This document summarizes the story of three unidentified men who have been receiving long-term care at Grady Memorial Hospital and Grady's nursing home in Atlanta, Georgia. One man in particular, referred to as John Doe, has been under their care since 2002 when he was found unconscious after falling at a high school track with severe brain injuries and no identification. Despite extensive searching and publicity, no one has come forward to identify any of the men after many years of care, costing hundreds of thousands in taxpayer money. Staff remain hopeful that someone may recognize details about the men and come forward to identify them.

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BYLINE: PATRICIA GUTHRIE
DATE: July 31, 2005
PUBLICATION: Atlanta Journal-Constitution, The (GA)
EDITION: Home; The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
SECTION: News
PAGE: A1
Not all John Does wear toe tags. Many are very much alive. They arrive at
Grady hospital badly injured or seriously ill, unable to identify themselves.
Most are reunited with their families within a few weeks. But some remain a
mystery, and have been in Grady's care for months, even years.
Someone, somewhere must miss him. Or at least know his name.
Three years ago this month, they found him unconscious near the track of
Grady High School.
He had been jogging up and down the concrete stadium steps when he
slipped and fell 30 to 40 feet, according to a witness who called 911. He
wore jogging shorts and a T-shirt. His head was shaved on both sides into
a Mohawk haircut, and he had a mustache.
No ID. No wallet, no keys or cellphone. No tattoos, no birthmarks, no scars.
The only clue his body provided was smooth feet and trimmed toenails.

2. For three years he has been cared for by Grady Health System, first at its
downtown hospital, then its nursing home. His bill is nearing $500,000.
Medicaid, the government health insurance program for the poor and
disabled, recently started to reimburse Grady for his care.
The hip he broke in the fall has healed. Whether he'll emerge from the
traumatic brain injury, no one can say.
He can breathe on his own but can't swallow. A feeding tube sustains him.
The sturdy legs that once propelled him around the track are so shriveled
they look smaller than his arms.
He can't talk, but he appears alert. His eyes follow people around the room,
and he frequently breaks into a smile.
His diagnosis: persistent vegetative state, the same as Terri Schiavo, the
Florida woman who spent 15 years in that condition before her husband
won the legal right to withdraw her feeding tube. She died in March.
In Room B-218 at Crestview Health and Rehabilitation Center in southwest
Atlanta, there's no debate about whether, or how long, to attend to the
needs of the man whom no one knows, no one claims. There's no one
speaking on his behalf.
No spouse, no partner, no relatives. No friends.
No one.
He is John Doe.
Many John Does arrive by ambulance at downtown Atlanta's Grady
Memorial Hospital, badly injured, beaten, shot, stabbed, left for dead.
A public hospital operated with county, state and federal funds, Grady has
the mission of caring for the indigent and the uninsured.
Although it's common to treat transients and the homeless, they usually are
identified within days, said Dollmeshia Adams, supervisor of Grady's

3. medical social services unit. Longer-term John Does are rare, she said,
maybe one per year.
Now Grady faces an unprecedented situation: three men, their past
unknown, in need of constant care.
Besides John Doe, Grady's nursing home is caring for two other disabled
men with no known next of kin. They've told the staff their name, but
extensive searches have found no evidence to support their often jumbled
stories. One says he is Jose Abraham Osorio, and that he's from
Guatemala. He was hit by a car in Chamblee more than two years ago. The
other identifies himself as Albert Smith, and repeatedly talks about towns in
Middle Georgia. He was found on the streets of southeast Atlanta four
months ago, delirious and disoriented. Both were treated at Grady hospital,
then admitted to Crestview.
Adams initially called the men John Doe No. 1, John Doe No. 2, and John
Doe No. 3. Lately they're usually referred to as John, Jose and Albert. And
somehow it's understood that when "John Doe" is mentioned, it's the John
Doe from the summer of 2002.
Grady staff members continue to be intrigued by the circumstances and
lack of clues surrounding him.
Many believe he's from a good family, that he took care of himself, worked
out regularly. Some think he's from another country, and speaks a language
no one's tried on him.
But he had that distinctive Mohawk when they found him. He should have
been easy to identify.
"There's lots of families out there looking for people. I get calls all the time,"
Adams said. "But not for John Doe. No one's called asking about a man
who fits his description.
"Never in my 25 years of doing this have I had a patient go this long without
being identified," she said.

4. Feet tell many tales.
Social worker Peggy Hawkins knows that from working with the poor and
the homeless in Harlem and Atlanta.
This man's feet were not the feet of the streets.
"This was a well-groomed, clean-cut man," she said. "He used to get
pedicures, you could just tell. The bottom of his feet looked better than
mine. And his skin was impeccable."
Hawkins no longer works for Grady, but she still wonders about the man.
"I'll never forget this case. I literally hit the streets. I went to bars -- straight
bars, gay bars -- boxing places, athletic clubs, churches, all over Piedmont
Park.
"Every Friday I would dedicate my day to him. It was the middle of the
summer. It was hot. I was out there all day."
Hawkins said she applied her best gumshoe detective skills and followed
the established protocol for gathering information on unidentified patients.
Law enforcement, missing persons bureaus, the FBI, the GBI, homeless
shelters, churches, the Department of Labor, the Department of Family and
Children Services -- she hit up all of them.
Checking his fingerprints against criminal records and government
databases yielded nothing. Fliers with his mug shot and description were
plastered all over the neighborhood; his image was flashed in the media
and flew across the country via Teletype.
Nothing.
"It was the first time in my career that I couldn't find anybody with
information," Hawkins said. "I always found somebody."
Every two hours, the patient the staff calls John is repositioned to prevent
bedsores. When two of them lift him from his bed and carefully place him in
a geriatric chair, they talk to him in a gentle voice.

5. "Want to get put in the chair?" asks nurse Belinda Goodwin. "We're gonna
get you up in the chair."
He looks away from the small television set near his bed. His wide brown
eyes fall on Goodwin.
"Where's my smile?" she asks. "A little more. C'mon."
A bigger smile breaks across his face. He looks like a young Muhammad
Ali.
Rolled out to the day room, John tilts his head up toward the television set
and appears to watch, something he has just started doing, staff members
say.
When he first came to Crestview more than two years ago, he wasn't in a
coma. But he was barely there.
"Now you can tell by his facial expressions what kind of mood he's in," said
social worker Avis Snearl. "He does smile. And he does blink, once for yes
and two for no, to simple questions."
But they know that any movement by a patient with a severe brain injury
may mean nothing. People in a persistent vegetative state may move their
limbs, smile, shed tears, grunt, groan, even scream. But their conscious
minds have been destroyed by massive brain damage.
"The brain does not regenerate. I don't believe there'll be a miraculous
recovery," said Dr. Odette Harris, Grady's chief of neurosurgery. The brain
specialists who first treated John at Grady Memorial Hospital have
relocated. Harris based her comments on John Doe's medical charts and
numerous studies of people with severe head injuries.
Death or disability is the usual outcome, she said, but added, "Anything is
possible."
So far, no "heroic" measures have been needed to keep him alive, doctors
say. Should pneumonia or an infection become life-threatening, two

6. physicians would examine him and present their opinions to Grady's
internal ethics committee.
Nursing home caretakers who work day in and day out with society's
frailest keep the faith, they say, because they've seen "so many miracles."
"I believe that maybe one day . . . he could talk again," says nursing
assistant Rhonda Rasheed.
"He understands when I talk to him. One time 'Soul Train' was on TV and
this woman was dancing, wearing this tight, tight red dress. I looked at him
and asked, 'Do you see that? Now I know you see that.' From ear to ear, a
smile came on his face from seeing that red dress."
Before her 3-11 p.m. shift begins, Rasheed always makes a point to visit
the room of the patient she simply calls Handsome.
He beams when she comes in the door.
She bends down, strokes his forehead. A gold cross dangles from her neck.
He keeps his head tilted up toward her, glued to her face.
"You want to do that cartwheel up the hall? First you got to get where you
can talk," she tells him. "Are you going to let me in? I'm listening."
He slowly moves his lips. No sound comes out.
"I'm going to go if you won't talk to me," she says. "I want you to talk to me.
C'mon, I know you want to, baby. C'mon, you can do it."
Again he opens his dry lips, this time revealing the gap in his front teeth.
Rasheed tries another tactic.
"Raise that left arm for me."
His left arm, bent like a wing and gripped in a fist, slowly rises to the height
of his shoulder.
A gasp rises from other staff members in the room. They've never seen him
do that.

7. "That is wonderful, that is great," Rasheed tells him, saying she'll be back
later to wish him goodnight.
A few minutes later, sitting in the nurses solarium at the end of the hall,
Rasheed says she prays for him all the time, and for his family.
"Somewhere, somebody is missing him. They just don't know where he is."
About this report
Grady Health System suspended its usual practice of patient confidentiality
regarding medical and financial records for this report in hopes of
identifying these three men. It allowed reporter Patricia Guthrie and
photographer Bita Honarvar to observe the men interacting with staff while
protecting the privacy of other nursing home residents.
TAKING CARE OF JOHN DOE
Who pays
The taxpayers. Grady, which operates with federal, state and local funds,
gets some reimbursement from Medicaid, the government health insurance
program for the poor and disabled.
The red tape
Medicaid rarely accepts people without Social Security numbers. In the
case of John Doe No. 1, Social Security determined him to be a U.S.
citizen and permanently disabled, then assigned him a Social Security
number, and Medicaid benefits began. His total medical and long-term care
bill is nearing $500,000; Medicaid has paid less than half.
The cost
$16,000 a month for the three John Does at Grady's Crestview Health and
Rehabilitation Center. Their combined Grady Memorial Hospital medical
costs: $727,161.
The law
If a patient with no known next of kin needs long-term care but is
incompetent or unable to communicate his wishes, a state law allows
physicians to transfer him to a nursing or personal care home after getting

8. court approval. Grady Health System says its nursing home takes care of
such individuals "because no one else wants them."
Help for families
Grady officials fear that the expense and burden of care might be keeping
relatives from coming forward. "Grady Health System will work closely with
these families to utilize all available resources and create care plans that
will continue to provide quality, compassionate care," said Dr. Andrew
Agwunobi, president and CEO.
-- Patricia Guthrie
JOHN DOE NO. 1
Found: July 23, 2002, in Midtown at the Grady High School outdoor track,
with a severe head injury and broken hip. He had fallen while jogging the
stadium steps.
Description: Light-skinned African-American or possibly Hispanic male, 5
feet 6, 150 to 155 pounds, with hazel eyes, a Mohawk haircut and a
mustache. Thought to be 40 to 50 years old.
Clues: None. An investigation around Piedmont Park area hotels, bars,
fitness clubs, neighborhoods, churches and businesses produced no leads.
Searches in surrounding states and government databases also failed.
If you have information: Call 404-616-8100.