It was midday on Feb. 26 when a downtrodden stranger walked into the JW Marriott in Palm Desert, asking for a job as a tennis coach. The man said his name was Michael Boatwright and that a job at the hotel was his last chance.
"If anybody can help me, I was told it was you," Boatwright said, according to Jim Leupold, the hotel tennis director.
"He asked if I could hire him … or if I could help him get to Peru, because he had a job lined up there," Leupold said. "He had $400 to his name."
The Marriott was fully staffed, so Leupold couldn't offer Boatwright a job. He told Boatwright that there would be a tennis tournament in Indian Wells in a week. If Boatwright could stay in town, he might find a short-term job there.
"He told me that he would be at the Motel 6 in Palm Springs, and he would give me a call the following day to see if I had any other options," Leupold said. "I never heard back from him."
Two days later, something strange happened. Either Boatwright's brain malfunctioned, erasing his memory and leaving him stranded in the Palm Springs area without a purpose. Or a man with dwindling prospects began an elaborate ruse, pretending that he had forgotten his past — and how to speak English — for reasons that are not yet understood.
No one is sure which.
At noon on Feb. 28, Boatwright, 61, was found unconscious in his Motel 6 room. He was sent to Desert Regional Medical Center, where he awoke speaking only in Swedish. He said his name was "Johan Ek." Boatwright insisted he couldn't remember his past or why he was in Palm Springs.
Two weeks later, he was diagnosed with a rare, complex form of amnesia. He has since remained at the hospital.
Searching for a fresh start
Boatwright's journey to the desert began in China, said one of his tennis buddies, Gifford Searls, 61. Searls said that he sent a despondent, penniless Boatwright to the Coachella Valley in hopes that his friend could find a job as a tennis coach. A change of scenery seemed like the best hope for a fresh start.
In an interview Wednesday, Boatwright said he had no recollection of Searls.
Boatwright hunched close to a speakerphone, listening to a Swedish translator who repeated the story of the past year of his life. When she described how he had become a danger to himself, Boatwright furrowed his brow.
"It doesn't sound like me," he said. "Maybe it was Johan who did that? It's unbelievable."
Boatwright said the story of his immediate past is both good and bad news. It explains some basic details — for example, his love of tennis and his time spent in China — but it also uncovers pain and suffering that Boatwright claims to have forgotten.
Boatwright gasped when he was handed a photo of himself in China with Searls and his wife, who were once his close friends. He touched the photo with a fingertip, as if to confirm that it is real.
"I only recognize myself," he said.
When found unconscious in the motel room, Boatwright had with him five tennis rackets, two cellphones, a set of photographs, a duffel bag of casual athletic clothes, a backpack, and some cash. He carried four forms of identification: a passport, a California identification card, a veteran's medical card and a Social Security card. Each identified him as Michael Thomas Boatwright.
Boatwright has no insurance or income, so Desert Regional has funded his stay. The hospital has been unwilling to release Boatwright into his own care, so staff members have spent months searching for a way to safely discharge him.
Boatwright's story went viral after The Desert Sun published its initial article, and the media spotlight has illuminated a few more clues about his former life. On Tuesday, the newspaper located his sister, Michelle Brewer, in Louisiana. She verified Boatwright's identity but was unaware of his recent past.
Desert Regional is in communication with Brewer but has yet to determine if she can care for her brother, hospital spokesman Richard Ramhoff said.
Searls said he met Boatwright in Zhuhai, China, during the first half of 2012. Searls works for the Zhuhai campus of United International College, and Boatwright taught English for TPR English School, another campus in the same city. Both shared an interest in tennis and coached university students, so they inevitably crossed paths on the tennis court and soon began playing on weekends, Searls said.
"Michael was — is — a very, very good tennis player," Searls said.
Searls said Boatwright spoke flawless English, and appeared to be in perfect health. To everyone who knew him, Boatwright was an "affable, energetic guy" who showed no hints of a troubled past. Everything seemed normal until January.
"There was no inkling of any deep personal issues. He never talked about money. He didn't talk much about his past life," Searls said. "And then there was this one Friday night where I get a phone call."
The mumbling voice on the other end of the phone was Boatwright's. His only decipherable words were whispers for help, Searls said.
He rushed over to Boatwright's home with his wife and two other friends. They were stunned to find a "hovel" — a single-room basement apartment with no bathroom. Inside, Boatwright was unconscious. At the bedside was a half-consumed vial of animal tranquilizers and a glass of vodka, Searls said.
An ambulance rushed Boatwright to the emergency room. He recovered at the hospital and was later released to the Searls, who agreed to give Boatwright a place to stay.
Boatwright stayed with the Searls for a little more than a week.
For the first time, he spoke about his family — an ex-wife and a son in Japan, Searls said. The ex-wife had recently remarried, and Boatwright said he had been "cut off" from his son, Searls said.
For reasons that still aren't clear, Boatwright said he couldn't go back to work at the English school, Searls said. TPR English School confirmed that Boatwright worked there for several years, but then left work abruptly in January.
The English school also confirmed that Boatwright was divorced but released no other details. Desert Regional was able to confirm that Boatwright has an ex-wife in Japan, but she has been unreachable. The hospital has photos that officials believe to be of Boatwright's wife and son, but he says he doesn't recognize them.
After Boatwright had become despondent, the Searls discovered that his work visa was on the verge of expiration and he would have to leave the country, so Gifford Searls proposed a plan. He would contact some old friends in the Palm Springs tennis community in hopes of landing Boatwright a coaching job.
The Searls bought Boatwright a one-way ticket to Palm Springs, gave him about $400 and sent him on his way. As a thank you, Boatwright left the Searls some of his belongings — a new Apple computer and a samurai sword.
Boatwright flew to Palm Springs on Feb. 24, the same day his visa expired. That was the last time Searls heard from Boatwright.
Boatwright has rejected nearly all interview requests, insisting that the national spotlight was "too much" and that he didn't want to become a "media clown." He gave an exclusive interview to The Desert Sun on Wednesday because the newspaper had discovered more about his immediate past. He asked not to be photographed or filmed.
Met with skepticism
Worldwide coverage has inspired dozens of amateur sleuths to focus on Boatwright, digging through the Internet in an effort to uncover more about the man's missing memory. The stories have sparked skepticism from some readers, who believe Boatwright is faking his memory loss.
Some skeptics at Desert Regional and in the local Swedish-American community also question the validity of Boatwright's amnesia. Over the past five months, they have tried to dupe him into speaking English, but he "has not slipped up once," said Lisa Hunt-Vasquez, a social worker at the hospital assigned to Boatwright's case.
Searls also doubts that his friend has amnesia.
"I just think here is a guy that has no place to go, is desperate and is broke. If he does this, at least he has a bed and three meals a day," Searls said. "He's reached the end of his line. But that's just a personal perception."
When asked about this skepticism, Boatwright sighed and repeated a response he has given before.
"They can walk in my shoes for a day, and live the nightmare I am living. I don't want this. I just want to get on and live my life," he said.
Only a few dozen amnesia cases such as this one surface each year, and they are always met with doubt, said Jason Brandt, director of the Division of Medical Psychology at Johns Hopkins University.
Brandt believes Boatwright has a psychological disorder called "dissociative amnesia," a condition that causes memory loss without injury or disease. This condition occurs when stress or emotional trauma prompts a patient to block off a portion of their brain to protect themselves from painful memories. Sometimes skills or even languages are lost in the process. The condition can last months or years, Brandt said.
Unfortunately, doctors "aren't mind readers," so they don't have the technology nor the methodology to separate genuine dissociative amnesia from fabrication, Brandt said. The condition almost always serves the purpose of distancing a patient from a troubled past, but it's difficult to tell if that is something these patients choose to do, or if their subconscious does it for them. Sometimes it's a little of both, Brandt said.
"We just don't know how conscious this is. And if you look at the psychiatric nomenclature, a lot of the diagnosis ... hinges on how purposeful it is and how aware a person is that he's doing it. And unless the person suddenly comes to you and confesses — and says, 'I've just been playing you like a song. I've been faking it all along' — unless they say that, you never really know how conscious it is," Brandt said.
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