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Platt mentored Hayes and many other African American students. About 20 years ago — when Platt was 70 — Hayes chose Platt as his own doctor. “I thought, ‘I’ll have a couple of years with him and find a new doctor.’ Here we are in 2017 and I still see him twice a year,” Hayes said. “You hear that knock on the door. He smiles, he sits down, he starts talking with you and you’re the only thing he’s thinking about at that moment,” said Hayes. “He’s still as sharp as a tack.” “For all [doctors], especially for the minority physicians who got to be men- tored by him and watched his example, his direct encouragement was one thing, but to watch him and how he practices and how he balances work and family, it’s encouraging to us that ‘I can do this and I can do this well,’ ” Hayes said. Hayes said Platt was a trailblazer. Platt knew at an early age that he wanted to be a doctor. But that wasn’t common for an African American in what Platt calls the “tiny town” of Latta, South Carolina. His hero was his family doctor, Dr. F.L. Carpenter, who “was the old-fashioned doctor. He was the Norman Rockwell doctor. He did almost-daily house calls,” recalled Platt. Carpenter, who was Caucasian, saved Platt’s life when he was an infant, reviv- ing Platt after he went into respiratory arrest from a whooping-cough incident. “When I was old enough to recognize this, my passion was to be a doctor like Dr. Carpenter, somewhat because he saved my life,” Platt said. Carpenter died before Platt went to medical school, but knew of his aspirations. Platt told his mother when he was about five years old that he wanted to be like Early calling
Dr. Carpenter.
cians should emulate, said Dr. Dale Murphy, past president of the Summa medical staff, who has known and worked with Platt for more than 40 years. Platt’s bedside manner is “what we try to teach our residents — to really know a patient,” said Murphy. “Russ takes care of people. Oftentimes there’s a big dif- ference between giving someone pills to take and wanting people to be well.” When asked how medicine has changed in his more than 50 years in practice, Platt said technology and politics of managed care and insurance. “No longer do we have control of the pa- tients — what they get or what tests you can do and what medications you can give. In fact, we don’t run the practices anymore,” he said. But for as long as he can, Platt said he’ll continue to care for his patients. Earlier this year, he stopped making regular rounds at City Hospital. “I have a bad hip and recently had a little accident. With hip prosthesis, those halls got longer and longer,” Platt said. He also spends a lot of time with his six children and 10 grandchildren. His late wife of 50 years, Barbara, died unexpect- edly in 2011. Platt said he tells people to take time for their kids: “You can’t go back. Take care of those kids while you can — go to their concerts, take them to piano les- sons, take them to horse shows, attend horse shows.” And as for his work: “I would say that mine is a calling, really. It’s not just a career or a passion I chose. “My journey to where I am now was a long journey and wasn’t that easy. Be- sides, I’ve put in too much time to give it up.” Decades of change
“She said, ‘That’s some mighty big talk, son.’ I said, ‘I’ll find a way.’ She said, ‘If you decide to do that, we’ll do everything we can to help you,’ ” he recalled. “And they did.” Platt also has a son, Russell Platt, Jr., who was initiated into the Gamma Tau of Kappa Alpha Psi ® at Kent St. University in 1984. And in many ways, Platt has become that Norman Rockwell-style doctor himself. He is beloved in the community and a popular fixture at Summa com- munity health fairs for about 15 years, said Robert DeJournett, Summa Health director of community relations and diversity. Platt hands out his cellphone number for after-hour emergencies instead of having an answering service. His pa- tients respect his privacy and don’t take advantage of having the number, he said. “Why should I pay somebody else to call somebody else to tell me to call some- body else when that somebody else can call me themselves?” he asked. “Actually, you would think it would be a little abused. Many times, they don’t call when they should because they don’t want to bother me. It’s not a problem.” Platt even carries a little black doctor’s bag, said DeJournett. “He has built quite a reputation when we go out to the community. People are asking where he is,” DeJournett said. Early in Platt’s career, racism was still pretty blatant. “Even his colleagues did not look kindly on him because of his color. He had to win them over and show that he could compete with the best of them,” DeJour- nett said. Today, Platt is beloved by everyone and the type of doctor that aspiring physi- It wasn’t always that way.
Publishing achievement for more than 100 years
THE JOURNAL SUMMER 2017 | 21
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