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After finishing work for the week at a food-packing plant on May 24, 1968, Bruce Tucker sat on a wall outside with coworkers, sharing drinks and talking. When Bruce fell off the wall, he hit his head, injuring it badly. He arrived at MCV via ambulance at six o’clock that evening. A first responder noted that Bruce had been drinking, might have had a seizure, and had a contusion on the back of his head. The ambulance driver noted that Bruce was “‘disoriented, combative with flaccid right arm and leg’” (142). A subsequent X-ray indicated that Bruce had a fracture at the base of his skull. Diagnosed with a subdural hematoma, or collection of blood between his skull and the left side of his brain, Bruce underwent two surgeries at 11 o’clock: a craniotomy, a hole drilled in his skull to relieve pressure on the brain, and a tracheotomy to allow him to breathe.
As word of his poor condition spread, physicians in the surgery department mused about his candidacy as an organ donor around midnight. Joseph G. Klett, a white patient at MCV, had severe heart disease and was in dire need of a transplant. Both Klett and Bruce were 54. After Shumway had performed the first US heart transplant on an adult, physicians all over the US were “jumping on the […] bandwagon […] despite the low odds of survival” (144).
At 2:05 am on May 25, Bruce was out of the operating room and doing slightly better. At three o’clock that morning, on Lower’s orders, the Richmond police were asked to contact Bruce’s next of kin. The police drove to his boarding house, and a man there claimed that he did not know Bruce.
At 9:30 am on May 25, preparatory plans began for a heart transplant. One group would remove the donor’s heart and another group, led by Lower, would remove the recipient’s heart and replace it with the donor’s. Hume, excited at the prospect of MCV’s first heart transplant, told his staff to find Bruce’s family and obtain consent to use his organs. At the organizational meeting was Dr. Abdullah Fatteh, the assistant medical examiner. Because the medical examiner, Geoffrey Mann, was out of town and unreachable, permission for the transplant rested on Fatteh. At this point, he advised Hume to find Bruce’s next of kin and gain their consent. A 19th-century law, still in effect, mandated a 24-hour waiting period from the declaration of death to use an unclaimed body for research.
At 11:30 am, Bruce was deemed apneic, or unable to breathe. He was placed on a ventilator, and physicians expected his death soon. At one o’clock that afternoon, Bruce had no brain activity and was unable to breathe on his own. The police were still unable to find his family at two o’clock. At 2:30 pm, William Tucker received a phone call from someone at the hospital telling him that something strange was occurring. William called the hospital and was told that Bruce was in the operating room. A friend of Bruce’s, Evelyn Gregory, went to MCV in search of Bruce and was told nothing.
At 3:33 pm, Bruce was declared dead and taken off artificial life support. Two minutes later, Hume got permission from Fatteh to remove Bruce’s organs given the declaration of death, thus violating the legally mandated 24-hour waiting period. The surgeons believed that they had made good-faith efforts to contact his relatives. However, no one had checked with the front desk at the hospital to see if anyone had inquired about Bruce. His heart and kidneys were removed in a recovery room. His heart was cooled, and Lower placed it in Klett’s body.
At 4:30 pm, William Tucker called the hospital for the third time and was told that his brother had been moved to St. Philip Hospital. When William went to MCV at six o’clock that evening, a group of white physicians informed him that Bruce had died. He was not told about the details of his brother’s death or that Bruce’s organs had been removed. Jones notes that Bruce was profiled as a charity patient and was considered socially dead. He was treated as a corpse.
Institutional representatives provided the first report of the heart transplant. Seeking to control the story, MCV was in a near lockdown. The local press was frustrated with this “shroud of secrecy (162). One member of the press, Jim Seymore, reached Lower by phone, but he gave no information about the donor and little about the recipient. The Associated Press, not the locals, first named the recipient. Journalists wondered about the secrecy. This heart transplant was the 16th in the world and the ninth in the US in the past six months. Only two of the recipients were still alive.
When William Tucker found his business card among his brother’s belongings at the hospital, he was outraged. He had a bad feeling about the way his brother died. When he went to the funeral home, mortician Mac Jones informed him that Bruce’s heart and kidneys were missing from his body. When Mac had phoned to tell Bruce’s mother this news, she screamed.
The first newspaper accounts of the transplant were based mainly on MCV’s version of events. However, an African American newspaper questioned MCV’s legal authority to conduct the transplant. The Uniform Anatomical Gift Act, which empowered the medical examiner to authorize the removal of the heart, had not yet taken effect. Jones notes that the field of organ transplants at the time was a “baffling place where rules were made on the fly” (179). Doctors and hospitals were typically not held accountable for their decisions given their prestige.
The local press finally got Bruce Tucker’s name when Mac Jones called about his obituary and mentioned that he was the organ donor. Bev Orndorff, a local journalist, then published Bruce’s name and was immediately deemed an outcast at MCV. However, Orndorff did not exploit the racial angle or the fact that a Black man’s heart was taken without permission and given to a white man. The Washington Post did, noting that it was the first interracial transplant. MCV’s victory transformed into a public relations disaster. Going on the counteroffensive, MCV claimed that its policy was to keep the names of donors anonymous. Jones notes the irony of MCV using “its privacy policy to justify its lack of transparency with the Tucker family” (183). By this time, the Tucker family had retained Wilder as legal counsel. Although he was a solo attorney, he had strong rhetorical skills and routinely defended powerless Black people.
Once again, the 1884 law to promote medical science and protect graves became relevant. That law allowed the state health department to assign a body to a medical school or to surgeons if there was no next of kin. Orndorff, the journalist, raised the question of whether MCV had satisfied the mandate to make reasonable efforts to contact Bruce Tucker’s relatives. If a reasonable search yielded no results, the medical examiner could turn a body over to surgeons. The Washington Post also questioned whether approval had been properly obtained but was not sympathetic to Bruce Tucker.
An African American councilman, Howard H. Carwile, proposed a city ordinance requiring a family’s permission for transplants. While the law did not pass, Jones explains that it highlighted the “widening gap between the world views of Richmond’s black and white citizens” (186). African Americans had little trust in the medical system. Conversely, the local press, in a glowing appraisal that Jones notes reflected popular white sentiment, published what amounted to a “love letter” to MCV in early June, taking pride in its medical accomplishments and celebrating its merger with the Richmond Professional Institute, which formed a new entity: Virginia Commonwealth University (VCU).
Jones argues that Bruce Tucker experienced the impact of racism in medical practice, highlighting the theme of Medical Racism. When Tucker was brought to the emergency room, negative assumptions were made about him given that alcohol could be detected. Bruce worked full-time and had done so for years, sending money home to his mother for the benefit of his son, and was simply enjoying a few drinks with friends after a week of work. The attempts to locate his family to gain permission to extract his organs were feeble, according to Jones. Bruce had his brother William’s card among his belongings when he was admitted to the hospital. William owned a cobbler’s shop in Richmond. In addition, William called the hospital three times trying to get information about his brother, while a friend went to the hospital to find him and was turned away. While Hume called the police twice and had them go to Bruce’s address, that was not enough. Bruce lived alone but had relatives nearby. Finally, when the physicians informed William of his brother’s death, they did not tell him that they had harvested his organs. William learned about this from the mortician.
Hume and other physicians were eager to perform the first heart transplant at MCV despite the low odds of success. Before Bruce’s brain activity ceased, they began speculating about his potential as a donor. At this time, the definition of death in Virginia was biological and did not include the cessation of brain activity. Nevertheless, MCV physicians declared Bruce’s death based on the cessation of brain activity, even though his heart was still beating at that time. The medical examiner had the authority to permit the scientific use of unclaimed bodies, but the law mandated a 24-hour waiting period from the time of death. However, the MCV physicians explained to the acting (assistant) medical examiner, Fatteh, that the organs would be useless if they observed that waiting period. Fatteh thus gave approval to remove Bruce’s organs after he was declared dead. Jones again emphasizes the theme of Legal Oversight of Medical Practice, since MCV disregarded the laws in place at the time. He additionally highlights the breach of ethics in favor of scientific experimentation. MCV valued Bruce for the use of his organs and had little concern for preserving his life, even for a few days, to locate his next of kin.
After the transplant, two contrasting stories emerged in the press: One celebrated MCV’s scientific accomplishments, and the other raised questions about the ethics and legality of the operation. MCV’s silence after such a groundbreaking surgery spoke volumes. The institution likely recognized that it had broken rules and redirected its focus to controlling damage to its reputation. The African American press was particularly critical of the operation. The different perspectives contributed to a growing gap in the views of Richmond’s whites and African Americans.



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