When he died unexpectedly 69 years later, thousands who knew him only as talk radio’s "medical maverick" mourned his death as deeply as though they’d lost a family member or close friend. Prominent among the mourners expressing sadness and sympathy were countless numbers of patients eager to voice their gratitude to a one-of-a-kind physician whose pioneering treatments – based on out-of-the-box thinking and rare wisdom - had saved their lives.

The on-air memorial service broadcast two days after his death was a two-hour tribute to a physician always ahead of the times, who followed an independent path regardless of the personal cost and fought for what he believed to be right and in the best interest of the patient, right to the end.

A detailed biography of Dr. Carrow’s adventures and accomplishments in the years between birth and death would read like a Robin Cook novel with truth-stranger-than-fiction material suitable for a made-for-TV movie. His life story begins like a classic soap opera: his dad deserted the family when he was only ten, leaving Don, his older and younger brothers, to fare as best they could under the care of a mother with scant financial or emotional resources.

All three boys rebelled, as fatherless boys are wont to do, and as they dropped out of school and became juvenile delinquents, they were remanded to reform schools until each reached age 18. None of the Carrow brothers progressed past 8^th grade in grammar school; none attended high school. With no education and no family to fall back on, as each was turned loose, he joined the Army.

Don’s military career took off when he became a boxer and fought his way through the ranks to emerge as Heavy Weight Champ of the 5^th Army in Germany. The same year, 1956, he was discharged from the military, and with no plans for the future, funds available from the GI Bill of Rights inspired Don to go back to school.

Despite never having taken even one high school course, he applied to the University of Miami at Coral Springs, and was admitted with the proviso he make up for the loss with remedial classes. His first year, he got straight D’s; but then to his surprise, he found he liked learning, buckled down, and earned straight A’s for the rest of his academic career. Graduating from the University of Miami with high honors as a chemistry major, he was immediately hired by one of the nation’s largest chemical firms. In the ensuing years, he further distinguished himself by inventing many patentable compounds which enriched his employer and enhanced Don’s reputation. One of Don’s patents resulted in Johnson’s GloCoat; another was bought by the Gillette Company and was the basis for the famous hair pomade DippityDo which earned Gillette $17 million a year for 17 straight years. Don was rewarded with $50.00 for each of these patents.

After eight years of over-achievement and under-compensation, a frustrated Don Carrow decided he’d have a more rewarding career as a doctor than a chemist, and so in 1964, he applied for admission to medical school. As might be expected, few institutions were interested in enrolling a 30-year-old high school drop-out, but fortunately a personal recommendation from the physician father of his lab partner at the chemical company where he still worked, saved the day and resulted in an interview with the head of admissions for the University of Louisville Medical School. When Don arrived, the first question he was asked was: "Why do you want to be a doctor?"

Carrow’s response shocked Dr. Smith, the admissions officer. "I know what I’m supposed to tell you, "Don replied, "but actually it’s because I think being a doctor is the only way I’ll ever make a lot of money."

Dr. Smith leaned back in his chair and said: "Let me tell you. I’ve interviewed 250 applicants to date, and you’re the first to give me an honest answer. You’re accepted," and Don was admitted as a medical student on the spot.

After graduation, Don completed an internship and residency, specializing in anesthesiology in the surgery unit of the cardiac division of the local hospital, overseeing 2,000 bypasses. His management skills were so outstanding, in 1978 he was invited to supervise the opening of an anesthesiology department for a new cardiac unit at a Largo, Florida hospital.

For the year he was there, the newly minted Doctor Carrow, grew more and more disenchanted with the medical treatments routinely practiced at the hospital. More often than not, patients who entered the hospital for some relatively minor elective surgery, ended up with a bypass procedure. The tactics used to convince patients to agree to heart surgery, characterized as ‘threat and intimidation’ by Dr. Carrow, disgusted him. He was vocally critical of the way patients were being rushed into unneeded surgical procedures, all to profit the hospital.

Years later, Dr. Thomas Graboys of Harvard University confirmed Dr. Carrow’s description of the unethical behavior he’d witnessed, and publicly accused the bypass industry of setting up ‘scripted teams’ designed to convince the innocent into accepting bypasses based on dishonest, untruthful warnings. One of the hospital administration’s recommended ways of convincing reluctant patients into accepting heart surgery, was to target the male patients’ wives, pointing to a spot on the spouse’s heart x-ray, calling it the ‘widow-maker’.

While at the University of Louisville, Dr. Carrow grew determined to do something to alleviate one of the most serious results of botched surgical procedures. Patients kept on bypass machinery for hours longer than adviseable, require long-term respiratory support, and as a result, contract infections from the machinery helping them breathe. The antibiotics needed to counteract the infections cause further health problems.

Based on his chemical expertise, Dr. Carrow understood that silver is a natural antibiotic, anti-viral element and so he developed a silver filter for the respirator that would block the pathogens. As predicted, with silver filters in place, no patient on a respirator developed infections – there was a 100% reduction in respiratory infections among patients recovering from bypass. Hospital personnel were so impressed, they called in the respirator manufacturer to witness and document the research and results.

The hospital administrators expected an immediate endorsement of the silver filters. Much to their chagrin -– and Dr. Carrow’s outrage – the manufacturers explained that while the results were obviously impressive and beneficial to patients, they could not consider changing their equipment to include the silver filter since contracts with pharmaceutical companies for antibiotics would be endangered. The physicians who had backed the work said nothing – just nodded in silence. Dr. Carrow judged the non-response wicked beyond belief! How could health practitioners walk away quietly from an agreed-upon improvement in patient care? That was not his style – not then, not ever – as many were to learn over the years.

In 1975, Dr. Carrow’s disapproval of hospital procedures became a more personal issue. It all started when an attractive young medical technician working for the hospital’s blood bank, came to Dr. Carrow’s attention. "Where’s the good-looking gal I’ve been hearing about," he was heard to ask one day when he visited the lab.

"What a loudmouth boor," responded Deborah Ray, the lady singled out, who at the time was dating a Carrow colleague named Paul. As luck would have it, weeks later, Deborah was invited to a party at Don Carrow’s apartment, and she attended expecting Paul to be there. "He’s here," he reported, but "he’s with another gal", Dr. Carrow chuckled. Instead of leaving in a huff – her first instinct – she stayed, found Don interesting to be with and agreed to date him.

Luckily for them, and hundreds of thousands of others, the relationship stuck and matured – and held strong for the subsequent 28 years. When Deborah suddenly fell seriously ill with Crohn’s Disease in 1977, she was scheduled for an emergency operation. Dr. Carrow, learning of the impending procedure, rushed to her bedside where she was being prepped, and demanded a second opinion, convinced the drastic surgery (a cholostomy) was unnecessary. His unwelcome interference caused a noisy row, but Dr. Carrow’s timely intervention prevailed, and "literally saved my life," Deborah says now, remembering that day.

Surgery avoided, Dr. Carrow later introduced Deborah to a new, more natural, health-promoting form of medicine. He suggested a number of herbal and nutritional alternatives designed to heal, gradually weaned her off the medications that were causing toxic reactions, and coaxed her back to full health.

In a classic example of "no good deed shall go unpunished", Dr. Carrow’s revolt against the hospital’s doctors, did not go unnoticed despite the favorable result. His excellent on-the-job performance and reputation in the field of anesthesia notwithstanding, he was summarily dismissed from the local Largo hospital. As a further retribution, the hospital ‘black-balled’ him as a disruptive influence, so that when he applied to other institutions, they told him they could not hire him.

Thoroughly disgusted, Dr. Carrow decided to escape the confines of the medical bureaucracy, and strike out on his own, by opening a private, fee-for-service practice. In 1979, he established the first holistic health facility in Tampa, Florida – and immediately ran afoul of the medical establishment, when the advertisement of his new office in the local papers offended the Florida State Medical Board. And thus began a 19 year conflict with the reigning authorities.