When he was ten, a couple named Robert and Grace Chen adopted him. Robert was a pharmacist and Grace taught piano. They gave him a room with a window and three meals a day and a name that meant he belonged somewhere.
He went to the University of Washington. Then medical school. He became an internist, then a hospital administrator. Eventually, he and a group of partners bought a struggling hospital in Tacoma and turned it around. Then another one in Spokane. Then this one, in Seattle. Then one in Portland.
“Four hospitals,” he said. “Across the Pacific Northwest.”
“Four hospitals,” I repeated. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. The little boy in the plaid shirt.
“And every one of them,” he said, “has a program that makes sure no child who comes through our doors goes hungry. Kids in treatment. Kids whose parents are in treatment. Kids in the emergency room waiting with a sick grandmother. Every one of them gets a meal ticket at the front desk. No questions. No forms.”
