Complex and compassionate
Paul Cutting was walking. Never mind that he was in his early 80s, six or seven miles from home, and there was a North Idaho blizzard raging around him. This was an experience, and he was enjoying the challenge of it. Time after time he sent good samaritans on their way, but when a Sheriff’s car came alongside he complied and let the officer take him to his Fairway Hills home.
Such forays into the world, on foot or by car, were typical of the Coeur d’Alene psychiatrist, who died at age 88 at home a few days after Christmas. Five of his children are medical professionals in the area: Doctors Jon and Tom Cutting, and nurses Judy Halverson, Betsy Sears and Casey Bartholomew. Cutting grew up in a Massachusetts community of strict Adventists, with parents who were even more so. Add to that the stoicism for which New England is renowned, and the result was a determined reserve and self-discipline that forged a complex and passionate personality, with an incredible capacity for learning. By nature, he thought a great deal, but expressed little to others. He seemed aloof, but had deep feelings and was deeply interested in many subjects.
When Cutting’s oldest brother, Charles, was accepted into medical school, the family moved from Massachusetts to California for a time. Fortune smiled upon him when he met Muriel Atwood during his junior year in college, and the two fell hard and fast for one another, becoming engaged in a matter of weeks. He told her, however, that he did not like the name “Muriel,” so he would call her either Molly or Samantha, her choice. Molly it was. With his family back in Massachusetts, his father requested that he return there to finish college. And Cutting always did what his father asked of him. So, for a year, Molly wrote a letter every Wednesday, and Cutting wrote every Saturday. Upon his graduation he wasted no time in returning to the West Coast. They were married on June 30, 1940, in Santa Cruz. He and his bride placed great value on having a family, and had six children in 12 years.
He thought he’d like to be a minister, but when a call to the pulpit did not materialize he and his wife both became teachers in the parochial schools of Bakersfield, then in New York for a year. He taught grammar, French, history, and retained an avid interest in all things intellectual throughout his life. After teaching for two years, he decided to follow his brother into medicine. He graduated from Loma Linda Medical School in 1948.
Throughout World War II he was always one level above draft qualification, so it came as a surprise when the call to serve finally came. He was not even two years into his private medical practice, with a house full of children and a sixth on the way, but Uncle Sam needed doctors to examine the recruits for the Korean War. His service took them to Houston and later to Portland. He returned to private practice in McFarland, and later Bakersfield, Calif., after his stint in the Army.
After 18 years in private practice, Cutting returned to his studies to specialize in psychiatry, motivated by a need to gain greater insight into himself. Always courageous in the face of challenge, this exercise in introspection and sensitivity was perhaps the hardest thing he ever did. He then had a private practice in Bakersfield, helping the likes of Buck Owens and Merle Haggard and their retinue. Although not a child-oriented person, he directed the Child Guidance program there for years. In 1989, the Cuttings followed their children to Coeur d’Alene, where he took a position as head of the Psychiatric Department at Kootenai Medical Center, then went into private practice once more. He did not retire until he was 84 years old. At that time he was still making weekly car trips to treat patients in prison in Orofino and Cottonwood, which he did for 10 years. In spite of being a strongly opinionated person, he was able to suspend judgment completely with his patients and took a deep interest in them.
Cutting was a person of superb intellect, which he exercised relentlessly. Those drives of more than 150 miles each way resulted in his being able to tell you precisely what you’d find at each mile marker along the way. His frequent walks around Fairway Hills meant he could tell you how many steps it was between any two points on the route. His son, Tom, remembers his taking a walk with the family dog while they were still in Loma Linda. “They walked about 25 miles that day, up one canyon and down the next, and he finally called home for a ride when he was about five miles from home – not for him, but because the dog’s feet were bleeding.”
Whatever he took an interest in was pursued with a diligence that was daunting. When he bowled, he often bowled five nights a week, sometimes until the wee hours of the morning. He had no patience whatsoever with ineptitude, but was more demanding of himself than anyone else. As he matured, rather than show his temper when he became annoyed, he would just leave. Jon Cutting remembers an incident while playing cards with friends one evening – “He was just so competitive. He got upset with his partner, so he got up and stalked into the bathroom. He climbed out the window and walked down to the bowling alley for the rest of the evening.” Whether he was gone for three hours or three days, he always came home to tell the tale of where he’d been adventuring.
Because he kept his own counsel and did not share his thoughts, his decisions often seemed abrupt to others. “But, if you asked him for advice he considered carefully his answer, observing and thinking, and when he gave counsel it was right, even if it hurt,” said Sears. “And he never gave advice unless it was requested, never forced himself on others,” adds Tom Cutting. He was greatly interested in his grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and they in turn found him fascinating. “He was a remarkable man,” said Halverson.
Often he would be up at 4 a.m., memorizing verses and whole chapters in the Bible, epic poems, obscure words like hapaxlegomenon, all 88 constellations with their primary stars and locations through the year, facts about all 50 states, ad infinitum. He memorized the entire book of Romans in the New Testament, and after he learned to speak Spanish, he memorized it in Spanish, too.
He was a very generous person, even before he mellowed with age. If he knew that someone wanted or needed something, he enjoyed providing it, even while shunning the traditional “gifting and greeting” occasions of our society. His philosophy was summed up in his writing: “Don’t alibi, don’t apologize. Don’t carp, complain or criticize – don’t bitch or blame. Don’t be defensive, don’t explain.” Even so, during these last few years he made up his mind to two things: be cheerful no matter what, and to do whatever his daughter Halverson told him to do. Tom Cutting says of him, “He just got sweeter and sweeter.” And he was so appreciative of Halverson’s care of him.
When his wife became ill he could not do enough for her. She died on Dec. 26, 2003, and four years to the day later he fell asleep and never woke again. He had taken a bad fall a few days prior, and was able to bid his family farewell before a relatively sudden demise. “He was such a man of action – it was just a perfect way for him to go,” says Jon Cutting.
The night before he died, he shared with Sears the prayer he had voiced every day since his wife’s death – “Dear God, thank you for Molly. Please forgive me for all my sins. Please let me be with her again.” In the final analysis, that simple request was all that really mattered to him.