The Blood Bank

Dallas, Texas, somewhere between 1981-83.
Just about everyone knows about donating blood, and most towns have periodic blood drives. But not many people know about selling blood. Not surprisingly, an large amount of medical procedures call for blood and the products that can be made from blood. One of these products is called Plasma and this plasma is used in a multitude of ways, and especially in the hemophyliac, or those with blood incapable of clotting. So in demand is this plasma that donations simply are not enough, so there are private clinics in all the large cities of this country willing to pay individuals bi-weekly for their donations.
I’m sure Dallas had multiple clinics of this sort; the one I would visit was a large open bay affair, with tables one would lie on while giving blood. There might have been thirty tables. I was familiar with the place, and always caught a ride with a friend when it was our day to go. This day was like the rest, we were in a good mood, since we were paid in cash, and we were already planning on where we would have lunch. Walking into the building, what happened next was so surprising that I turned and froze, though one of my companions and immediatly began to yell and protest. Just as soon as we had entered, two fully uniformed soldiers with rifles moved in front of the doors, snapping to attention in such a way that I actually heard a snapping from their heels. They were wearing green camouflaged fatigues, helmets, black boots and those huge rifles, and everything about there stance told us that we were not to try to leave.
Other soldiers approached from each direction and already one was talking to us in an authoritive voice, declaring that we did not have to give blood that day, but that, by law, we had to give a sample of blood. If we did not comply immediatly, we would be arrested. While that person explained, the other soldiers led us into the waiting area. My friend was still vocal, but much softer now, and speaking more to us than the authorities. It was all very surreal. Everyone had the same deer-in-the-headlight look as us, even the ones on the tables. My attention was taken my the suddenly movement of a man who panicked, and yelling, he ran from the wating room toward the door; he was tackled before he got half way. He was informed that he was being arrested, and he dissappeared into anotehr room, yelling the entire way.
In the waiting room there were more officials than those of us there to sell our plasma. There was no waiting, I was quickly led to a desk, and a man began to explain; a sample of my blood would be taken, then I would be asked a serious of questions and then he would explain why this was happening.
They pricked my finger with a lancet, and gathered a few drops of my blood. Then he asked the questions, and these are the ones I remember, though there were more: was I an intervenous drug user, had I been to Haiti in the last five years, and had I recently had sex with any bisexual men.I do remember that I answered “no” to all the questions, and then he explained that there was an illness that was growing in the United States and there was reason to believe that it was spread by blood. A hemophiliac had died with this illness and a recent plasma transfusion had come from this very clinic. They were trying to find the person, or people who had this virus. The man called it Aids, and none of us had ever heard of it. I do not know if they ever did find the Patient Zero of Dallas that they were looking for; the entire incident never even made it to the news.