Leaving the "G"s

When for the last 5 years you have lived and breathed a job that has been the consummate thing in your life, though you know you must, there is a lot of uncertainty and reluctance in leave.
This certainly was the case with me. I had some strong bonds that I wasn’t sure I wanted to sever. I knew I didn’t want to practice in St Louis because the culture was that even though you were a specialist you had to do general practice to generate patients. Only a few of the older established doctors got patients referred from their colleagues.
I has a medical deferment and was not going to the military and as for a locality I considered Atlanta, for a minute. ..,A friend, the Chief who had preceded me, encouraged me to join him in a partnership which is what I wanted. The interesting thing was that hospitals were segregated and the few who accepted Blacks on the staff required that you have a preceptor (white naturally) for 2 years. My friend was from the south and was amenable to this, I was not. Especially after going through the “Great White Father” situation I had suffered in resident training, I was not about to have another white doctor stand over me and question my decisions or ability. This was an affront to Blacks and was not a requirement for whites joining the staff it was as if there training was somehow inferior.
Fortunately an opportunity presented itself at just the right moment. Dr. Frank Lloyd, who had been my mentor in medical school was looking for a partner in Indianapolis and he had a huge practice.
Another interesting thing about economics of industry in Indianapolis was it was one of the few cities in the country that had companies that women employees were insured for OB care (i.e. Western Electric, Army Finance Center and Indiana Bell Co) all had large numbers of women.
Since this was my wife’s home and my being familiar with the city kind of helped it fall into place. Frank flew over to St. Louis and spoke to Dr. Smiley and than offered me a job and a partnership after 3 years. I accepted with the provision that he knew I was not above hanging out and didn’t want him to feel I would tarnish his reputation, since this was ok with him and I now had a place to go.
We were expecting another baby in July and I now had to make plans to buy a house and start a new job and a different life. The ensuing years presented some unexpected challenges to say the least.
Before I go into the move and starting in the practice an unusual event happened that brought a part of my days in Evansville back in a good but humorous way.
In an earlier chapter, I mentioned that Arch Bishop Joseph Ritter was instrumental in my being the 1st Black Catholic boy who had not gone to a Catholic grade school to attend Memorial High School in Evansville. And that he was a cousin to my parish priest and knew me personally since I was an altar boy and had served mass for him when he visited and I lived next door to the rectory. That being the case, he had long been Arch Bishop of St. Louis and in my last year he was to be elevated to Cardinal by the Pope. There was a prominent Black doctor who was nick named “Bootsie” because he wore a boutonnière in his lapel and spats was rotund and fancied himself a dandy. He was also a devoted Catholic holding several officious positions as a lay person in the Church.
“Bootsie “ arranged an entourage of Black Catholics and chartered a plane to carry them to the investiture ceremony of the Arch Bishop being elevated to Cardinal by the Pope in Rome. On returning to St. Louis Cardinal Ritter offered to come to Homer G. Philips Hospital and ceremonially bless it as recognition of “Bootsie” planning the pilgrimage. The Staff was all assembled on the front steps of the hospital’s entrance which faced a circular driveway. I happened to be on the front row of the welcoming crowd. “Bootsie” was standing alone at the curb as the welcoming host. Suddenly, up roared several limousines disgorging the Cardinal’s entourage and as he stepped out “Bootsie” knelt to receive him and kiss his ring. At that precise moment I yelled “ Hey Cardinal” and he looked up and recognized me a said “Earle! How are you.” and walked past “Bootsie” and hugged me. “Bootsie “ was so shaken that he struggled to regain his feet and his poise. After that incident he never spoke to me again. He had no knowledge that I had known the Cardinal since I was 12 years old, funny how the circle of life works. He just knew I had taken his thunder and embarrassed him of which I had no intent. Well, I looked at it as that’s life!
Purchasing a house was going to be a problem since I had little credit and no money, only a job offer and a previous years income on my tax return of $1,800. I sent my wife to Indianapolis to look for suitable housing and she found a realtor who showed her a house that was$ 18,500. A sum that was to me like saying it was a million. I had said repeatedly to a few friends that when I finished and got in practice all I wanted for myself was to have $100 dollars in my pocket, a German Shepard dog, a case of Jack Daniels and an ice maker refrigerator ( not that lofty a goal).
I fell back on my reliable parents who wired me some money to use as a down payment if I could get financing. So I was able to negotiate a mortgage and was ready to move to Indianapolis the July 1, 1963. Just like I had the 4th of July when I started my Internship I had call on the 4th because Frank Lloyd was taking his first family vacation in years as soon as I arrived. So I had a baby due the end of July a brand new practice and OBs to deliver at 2 hospitals. At least I was to get paid a salary that was livable.
I certainly earned my pay that 4th of July weekend. I might have well be on call at the “G’s” for the work I did and that was covering 2 hospitals. Lloyd had an arrangement with about 5 general practioners who only did prenatal care and he delivered their patients. Most had no records available to me of any complications plus some had prepaid hospitalization and ended up at times at the hospital that I was not. Over the four days, I recall doing 5 C-sections and 20 deliveries. I wondered had I made a bad choice. Later I think I did!