who stands tall with gray hair and eyes behind glasses that look straight at patients when he talks to them.

Visiting Marsh is like returning to a gentler time when country doctors dotted the landscape.

"I'm practicing 1950s medicine with the knowledge of 2003. That's the way I like it," Marsh said. "I'm going to practice like I did when I came here."

That doesn't mean he's behind the times in medical knowledge. Marsh still reads all the pertinent medical journals and attends medical conventions.

"Even though you don't practice everything like the big boys, you have to keep up. I feel I'm up to date on most stuff that comes out," Marsh said.

Marsh grew up in the Kansas City area and after becoming an osteopathic physician in 1945, he first went to Oklahoma. He then found this town and decided to put down roots.

A life other people want

His son, Bill, runs the corner drug store where Marsh drops by every morning for coffee and conversation with friends at the large wooden table before going to his office.

"Every day he gets out of his car, he's whistling. He is lucky and he knows it. He's got the life that other people want," said Charles Faulkner, a patient for 17 years.

Marsh's small office building hasn't changed that much over the years. The white walls of his office are dotted with diplomas and photographs of his wife, four children, eight grandchildren and a great grandson.

An old X-ray machine gathers dust in one room. He has a century-old examining table in his office and his antique desk sits in the corner.

"They don't judge you by the equipment in the office, but how you treat them and their kids and family," Marsh said.

Marsh once did surgery, delivered babies, made house calls and hospital visits. "I was trying to kill myself from overwork," he recalled.

In 1978, he started cutting back and now limits himself to treating such things as colds, cuts, rashes and back pain. For serious problems, he sends patients to a hospital or a specialist.

"If you got open heart surgery, I'm not the guy to see. I'm here for the simple things," he said. "Give them what they need and get them in and out."

But if a patient needs time to talk or have something explained, Marsh isn't clock-watching.

"If you don't have to worry about the financial end of the practice, you can spend more time with them," Marsh said. "I'm probably one of the few who does it that way, but I'm an old guy who's happy as lark."

Each day, patients fill his waiting room. At the end of the corridor, Marsh periodically emerges from his office, stethoscope dangling from his neck, and calls out: "Next, please."

Joan Abney travels 15 miles from Archie, Mo., to see Marsh, whose been treating her since childhood. She remembers sitting in the small children's chairs in the waiting room.

"He talks to you like he cares more about you than those big city doctors. He's got time for you," Abney said.

As do other patients, she likes not needing an appointment and keeping the price down.

"I don't need the money for one thing," he said. "I'm not looking out for me. I'm looking out for them and I'm not out to rob them."

Years ago, he quit accepting insurance because of the paperwork and hassles involved. Nor will he consider affiliating with any managed care group.

"You are under the control of the system. You diagnose and treat pretty much the way they want," he said. "I want to make the decisions for my patients."

A big worry around town is that Marsh will retire. But he says he's in good health and still enjoys what he's doing.

"There's not too many of us old guys left," he said. "I'll go as long as I can."