Blind Eye: The Terrifying Story of a Doctor Who Got Away With Murder (7 page)

With his postgraduate career seemingly secure, Swango all but gave up any pretense of interest in his medical studies and indulged his growing fascination with the car crashes and emergencies he encountered on the ambulance crew. All that remained at SIU was his eight-week rotation in obstetrics and gynecology, a requirement that most students completed before their last year and that they had to pass (as they did all mandatory rotations) in order to graduate. Rather than take OB/GYN early, Swango had opted for the more difficult surgery and medicine rotations, and was already concentrating on neurosurgery.

In the OB/GYN rotation, students were assigned to spend one week observing an OB/GYN doctor in the community—in Swango’s case, Dr. Robert Prentice. This was the doctor’s first experience
with an SIU student, and the school was eager for Swango to make a favorable impression. But he didn’t show up.

Students were also required to attend OB/GYN surgeries, such as cesarean deliveries and hysterectomies. Swango was again absent. All examinations in the rotation were conducted orally. Swango missed most of them.

Dr. Kathleen O’Connor was the chief resident in OB/GYN at the SIU hospitals, in charge of overseeing Swango’s work. An SIU graduate herself, in her fourth and last year of residency at Springfield, she became increasingly dismayed by Swango’s disregard of the school’s requirements. When she tried to locate him, she was told he was working as an emergency medical technician. She also heard that he had been restricted in his activities at the ambulance corps: He’d been banned from any direct patient contact, though she wasn’t told why.

O’Connor found this odd, but she was less concerned about Swango’s performance as an EMT than she was about his absence from the rotation. When she finally caught up with him, she asked him to perform a history and physical on a patient who was scheduled to undergo a cesarean delivery. She saw him enter the patient’s room, and leave ten minutes later. Thus she was somewhat surprised when he promptly turned in an impressively thorough three-page write-up.

Given that he had spent a mere ten minutes with the patient, the carefully written report was perhaps too complete and polished, and it raised doubts in O’Connor’s mind. She visited the patient to inquire about Swango’s visit, and learned that the woman had barely talked to Swango. He hadn’t conducted any physical examination; he’d never even touched her.

Stunned, O’Connor concluded that the entire three-page report was either a fabrication, a plagiarism from an earlier H & P by a resident, or a combination of the two. She had never encountered such behavior by a student.

O’Connor took her findings to the full OB/GYN faculty, which hastily convened a departmental meeting to consider Swango’s status. The faculty members were appalled and angry at Swango’s brazen misconduct and dishonesty, which very well might have posed a threat to a patient’s health. They determined to fail Swango,
which meant he wouldn’t graduate and wouldn’t be with his classmates at the June graduation ceremony, now less than a month away. The department’s determination also automatically triggered a hearing on Swango before the Student Progress Committee, one of whose members, William Roddick, happened to be chairman of the OB/GYN department.

W
HEN
Swango learned that he was going to fail OB/GYN and wouldn’t graduate, he was enraged, though outwardly he remained calm and confident. He hired a lawyer; administrators worried he would sue the school.

While the details were confidential, word that Swango had failed his OB/GYN rotation and was going to be brought before the Student Progress Committee coursed through the school, causing passionate divisions among students and faculty. Wacaser rallied to Swango’s defense, saying that he had been an “outstanding” student and that charges he was lazy or hadn’t done his assignments were not believable. To fail him in the OB/GYN clerkship would be “disgraceful,” he maintained. Dr. Murphy, Swango’s professor of pathology and toxicology, became so worked up in a conversation with the dean over the injustice of Swango’s plight that he burst into tears. At least a few students also argued that to bar Swango from graduating was too severe a punishment. It is a paradox of the medical profession that while medical schools reject hundreds and thousands of applicants, thereby dashing long-held hopes of a medical career, they almost never expel them once they’ve been admitted.

But the turn of events also precipitated action on the part of Rosenthal and five of his classmates, now more outraged over Swango than ever. Rosenthal drafted a letter to the Student Progress Committee, urging the extreme measure that Swango be expelled. The shared experience of the rigors of medical school ordinarily creates a strong bond among classmates, one that can last a lifetime. Thus, the letter was an extraordinary step for a group of students to take against a classmate. The students’ letter wasn’t so much triggered by the OB/GYN situation, or even the mysterious deaths that seemed to follow Swango, as by a more general sense that he was incompetent. He hadn’t progressed at all during their years together; he showed no interest in any patients; his attitude toward
medical education seemed to border on contempt. None of the group felt they would ever want Swango to be their doctor. He was not, in their view, capable of functioning as an intern. Time was running out, and Rosenthal and the others felt that he had to be stopped.

It was in this highly charged atmosphere that the Student Progress Committee convened in May 1982. Ten committee members were present, two students and eight faculty. Besides Roddick, they included Dr. Murphy and a member of Swango’s class, David Chapman, who knew Rosenthal and was familiar with the letter. The immediate mandate of the committee was to review Swango’s failing grade in the OB/GYN clerkship, but because of the nature of the evidence, the letter from Rosenthal, and Chapman’s urging, the committee decided to consider expelling Swango.

In preparation for the hearing, Kathleen O’Connor had gone to the patient files to retrieve Swango’s report on the cesarean delivery patient. It had vanished. It suddenly occurred to her that other reports by Swango had been suspiciously thorough as well. She quickly looked for some of them in the files. They, too, were missing.

O’Connor reported this to the committee. She also testified about Swango’s performance in the OB/GYN rotation, detailing his frequent absences and presenting the evidence suggesting he had fabricated at least one patient’s history and physical, and perhaps others.

Other allegations, some contained in the Rosenthal letter and others contributed by student members of the committee, also surfaced: the “Swangoing,” other incidents of cursory or fabricated H & P’s, his dubious performance in several classes, his work as an emergency medical technician, and his fascination with violence. But there was no reference to any suspicious patient deaths or to the “Double-O Swango” nickname. That still seemed a joke, too far-fetched to be true.

Swango appeared on his own behalf. He was at his most earnest and charming. He denied that he had failed to examine any patients or had removed any files. He denied plagiarizing or fabricating the cesarean patient’s H & P. Almost tearfully, he explained that he had no choice but to moonlight as an emergency medical
technician because his father had died earlier that year, and he was virtually the sole support of his mother and two brothers. And he argued that not allowing him to graduate with the class would be a terrible hardship, since he would lose his coveted internship at the University of Iowa.

Most members of the committee, especially the two student members, were unmoved. Roddick flatly called Swango a “bald-faced liar” and said that alone was sufficient grounds to expel him.

But Dr. Murphy rallied to Swango’s defense. Murphy had grown up in a large family, and he felt that competing with his siblings had given him an instinctive sympathy for the underdog. His father had also died recently. He understood and sympathized with Swango’s need to support his family, and he felt other students in the class were unfairly picking on him simply because he was different. Swango had been his student, and while his performance had not been exceptional, Murphy found it entirely adequate, better than that of some other students who were going to graduate. At one point in the debate Murphy turned to Chapman, who was arguing strenuously for Swango’s dismissal, and said, “Your whole class is full of goof-offs and jerks. Why pick on him?”

Murphy had done some investigation of his own. From the records department of the maternity ward, he told the committee, he’d learned that at about the time Swango was supposedly examining the cesarean patient, another doctor had asked that student comments be expunged from patient records. That, he argued, might explain the absence of any entry by Swango on the patient’s chart and the disappearance of the files.

But no one investigated Swango’s emotional claim that he was supporting his widowed mother and family. In fact, Muriel had a well-paid job as business manager at the Casino Lanes bowling alley and received a pension as the widow of a military and Foreign Service officer; she was helping to pay for Michael’s medical school education.

When the deliberations ended, the committee took its vote, on which all Swango’s hopes to become a medical doctor rested. Any decision to dismiss a student required unanimity. Eight members voted to expel Swango. One abstained. And one—Dr. Murphy—voted to give him another chance.

D
ESPITE
the outcome of the committee vote, serious concerns had been raised about Swango’s character and fitness to practice medicine. Even Dr. Murphy agreed that some form of punishment was warranted, and that Swango’s record should reflect what had happened. The dean and several faculty members went so far as to consult several psychiatrists, who advised them that if Swango really suffered from a significant character disorder, as some testimony suggested, or was a habitual liar, as most committee members had concluded, he would not be able to conceal these traits if he was placed under close scrutiny.

It was one thing to fail Swango on the basis of certain objective criteria for a course, but the school worried that it would be difficult to defend any action taken on the basis of relatively vague concerns about his character—especially in light of the fact that Swango had a lawyer. A series of negotiations ensued between SIU’s lawyers and Swango’s lawyer, and a compromise was reached that averted litigation. Swango would not be allowed to graduate with his class. But neither would he be expelled or asked to withdraw. He would be required to repeat his OB/GYN rotation. He would also be given assignments from some of the faculty’s strictest professors in other specialties, all of them aware of the allegations against him. If he passed these assignments, he would be allowed to graduate. If not, he would be dismissed.

I
N
Quincy, Muriel Swango had been looking forward to her son’s graduation for weeks, mentioning it to friends and relatives. Though she was careful about expenses, she bought a new dress for the occasion. To Louise Scharf and Ruth Miller, Mike’s graduation seemed to fulfill all Muriel’s hopes and to validate the attention she had lavished on him throughout the often lonely and painful years of her marriage.

Muriel was nervous about making the two-hour highway drive to Springfield alone, so she asked Ruth to accompany her. Ruth was thrilled. No member of the family had ever received a medical degree. After the graduation ceremony, Muriel planned to host a dinner in Mike’s honor, and had invited Ruth, Louise, and Louise’s grandson, who was living in Springfield, to join them at the motel where Muriel and Ruth would be spending the night.

Louise, too, was excited about the occasion, though more for Muriel than for Mike. Her nephew had been studying and working in Springfield for two years, but he hadn’t visited or even called, and she’d seen him only once. She had been visiting a friend in the hospital, and saw Mike in the corridor, wearing his paramedic jacket. She called out, but he didn’t respond, instead quickly walking in the other direction. She was sure he had seen her.

The day before the graduation, the Springfield
State Journal-Register
ran a list of all the graduates, and Louise eagerly scanned it for Mike’s name. There was no Swango. She looked over the entire list again, just to make sure. Mike’s name was missing.

Louise called Ruth in Quincy. Ruth in turn spoke to Muriel. Michael had said nothing to his mother about the troubles of the preceding weeks, and certainly nothing to indicate that he might not graduate. Ruth called Louise back, saying the newspaper must have made a typographical error. “Well, I’m not so sure,” Louise told her. “Maybe you should double-check.” But Muriel and Ruth were determined to be there to see Michael graduate. Because of Muriel’s concerns about highway driving, they rose at dawn so they could drive at a leisurely pace and still arrive in plenty of time.

The SIU medical school class of 1982 graduated on June 5, 1982. Michael Swango was absent. Because he failed to graduate, the University of Iowa withdrew its offer of an internship. Some of his classmates, especially Rosenthal, were jubilant—mostly because they were graduating, but also because they felt their campaign to block Swango had at least partly succeeded.

After the ceremony, Dr. Murphy, whom Rosenthal had especially admired, followed him off the stage and into the hallway. Rosenthal greeted him, expecting a slap on the back and some congratulations. Instead, Murphy lambasted him for his campaign against Swango. “If you’d spend half as much time worrying about your own performance as you do others,” Murphy told him, “you might be the doctor you think you are.”

When Louise arrived at the motel that evening for the celebratory graduation dinner, she knew immediately that something had gone wrong. Muriel looked ashen. Ruth was tight-lipped, but seemed to be fighting back tears. Louise sat down and they all ordered a drink. Then Muriel announced that Mike hadn’t graduated
with his class and that she and Ruth hadn’t attended the ceremony. Just before leaving the motel, about an hour before the graduation, Michael had told her that because of a computer mix-up, he had inadvertently been dropped from the list of graduates. Whatever emotions she must have felt were held firmly in control. Muriel didn’t express any shock or disappointment.