From a Desert Clinic to a Cockpit in the Clouds

In mid‑1973, I was a young doctor with more enthusiasm than experience — and probably more courage than common sense. I had just opened my medical practice in McCamey, a tiny oil town tucked into the arid desert of West Texas. The town was so small that even the tumbleweeds looked bored.

They gave me free use of a fully equipped clinic and a $2,000 monthly stipend, which felt like a king’s ransom to a young fella still figuring out how to keep the lights on. The only catch? I had a temporary Texas medical license and still needed to pass the state board exam. Nothing like a little pressure to keep a man humble.

Meeting Dr. Kaj Turula

One day, out of nowhere, I got a call from a physician named Dr. Kaj Turula, newly arrived in Kermit, Texas. He said he was studying for the Texas board exam and asked if we could review together.

Later I learned he was from Finland, had practiced in Puerto Rico, and spoke five languages — Finnish, Spanish, German, French, and English. Meanwhile, I spoke English… and even that depended on how much sleep I’d had.

Kaj started calling me “Amigo” or “Lorenzo,” and every weekend he’d drive to McCamey so we could study. We took the exam together — and by some miracle (and probably his influence), we both passed.

My Flying Venture

A few months later, Kaj called again. This time he said, “Amigo, I’m a licensed pilot. Want to learn how to fly?”

Now, I was young, adventurous, and apparently allergic to asking my wife Edith for permission. So I said yes.

Kaj rented a plane in Midland, about 50 miles away. We met on a perfect Texas morning — blue sky, no wind, the kind of day that makes you believe you’re invincible. He briefed me on the flight plan, which involved tuning into directional frequencies. No GPS back then. Just radios, maps, and prayers.

He walked me through the pre‑flight check, step by step. Then we taxied to the runway and lifted into the sky. Once we reached altitude, he explained the controls — the yoke, the roll, the pitch — and then handed the plane over to me.

I remember thinking, This is easier than driving a car. Of course, that was before I learned about sudden weather changes, equipment malfunctions, and the small detail that you can’t pull over in the sky.

After my third flight, Edith sat me down and said, “Laurence, I don’t want to raise our kids alone.” That was her gentle way of saying, “Stop being a knucklehead.” And she was right. So my flying adventure ended… at least for a while.

Fast‑Forward to My Seventies

Decades later, in my mid‑seventies, I learned about Dr Condrad R. Zapanta, a fellow UERM meidical  alumni — an octogenarian — who was still flying his own plane. I interviewed by him through email exchange for a video and shared my little flying story. He wrote back to me and said:

“Why don’t you take more lessons and get your license?”

I laughed and said, “At my age? I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He replied, “I started when I was about 60. I’m over 80 now and still flying.”

That hit me like a gentle slap from the universe.

“Don’t Let the Old Man In”

It reminded me of Clint Eastwood’s famous line: “I don’t let the old man in.”

Eastwood shared this with Toby Keith while riding a golf cart together. Keith was so inspired he wrote the song Don’t Let the Old Man In, which Eastwood later used in his movie The Mule.

The message is simple: Aging is inevitable. Growing old is optional.

What “The Old Man” Represents

• Complacency — that voice saying, “Slow down, you’ve done enough.”
• Mental fatigue — the whisper of doubt, regret, or “you’re too old for that.”
• Passive acceptance — waiting for decline instead of resisting it.

The Core Philosophy

• Stay busy — meaningful routines keep the mind sharp.
• Maintain attitude — vitality is a choice, not a birthday.
• Keep learning — curiosity is the antidote to aging.

What It Means Day to Day

• Stay mentally engaged — projects, goals, new skills.
• Keep moving physically — motion is medicine.
• Reject the victim mindset — age is not an excuse.

A Message From an Old Fella Who’s Been Through the Ringer

If there’s one thing life has taught me — from a desert clinic to a cockpit to my seventies — it’s this:

Aging is inevitable. Growing old is optional.

I’ve been blessed, humbled, corrected, redirected, and occasionally scolded (mostly by Edith). But I’m still here, still learning, still laughing at myself, and still trying not to let the old man in.