The music in the Washington Free Clinic was not the kind you heard on 78 RPM records or through the transistor radio in the corner. It was the music of human beings trying to survive, and it was the most beautiful thing Julius Washington had ever heard.
He knew this because he had spent ten years listening to it. Ten years ago, when Julius graduated from Howard University Medical School, the world offered him choices. He could have gone to Manhattan, where the hospitals had names like Rockefeller and Columbia and where the white physicians wore white coats that seemed to glow in the fluorescent light. He could have joined a practice on the...
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