I Was Just Using MyChart. Then I Watched the Carl Dvorak Video.
When the president of a healthcare tech giant acts like rules don’t apply to him, it raises more than eyebrows—it raises trust issues.
Yesterday, I logged into MyChart for an NYU appointment. Just a routine update. I didn’t think much of it; it’s the platform 80% of patients in the U.S. use to manage their healthcare.
A few hours later, I watched a video of Carl Dvorak, the man who helped build Epic Systems, the company behind MyChart, being removed from a Delta flight by police. He slurred. He refused to deplane.
The Lies Were Clear. The Damage Was Worse.
By the time the police arrived, Dvorak had already refused multiple requests from flight attendants. He was slurring his speech. He’d been filming passengers. He reportedly smelled of alcohol. When asked to comply, he didn’t. When asked again, he doubled down.
And then came the act:
“I don’t know what’s happening.”
“I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I’ve only had one drink.”
All of it, recorded on bodycam, and all of it contradicted by his own behavior and witness accounts. These weren’t the half-coherent ramblings of someone caught off guard. These were deliberate attempts to gaslight the crew, the officers, and the public.
And if you’ve been around long enough, you know this move: shift the narrative, feign ignorance, pretend victimhood. It’s the corporate version of “I don’t recall.” But the footage doesn’t lie.
A System Built on Precision, Led by Delusion
Carl Dvorak helped build Epic’s reputation for discipline. He enforced rigorous go-live timelines. He was the one who made sure massive hospital implementations didn’t collapse under pressure.
But under pressure himself?
He didn’t just crack, he denied reality with complete confidence that maybe, just maybe, it would work.
That’s what makes this so disturbing. If someone this central to the healthcare infrastructure can so casually dismiss truth when it’s inconvenient, what else have they been rewriting?
Getting drunk happens. Being human happens. But the minute you start weaponizing confusion and lying to law enforcement while delaying an entire plane full of passengers, you’re not just having a stormy night. You’re showing people who you are when no one can stop you.
The April Fools Joke That Revealed the Punchline: Disrespect
Let’s talk about that April Fools' post a few years before the airplane incident, which Epic’s leadership published, a fake announcement stating the company would replace its entire R&D department with a new marketing team. Ha-ha. Hilarious. Somehow, the joke has yet to be scrubbed from Epic’s site.
But dig into the tone, and you start to see the cracks.
“It’s much easier to create a PowerPoint presentation than healthcare software.”
—Carl Dvorak, allegedly joking
Spoken like a man who has zero respect for either discipline.
To developers: he implied your skills are so generic, they’re interchangeable with slide decks and buzzwords.
To marketers, he suggested your work is fluff—nothing more than pushing pixels and crafting slogans.
That isn’t a joke. That’s an insult.
Good marketers aren’t just designers or wordsmiths. They’re researchers, behavioral psychologists, brand strategists, educators, and translators of complex information. In a company that deals with healthcare software, marketing isn’t decoration; it’s how you build trust, teach clinicians, guide adoption, and humanize systems for real people.
The joke failed not because it was edgy, but because it came from someone who clearly didn’t understand-or value what marketing actually does.
The Playbook: Silence, Scrub, Vanish
When this all went down, you’d think the company responsible for 325 million patients' health data might say something. Anything.
Instead? We got the classic PR triage move: silence, scrubbing, and slow fadeout.
Step 1: Pretend It’s Not Epic’s Problem
Epic’s official response, per their Head of Public Affairs?
“Carl was not on Epic business. We have no comment.”
Translation: “Not our fault. Don’t ask us to deal with it.”
No mention of the fact that just months earlier, Dvorak was still appearing as company president on Epic’s materials. No context. No accountability. Just distance.
Step 2: Quietly Rebrand His Role
Dvorak, when asked by the press, claimed:
“I’m not president of Epic anymore. I now work in international.”
This leadership change happened “six months ago.” Yet no press release, no internal email, no announcement of succession, nothing to inform the public or the employees. His leadership page was quietly scrubbed. That’s not transparency. That’s erasure.
Step 3: Ghost the Fallout
No one from Epic, including their General Counsel or executive team, has made a statement since. No internal memo has surfaced. Multiple follow-ups from the press have gone unanswered. Here is the most specific article I could find.
When a 35-year executive, widely known in the industry, melts down on a plane and gets arrested on camera, and the company’s response is to act like it didn’t happen? That’s not “managing a crisis.” That’s protecting power and hoping we forget.
I Didn’t Jump to This Conclusion; I Searched My Way to It
I didn’t write this after skimming headlines. I spent hours searching for any information that would indicate Epic had addressed this incident publicly or internally.
I found nothing.
Just silence.
So here’s the challenge: if this wasn’t a reputation containment strategy, show your work.
Where’s the leadership update?
Where’s the internal accountability?
Where’s the employee memo?
Where’s the client message?
And if I’m wrong?
Correct me.
Please show me.
Prove this was handled with transparency and integrity.
Final Thought
Watching Dvorak lie while refusing to unbuckle his seatbelt, then watching him fake ignorance for ten straight minutes, wasn’t just disappointing, it was offensive.
He helped build a system that millions trust. But in that moment, Carl Dvorak reminded us that status doesn’t equal integrity. And bold-faced lies don’t just stain reputations, they corrode the foundation of trust that leadership depends on.
❤️ If This Hit a Nerve, Say Thanks
Honestly? I didn’t even think to include a tip jar at first.
But then I realized… I tip for lattes. I tip on apps. I tip $5 for someone handing me a paper menu.
So if this hit a nerve—if it gave you clarity, inspiration, or something you forwarded to your team—consider tipping the person who wrote it.
I’m not backed by a big brand. I’m a strategist and writer with a family to support and a deep belief that marketing should be more ethical and human.
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Please tell me more… what did I miss? Please point me to where I can find the details you refer to and I’ll make a correction if it is warranted.
The article overlooks a critical facet of Epic Systems’ corporate identity: their deeply rooted aversion to conventional marketing strategies. Epic, a healthcare IT giant with a $1.2 billion empire, has long eschewed flashy advertising campaigns in favor of a more organic approach. Instead of investing in traditional marketing, they’ve cultivated a sterling reputation for quality and reliability, relying heavily on word-of-mouth endorsements from prestigious clients like Kaiser Permanente and Cleveland Clinic. This “anti-marketing” philosophy isn’t just a business tactic—it’s a core part of their culture. For instance, their leadership has even taken playful jabs at the marketing world, such as their April Fools’ Day stunt mocking the discipline’s excesses.
This mindset almost certainly influenced their response—or lack thereof—to the Carl Dvorak airplane incident. Rather than issuing a robust public statement or engaging with the media, Epic opted for a low-key approach, consistent with their preference for staying out of the spotlight. They likely assumed their reputation could weather the storm without proactive communication, much as it has fueled their growth in the healthcare sector. However, in the context of a crisis, this silence can backfire. Where transparency might reassure stakeholders, Epic’s reticence could instead breed uncertainty or erode trust among customers and the public.
By not delving into this angle, the article misses a chance to enrich its analysis. Exploring how Epic’s marketing-averse culture shapes their crisis management could reveal broader insights into their operational philosophy. For example, does this reluctance to “sell” themselves extend to how they handle adversity? Could it signal a potential vulnerability in an industry where trust and communication are paramount? Addressing these questions would have provided a more nuanced understanding of Epic’s behavior during the Dvorak incident, elevating the piece beyond a surface-level recounting of events.