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Show "709" He finished his cursory examination of my youngest. "The only problem with this one," he said, handing her to me, "is that she's altogether too pretty." He turned to Becky. "Are you a real doctor, Grandpa?" she asked. "And this one..." he said, continuing as though he hadn't heard, "...is getting too smart for her britches. Asking her Grandpa if he's a real doctor." He smiled down his stethoscope at her. "Just like half of Salt Lake City, huh?" I said without thinking. The old battle that medical men had long been waging against naturopaths ~ grew heated now and then, but recently, the media had produced quite a blaze, with my father at the center of it. After her examination, Becky went off to examine the bottles of medicine and instruments stacked on shelves in a china closet. Everything was radomly arranged - an old refrigerator in one corner, an oversized green machine 'my new hematocrit-reader' my father introduced us proudly - in another corner. The office had once been a family dwelling,?was comfortable and homey, a far cry from the chrome and naughahyde of pediatric examining rooms. I took advantage of Becky's distraction to ask my father about the recent furor. "I read about the Watkins boy, Daddy. What happened?" His mouth tightened and he put some instruments away. "I...I can't believe that you let him die like they H^H vou have a chance to examine said. But you're so busy ...did you nave him?" The boy was the son of group members. The newspaper had lulled in their report that my father was negligent beoause |