Speaking of exams there is no bigger one than the MCAT. Except for maybe the LSAT and in some cases the GRE. The MCAT exam is the number one greatest factor for consideration for entrance to Medical School. I was terrified. It was so dramatic my fear that my desire to become a doctor was waxing because of this damn test.
The exam consisted of eight hours of small tests ranging from math, reading, life and physical sciences, and essay. It was broken up into groups of organic chemistry, general chemistry, biology, physics, mathematics including calculus, reading comprehension and the fated essay. To this day I wonder who the lucky bastard is that has to read the thousands of written essays as part of this exam? I wouldn’t doubt by now if a computer scores it. :)
I began studying for the MCAT about six months before the exam date of August 16th. I even took the Kaplan prep course to effectively learn how to take the test. You know what I learned when taking the class? Don’t get scared and don’t get frustrated, that’s what the prep taught me (great!). The teacher told this story about coaching soccer for young kids. On this team he had a retarded boy that struggled especially playing with very talented kids. The day came for a really big game - the undefeated rivals. He coached the boy to run as fast as he could and stay as close to the rival team’s best player. He went as far as to have him stay within three feet of this super star player. The superstar player on the the other team was completely incapacitated with frustration. It was a great story, one I will remember more than the solvent used in a Grignard Reaction or Newton’s Gravitational Constant.
It was the summer of 97’ and as I studied for the MCAT I was also working my internship with the BCA (Bureau of Criminal Apprehension - see previous posts). I studied and practiced while reading case files of serial killers, going on drug raids, visiting the morgue, assisting with autopsies and sitting in with Senior Special Agent Kohout as she consulted with local sheriff and deputies regarding possible sexual predators.
Needless to say my mind wandered from the prize and my desire to be a doctor continued to wane. As part of the Kaplan program we were given the opportunity to take practice exams to simulate the experience. On this particular Saturday I was sitting in the test center at 7:30am. Everyone at the BCA took turns on call for the crime scene task force. The BCA could be called to anywhere in the State of MN depending upon the nature of the crime.
About 35 minutes into the practice test the beeper went off and on the face it gave the address of Austin MN which is basically on the border of MN and Iowa at least 2 hours away. I stared at the beeper and it also read the nature of the crime, ‘homicide’. I looked at the practice test and the proctor in the front of the room, again at the beeper and then back to the clock at the front ticking down for this particular part of the test. It took a matter of 30 seconds to turn the test over, grab my stuff and walk up to the Kaplan proctor and tell him, “sorry, I got to go.” The look on his face was priceless, it was kind of like I was walking out of detention - he didn’t know hot to respond. I handed him the test and walked out. I got into my Cherry Red Ford Explorer and drove for two hours to the crime scene.
My wife and I in present time talk about things we have to do, things we want to do and all of the things in between. As parents, the lines get blurred as a person becomes entrenched in child rearing, there is a tendency to lose one’s self. We both ask each other, “what are you excited about?” Or, “are you excited to do what you are about to do?” And if we hesitate or don’t absolutely know, then the answer is no. When the answer is yes, it can be just as exciting witnessing their passion and excitement about something. I was driving to Austin MN, the Spam capital of the world, with no idea what to expect, other than a dead body; and I was invited to help solve a crime- I was the most excited I’ve ever been in my entire life.
When I arrived at the city hall in Austin they checked my ID and gave me the address to the site. There weren’t instructions nor a how-to manual for how to be on a crime scene. There was just me and my winging it. When I showed up at the scene of the crime it wasn’t like any TV show or book I’ve read. I parked along a row of cars just outside the yellow police line. I got out and walked under the yellow tape as if I belonged. A police officer from Austin met me in the driveway. I pulled out my BCA id and the police officer pulled out his flashlight. He laughed at himself as he realized it was the middle of the morning and didn’t need his flashlight to read my id.
“I’m so used to checking id’s since 2am I just got used to it,” he motioned to the police issue mag light in his hand. He walked me up to the house which was a normal looking home tucked into a block of other houses. There was a separated garage and a good size back yard with a willow tree in the middle. He stopped me near the back door to go and fetch the lead detective.
A tall thin tanned 40-something man came out.
“So, I hear you are Doctor Ophoven’s kid. Pretty awesome lady,” I smiled and nodded.
“Okay, listen up. We’ll put you to work, listen and pay attention. This is a crime scene, get some gloves and do what we tell you, okay?”
“Yes sir,” what else could I say. I entered the back door and immediately was struck by the smell. Even though the murder had occurred less than twelve hours previous, the smell of drying blood was overwhelming. On the floor of the kitchen was a young man in his boxer shorts dead on the floor. There were several bullet holes in him and blood pooled all around him and had seeped toward the back door where I stood. Yellow evidence markers were positioned all over the kitchen; shell casings, bullet holes in the walls, drug paraphernalia on the table. The blood was thick and drying and it gave off a sweet odor like brown sugar mixed with a hint of damp leather. They all stared at me as I couldn’t take my eyes off of the dead man. I looked up into their eyes and I could see a desire for something, the intimacy of looking into the eyes of a dead man for the first time, an innocence they could never get back. After a moment they introduced themselves.
The story was that the victim was a marijuana dealer. He hadn’t been paid by one of his lackey’s and had spread the word that if he didn’t get paid he was going to have to do something drastic. The lackey apparently took it upon himself to get to him first. That was it, the story as it stood, youth without youth. What the crime scene team had to do was determine the weapon or more importantly weapons - was there two shooters? The ballistics team was called in to track every bullet fired and pull it from the wall or the floor wherever it went. They had recovered shell casings but couldn’t determine how many shots were fired.
The crime scene team and ballistics went to work. They started stringing colorful twine around the kitchen to track the trajectory of each bullet and where they may have ricocheted. I went out the back door to get out of their way and help out any other way possible - and frankly getting some fresh air seemed like a good idea. As I walked down the back stairs I noticed a flash in the grass. I looked closer and there was a shell casing inside a footprint. As the sun went overhead it was easier to see that which would have gone missing at 3 o’clock in the morning.
I yelled out, “shell casing.” The team came out and confirmed what I’d found. One of the detectives jokingly stated, “and the intern found it,” they all shrugged their shoulders, but deep down an orchestra was playing.
We worked for several more hours; I watched as they handled the crowds and the slow work of picking up the pieces. Eventually I was dismissed and drove home, but was asked to join the Ramsey County Medical Examiner for the autopsy the following morning.
Sometimes opportunities present themselves and they aren’t obvious. Other times, the opportunities are powerful. This was one of those days that not only gave me the chance to elevate what I was doing and the choices of my life I was making, but also a great opportunity for perspective outside the confines of practice tests. I had to choose whether to finish the test or drive to the crime scene - I made a choice. The crime scene wasn’t practice, this was the gristle of life.
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