Once Frank had left the practice, I was faced with the problem of keeping his patients and his referral pattern. Some of the family practice doctors tried to take advantage of me by saying Frank did this or that for them and I had no way of knowing if this was true. So I started cutting all of them loose except two, one who was an IU classmate and FB who liked me and really didn’t give a damn but was prone to send me some bad shit….like a one legged OB or the worse pelvic abscesses or terminal ovarian cancer you could imagine, telling the patients I could do wonders. He and I hit it off and he wanted me to hang out after hours with him and drink (at the Red Garter or the Famous Door) but he didn’t have to go to the hospital so I had to be careful with him…..plus he packed a .45 colt at all times and was known to shoot at someone or something in a heartbeat. Once a guy broke in his office ( it was in a bad part of town ) and he was sitting there in the dark. He let him creep all the way down the hall before blowing him away. After that no one ever dreamt of robbing him. He was a legend at Fisk getting booted out in the 1st semester and transferred to Howard where he managed to finish. He was smart but didn’t think any Black doctors knew anything except Frank Lloyd, Cup and me. Saturday office hours were special because all cash went in his pocket and he kept a fully stocked bar in his office and all his cronies would come by after the last patients to drink and tell stories, most of them showing off their latest gun purchase.
One of the first things had to do was get me a girl Friday to take over what Judy had done for Frank and she found one of her nursing school classmates to fill that position. She worked out for me for awhile but we went separate ways in later years when she differed on the need for abortion that I felt was a key to a woman’s basic right. Later I found Anna, who became my right hand for forty years of practice. She was a person who was loyal to me to a fault and did the work of three because at times it was just the two of us.
Let me give you a typical day in my practice, at the hospital by 7am for rounds if I wasn’t already there awaiting a delivery, in surgery for 2-3 hrs and then to the office. I had a sofa in my office so I could catch a nap before lunch.
I then would see patients from 1pm until 5pm and then go back to the hospital one or both for evening rounds. I usually got home around 7 pm had dinner and spent some time with the family unless I was called back in for a delivery or see a patient in the ER. If I was out after 9 pm, I would stop in one of the clubs to have a drink and catch some music sometimes a lot of drinks.
There weren’t any pagers or cell phones so I had to call in to my answering service to catch calls so I wouldn’t go home and have to double back. It was a real pain and the communication available today would have definitely been welcomed. I remember carrying a pocket full of dimes than quarters and knowing every working phone booth between my home and the hospitals I worked in. You can’t imagine how annoying it was even after pagers became available to pull over to find a working phone and than call the answering service and than call the patient or hospital in the dead of night and most booths had no light.
One of the things that OB patient wanted was that you delivered them personally and working in two hospitals and being only one person made that sometimes unlikely. So many a patient was put to sleep and than the resident on call did the delivery for you unbeknown to them. During my residency there was seldom a husband let alone a father in the waiting room after a birth so when I got in practice I often left the hospital without checking and often be back home in bed and the nurse would call saying Mr So in So wanted to know how his wife and baby are doing to my embarrassment. I had a lot to learn about paying patients, some of whom were a real pain in the ass. The reason why private practice in OB is so stressful is that it is so time consuming for the remunerations that’s paid. Slowly, I began to get disenchanted with Obstetrics and began to concentrate on the Gynecological side of the practice going against the time honored rule that you built your practice on the OB side and they stayed with you throughout their life for health care.
It turned out that I was like my mentors Smiley and Lloyd, a fast surgeon, and nurses and residents all wanted to be assigned to my surgeries because we would be in and out, Hysterectomies under 90 minutes and C-sections 20 minutes. I did not piddle or waste time. After the first year of practice, I stopped going to St Vincent’s because covering 2 hospitals with the patient load I had was not efficient and really impossible. So the patients that did not want to go to Methodist, I referred to another physician.
One of the other reasons I wanted to limit my practice to Methodist was that I had a huge high risk OB group of patients and St Vincent’s had some religious policies (like sterilization and abortion) that I felt restricted me in providing total care and making important clinical decisions in certain situations. As it turned out, I feel I made the right decision because it narrowed my focus and placed all my hospital resources in one place.
My family grew in an unexpected way that 2nd year of practice, my wife was again pregnant having taken a newly released birth control pill ( C-Quens) that the local giant Lilly had developed was later taken off the market. She was due roughly 13 months after the birth of our daughter, Diane. She went into the hospital in labor and Frank and I had gone to a Chinese restaurant to have dinner when they called us to hurry back for her delivery. I was sitting at the nurses station reading the evening paper when a nurse came out and told me “ Dr Robbie you have twins a boy, and a girl.” and I replied “ that’s bullshit”. than I heard Judy say we need another incubator. Here’s the best obstetrician in Indianapolis and a husband who is an obstetrician both miss the diagnosis. Boy were we ragged on after that. Judy ‘til this day says she suspected twins……she didn’t bother to tell us.
So now I had 5 kids (Robbie, Kenny, Diane, Timothy and Michelle). Three of them babies, using 300 tiny tot diapers a week plus cases of similac plus the older boys drinking 3 gallons of milk a week. Wow! now my house was too small and I hadn’t been in it 2 years.
I guess it was fortunate that my in laws lived in Indianapolis and could give my wife a break with some help.
When the twins were sleeping through the night and the other kids less rambuncous we were able to get a neighbor’s daughter to baby sit so we could get a night out. A funny thing happened one night that we had her baby sitting. We now had a German Shepard named Titan who I had chained in the basement so he would run through the house while she was there.
When we came home we found him running loose to the door to meet us and I asked Lele what was he doing upstairs. She said our Vet. Dr C. had stopped by to give him a shot and apparently unhooked him and Titan chased him out of the house, he leaving his leather coat and instrument bag in his wake. I never stopped teasing him about his way with my dog in the dogs’ house.
Well year two was coming to an end and I had passed my written boards and was awaiting taking my orals coming that November 1965. When all of a sudden, I received a shocking surprise, I was notified that I was to report for a physical exam for the draft into the Army for the war in Vietnam.
I had been deferred in medical school for having Tb and was now being reclassified as a physician. Having a family of 5 was not a grounds for a deferral. My life was now in chaos since I had 30 year mortgage, purchased a medical practice whose note was secured by a bank for 3 years and I would have to make plans if called up to notify patients of my leaving and lastly I had to study for the upcoming oral board exams.
On top of all this Evansville, where my father had practiced for practically 30 years was going through a recession and my parents were considering moving to Indianapolis, my Dad taking a position at the local VA hospital
Talk about being in a funk……sometimes shit comes at you from out of no where! And all you can do it try to duck as much of it as you can.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Indianapolis ( the early years )
Once I got through the long first call 4th of July, I settled into the every other night and weekend call……..which was a breeze compared to residency. The problem was covering 2 hospitals, though they were about 10 blocks away it was a pain being at one and having patients at the other either in labor or needing surgery. Also one was Catholic and did not allow sterilization so that was another hassle for patients.
I mentioned earlier that following progress in labor was routinely done by rectal exams performed by nurses and many a night I made a trip in for delivery that turned out to be hours from happening.I finally instructed the nurses to do vaginal exams on my patients before calling me. This turned into a big patient care debate in the OB section because there was a group of older Ob’s who had never trained in Gyn and these more recent methods of patient care made them resistive to change, especially from a young (Black) upstart like me. One of the things I noticed in my 40 years of practice was that I was put on most of the standing committees but never elected as an officer in the section. Nor do I remember Frank Lloyd being elected, though they made him director of the OB residency program. That was fortuitous since the program before him, at Methodist, was shaky at best and to his credit he turned it around.
When I got to Indianapolis Methodist and St Vincent’s hospitals had 3 year program taking 2 residents/year and the training was far from being very structured. There were several residents I became friendly with one was a guy named Tom who to this day we are the best of friends. We both liked music and for that reason I would take him to the jazz scene that was a happening in Indy.
Over time as a lark, we both decided to buy guitars and feed our musical calling. Many a night if he was off and I had a late delivery, we would drop into the “Hub Bub” or “ Cactus Club” to hear Wes or Mc Duff or Jimmy Smith and after closing the club go to an all nighter to breakfast with the musicians. One time Tom went to Mardi Gras and took his guitar and somebody stole it with all his money which was hidden in the guitar case. He called me and I wired him get home money and we became fast friends. Of all the white people I have known, I can say he was truly color blind. And I use to joke to him that if a race riot was going to go down ( this was 1963-64) I would give him warning enough to flee so I wouldn’t have to make a choice if it came to it being about him.
This is a guy who is a superb surgeon, intellectually brilliant but wild enough in his behavior to be a Harley biker and as the saying goes “he does not suffer fools easily.”
There were only 3 Black OB/GYN’s in town and Frank had a huge practice going on 9 years when I joined him. I thought that he taking me in as a partner in 3 years was a great opportunity since if we clicked personally our success was assured.
As far as my family was concerned, my wife had little adjustment to make and within 4 weeks of arriving delivered a beautiful little girl, Diane. I had gone out with a friend and purchased a pedigreed German Shepard “Titan” and so I had all I wanted ( $100, dog, Jack Daniel, and my ice maker fridge).
My good friend Cup came to visit from Michigan for Labor day ’63 and we drank (most of the Jack) and ate and rehashed how good life was turning out for us.
Frank had a private nurse Judy who was also office manager and personal everything to him and I was impressed with her smarts and organizational skills. This put me at some disadvantage since I was basically practicing alone on my “nickel” part of the “dime.”Business is a two way street and being the junior I was like caught in a situation that things were going on that I was not privy to.
Out of the blue, sometime in Oct or Nov of ’63, Frank told me he had been offered a full time position at Methodist Hospital as Director of Medical Research…….GREAT! but what about me? Than he said “I’ll sell you the practice(for a fair amount) with terms that you pay me monthly until the amount is paid off, roughly 3 years.” I had not planned to be in a solo OB practice because I knew the stress it had physically and mentally on you, St Louis had schooled me to that.
I was now caught in an untenable position having bought a house, had 3 kids, a dog, 2 cars and adjusting to a good salary and now being presented with the headache of owning and running a practice by myself which I wasn’t interested in being a business man. I just wanted to work and be paid fairly. I talked this over with my wife and decided that my choices were nil since I had not practiced long enough to save anything plus I would have to start over somewhere and that could be worse. So I accepted the offer and then immediately called over to St. Louis to see if any of the residents in training were interested in joining up with me. When they found out how busy I was and the volume I handled no one wanted to work that hard after leaving the “G’s.” So I was stuck with a huge OB practice 30-40 deliveries a month and an office full of Gyn patients. But the kicker was the Gyn surgery referrals would continue to flow to Frank, since he had established his base over the years and Methodist allowed him to continue to have a private Gyn practice.
(Basically I was fucked)……….what say you?
Nor was this the et tu Bruti moment. He negotiated with his bank to loan him the value of my note ( to get a lump sum) on the practice making me the holder of the loan to be paid monthly over the next 3 years ( he would pay the interest).
Was this fair, probably since the amount for the practice was the same, but was it right……I believe not, since I got a practice that had the prime portion (GYN) carved out which left me with the unbelievable work load of the OB volume with a small financial return and the big reimbursed Gyn cases gone and no prospects for a partner.
The other problem was the office was owned by him and a partner who was a dentist in the same building to who I would be paying rent. I saw that this was not the best deal for me but tried to make the best of what I had.
On top of this, I had to prepare to take my written exams in July of ’64 and if I passed take the orals in Nov ’66.
Only the young can survive this kind of pressure and I had no problem doing the work, what pissed me off was the compensation was not commensurate with the work, and the business side of practice was not something I cared for. If I have a fault and I have more than a few, I don’t deal with minutia well.
The nurse I hired to be what I hoped would be another Judy did a good job but I found her involving herself too much in my personal life. She later left after 10 years based on her feelings about my stand on a woman’s right to access abortion.
When I look back I really wasn’t happy in the way my practice was going. My referring physicians were still sending OB patient’s to me as they had to Frank but I decided to end that relationship since I felt the prenatal care was remiss.
Naturally, I alienated all of theses doctors. So I went about building my own kind of practice with a new patient base and oh so gradually I felt more in control. My aim was to stick it out until I passed my boards and then see what my options were on relocating since my friend in Atlanta was still bugging me to come there.
I mentioned earlier that following progress in labor was routinely done by rectal exams performed by nurses and many a night I made a trip in for delivery that turned out to be hours from happening.I finally instructed the nurses to do vaginal exams on my patients before calling me. This turned into a big patient care debate in the OB section because there was a group of older Ob’s who had never trained in Gyn and these more recent methods of patient care made them resistive to change, especially from a young (Black) upstart like me. One of the things I noticed in my 40 years of practice was that I was put on most of the standing committees but never elected as an officer in the section. Nor do I remember Frank Lloyd being elected, though they made him director of the OB residency program. That was fortuitous since the program before him, at Methodist, was shaky at best and to his credit he turned it around.
When I got to Indianapolis Methodist and St Vincent’s hospitals had 3 year program taking 2 residents/year and the training was far from being very structured. There were several residents I became friendly with one was a guy named Tom who to this day we are the best of friends. We both liked music and for that reason I would take him to the jazz scene that was a happening in Indy.
Over time as a lark, we both decided to buy guitars and feed our musical calling. Many a night if he was off and I had a late delivery, we would drop into the “Hub Bub” or “ Cactus Club” to hear Wes or Mc Duff or Jimmy Smith and after closing the club go to an all nighter to breakfast with the musicians. One time Tom went to Mardi Gras and took his guitar and somebody stole it with all his money which was hidden in the guitar case. He called me and I wired him get home money and we became fast friends. Of all the white people I have known, I can say he was truly color blind. And I use to joke to him that if a race riot was going to go down ( this was 1963-64) I would give him warning enough to flee so I wouldn’t have to make a choice if it came to it being about him.
This is a guy who is a superb surgeon, intellectually brilliant but wild enough in his behavior to be a Harley biker and as the saying goes “he does not suffer fools easily.”
There were only 3 Black OB/GYN’s in town and Frank had a huge practice going on 9 years when I joined him. I thought that he taking me in as a partner in 3 years was a great opportunity since if we clicked personally our success was assured.
As far as my family was concerned, my wife had little adjustment to make and within 4 weeks of arriving delivered a beautiful little girl, Diane. I had gone out with a friend and purchased a pedigreed German Shepard “Titan” and so I had all I wanted ( $100, dog, Jack Daniel, and my ice maker fridge).
My good friend Cup came to visit from Michigan for Labor day ’63 and we drank (most of the Jack) and ate and rehashed how good life was turning out for us.
Frank had a private nurse Judy who was also office manager and personal everything to him and I was impressed with her smarts and organizational skills. This put me at some disadvantage since I was basically practicing alone on my “nickel” part of the “dime.”Business is a two way street and being the junior I was like caught in a situation that things were going on that I was not privy to.
Out of the blue, sometime in Oct or Nov of ’63, Frank told me he had been offered a full time position at Methodist Hospital as Director of Medical Research…….GREAT! but what about me? Than he said “I’ll sell you the practice(for a fair amount) with terms that you pay me monthly until the amount is paid off, roughly 3 years.” I had not planned to be in a solo OB practice because I knew the stress it had physically and mentally on you, St Louis had schooled me to that.
I was now caught in an untenable position having bought a house, had 3 kids, a dog, 2 cars and adjusting to a good salary and now being presented with the headache of owning and running a practice by myself which I wasn’t interested in being a business man. I just wanted to work and be paid fairly. I talked this over with my wife and decided that my choices were nil since I had not practiced long enough to save anything plus I would have to start over somewhere and that could be worse. So I accepted the offer and then immediately called over to St. Louis to see if any of the residents in training were interested in joining up with me. When they found out how busy I was and the volume I handled no one wanted to work that hard after leaving the “G’s.” So I was stuck with a huge OB practice 30-40 deliveries a month and an office full of Gyn patients. But the kicker was the Gyn surgery referrals would continue to flow to Frank, since he had established his base over the years and Methodist allowed him to continue to have a private Gyn practice.
(Basically I was fucked)……….what say you?
Nor was this the et tu Bruti moment. He negotiated with his bank to loan him the value of my note ( to get a lump sum) on the practice making me the holder of the loan to be paid monthly over the next 3 years ( he would pay the interest).
Was this fair, probably since the amount for the practice was the same, but was it right……I believe not, since I got a practice that had the prime portion (GYN) carved out which left me with the unbelievable work load of the OB volume with a small financial return and the big reimbursed Gyn cases gone and no prospects for a partner.
The other problem was the office was owned by him and a partner who was a dentist in the same building to who I would be paying rent. I saw that this was not the best deal for me but tried to make the best of what I had.
On top of this, I had to prepare to take my written exams in July of ’64 and if I passed take the orals in Nov ’66.
Only the young can survive this kind of pressure and I had no problem doing the work, what pissed me off was the compensation was not commensurate with the work, and the business side of practice was not something I cared for. If I have a fault and I have more than a few, I don’t deal with minutia well.
The nurse I hired to be what I hoped would be another Judy did a good job but I found her involving herself too much in my personal life. She later left after 10 years based on her feelings about my stand on a woman’s right to access abortion.
When I look back I really wasn’t happy in the way my practice was going. My referring physicians were still sending OB patient’s to me as they had to Frank but I decided to end that relationship since I felt the prenatal care was remiss.
Naturally, I alienated all of theses doctors. So I went about building my own kind of practice with a new patient base and oh so gradually I felt more in control. My aim was to stick it out until I passed my boards and then see what my options were on relocating since my friend in Atlanta was still bugging me to come there.
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!
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!
Six Floor Poker Game
One of the perks of being a chief was that you had a team ( Indians as it were) below you who were out doing the work that you had once done. And now you had a pecking order from intern on up, showing their responsibility and capability. If you were a good chief your team didn’t want to call you unless it was absolutely imperative …..nothing short of the patient being on the brink of death!
You have to understand that you earned respect by your ability to handle the bad shit and your willingness to fall on your sword for your chief. There were some dudes that were “light as a feather” that we ragged on how “Mr. Moke” could have done their job. And then there were some who were “heavy” and kept you out of trouble. Their reward was they got to do more complicated procedures or surgeries. That’s how our residency worked at the “G’s”. “See one. Do one and Teach one”
With that being said there was a poker game that was legendary that went on in the chief dormitory room every payday weekend or until the money ran out. It was open to anyone but chiefs and 3rd years had priority sitting at the table. There were 6 or 7 regulars OJ, Joe, Cup, Lee, Howard, Mac and Me plus some others who would sit in. All of the regulars had credit and we used the term “bet on the finger” to indicate you were busted and playing on credit. You could not use this if you had any money. I think we had table stakes of probably $50, no limit on bets, with 3 raises. The usual games were 5 card stud, 7 card stud, a couple of wild card games and the favorite was Hi-Lo, since the pot could be split by two or claimed by one person. Some of the pots reached a couple hundred ( a lot in those day as now ) and that could generate a lot money for hanging on the turf.
When pay day Friday rolled around, we all cashed our checks and a group of wives would come to pick up the money. I would hold out the extra money I made for giving anesthesia or working the ER, usually $ 45 / $60 bucks to gamble with. We would all chip in $2 dollars and send an intern to buy a bottle of Beefeaters gin @$6 and a small bottle of vermouth. Than we would get a gallon jar from the cafeteria kitchen and fill it with ice and add 1 capful of vermouth and the whole bottle of gin.
We started the game around noon on Friday and drank martinis sending out for more gin when the jar got low playing until the money ran out, never the gin…… maybe by Saturday. All that time taking call from the poker game. Lord help the resident who called for help when you had a good hand and wanted you to come. He damn sure better need you. I’ve left the game and done a C-section or Ectopic and returned before the hand was over while someone played my cards. People would say you don’t look fast but when we look up you’re done…..I got that from Smiley, no wasted motion.
You may wonder about drinking and gambling in the hospital…….well we ran the hospital really and since none of us were ever unable to function we kind of set a standard for work hard, drink hard and play hard. When we all completed out training, periodically we would hook up at national meetings and rent a hotel room and resume playing our poker games.
The players were all either in surgery or Ob/ Gyn and the phone was constantly interrupting the game because of gunshot wounds or deliveries Etc and we were experts at managing and staffing cases over the phone.
None of this would be possible in today’s world of medicine but than there are no doctors like us left in medicine.
As I reflect on my experiences there is nothing in my training I would trade
with anyone in medicine in the present. We had camaraderie and covered each others asses and all of us ended up successful.
I think I’m still owed a few bucks from some of my fellow players and if I see them in the next life I’ll definitely ask for my money….Yo! Mac.
The Six Floor Poker Game was an institution that couldn’t sustain itself after we left because it was the people that played not the game that was what made it so special.
You have to understand that you earned respect by your ability to handle the bad shit and your willingness to fall on your sword for your chief. There were some dudes that were “light as a feather” that we ragged on how “Mr. Moke” could have done their job. And then there were some who were “heavy” and kept you out of trouble. Their reward was they got to do more complicated procedures or surgeries. That’s how our residency worked at the “G’s”. “See one. Do one and Teach one”
With that being said there was a poker game that was legendary that went on in the chief dormitory room every payday weekend or until the money ran out. It was open to anyone but chiefs and 3rd years had priority sitting at the table. There were 6 or 7 regulars OJ, Joe, Cup, Lee, Howard, Mac and Me plus some others who would sit in. All of the regulars had credit and we used the term “bet on the finger” to indicate you were busted and playing on credit. You could not use this if you had any money. I think we had table stakes of probably $50, no limit on bets, with 3 raises. The usual games were 5 card stud, 7 card stud, a couple of wild card games and the favorite was Hi-Lo, since the pot could be split by two or claimed by one person. Some of the pots reached a couple hundred ( a lot in those day as now ) and that could generate a lot money for hanging on the turf.
When pay day Friday rolled around, we all cashed our checks and a group of wives would come to pick up the money. I would hold out the extra money I made for giving anesthesia or working the ER, usually $ 45 / $60 bucks to gamble with. We would all chip in $2 dollars and send an intern to buy a bottle of Beefeaters gin @$6 and a small bottle of vermouth. Than we would get a gallon jar from the cafeteria kitchen and fill it with ice and add 1 capful of vermouth and the whole bottle of gin.
We started the game around noon on Friday and drank martinis sending out for more gin when the jar got low playing until the money ran out, never the gin…… maybe by Saturday. All that time taking call from the poker game. Lord help the resident who called for help when you had a good hand and wanted you to come. He damn sure better need you. I’ve left the game and done a C-section or Ectopic and returned before the hand was over while someone played my cards. People would say you don’t look fast but when we look up you’re done…..I got that from Smiley, no wasted motion.
You may wonder about drinking and gambling in the hospital…….well we ran the hospital really and since none of us were ever unable to function we kind of set a standard for work hard, drink hard and play hard. When we all completed out training, periodically we would hook up at national meetings and rent a hotel room and resume playing our poker games.
The players were all either in surgery or Ob/ Gyn and the phone was constantly interrupting the game because of gunshot wounds or deliveries Etc and we were experts at managing and staffing cases over the phone.
None of this would be possible in today’s world of medicine but than there are no doctors like us left in medicine.
As I reflect on my experiences there is nothing in my training I would trade
with anyone in medicine in the present. We had camaraderie and covered each others asses and all of us ended up successful.
I think I’m still owed a few bucks from some of my fellow players and if I see them in the next life I’ll definitely ask for my money….Yo! Mac.
The Six Floor Poker Game was an institution that couldn’t sustain itself after we left because it was the people that played not the game that was what made it so special.
Team of Joy
We had nick names for everything and everyone, one was for the surgery team that consisted of five members, from the chief down to the intern and it was christened the “Team of Joy.” for it’s excellence as well as it’s party loving approach to being residents. I was elected the only honorary member of the team because of their feeling that I was really one of them (a surgeon disguised as a gynecologist).
The team consisted of the chief Joe, a brilliant guy, who was one of the first Blacks to finish from the Univ.of Texas. The 3rd year was Cy a super smart guy from Ohio State. The 2nd year was Jack and he had gone to Howard “ the genius” and the 1st year was Cup my best buddy who was a Meharry grad. The other ancillary members were Haircut from Texas and Henri from Meharry. The team was not always literally working together but more a loosely knit band of brothers. Some leaving and others joining.
We shared money that we stashed in the call room which we called “the turf fund” that was used to go out on the town. This was emergency money we could draw on and replace as needed.
The team had what we called break out nights in which every one stayed out all night and no one was allowed to go home even if they wanted to, so everyone was protected.
One of the perks of being a member of the team was we played poker every pay day in a flop room from Friday afternoon until the money ran out and then we bet on credit what we called “on the finger”. Many a time we busted a new player of his cash before he knew we were playing on credit. Our favorite game was Hi-Lo, the pot getting up to a hundred or more at times.
When you were chief your junior resident dare not call you from the game unless the patient was at death’s door or there would be hell to pay. One time I had lost all my money and was trying to get back and my wife had guests for dinner and kept calling me to come home. When I finally did come home my mood was pretty foul and she asked me to apologize to the couple, who I really didn’t like. So I just stormed out and went back to the hospital, borrowed some money and went “on the turf”. There was always a certain tension between home and hospital.
One of the things that happened in St. Louis in the late 50’s was the opening of Gas Light Square, an area that was filled with restaurants, bars and coffee houses planned to revive the area. Since St. Louis closed at midnight and on Sunday the coffee houses became a big draw by featuring Jazz (Quartet Tre’ Bien) and bringing in groups like Wes Montgomery and Cannonball Adderly. I was a personal friend of the Montgomery brothers from my days in Indianapolis. When the group had a 2 week gig at a club in the Square Wes was housed in a motel but his brothers Buddy and Monk needed cheap lodging. So I told them I could slip them into the hospital as visiting interns for their stay.( remember I was president of house staff with some pull). I slipped them up to the flop rooms on the 6th floor and told them when they came in at night to come through the ER and catch the elevator at the end of the hall. I also slipped them into the dining room for breakfast. During the day they slept or played pool or ping pong in our rec room. No one was the wiser.
One night about 4 of my friends and I went to the show as their guest and since it was a coffee house we carried a bottle to spike our cups. During a particularly melodic ballad Wes was playing some ones foot knocked over the bottle of booze and for all to hear it rolled clinking down the concrete floor of this old warehouse to the bandstand. Wes, Bud and Monk knew the source of the noise and all of us cracked up as the management looked around for whence it had come; since they could lose their license.
For years afterwards, when ever I went to see them play we had a laugh about them being interns and that incident in the club.
One sad story about the team of joy involved Cy. He had wed a young lady who was a social butterfly and could not wait for him to complete his residency. He came home after a long call weekend and she was gone with his little girl. His boy Henri, who was a jokester suggested that he look in the basement behind the furnace in case she was hiding. Any way Cy became very depressed and one day Henri stopped by as was his habit to pick him up one morning about 5 am and found him unconscious in the bath tub burning with a fever. He immediately got him to the hospital his temp was 105 and he was in septic shock with an abscess in his buttock. We all rallied to save Cy. They took him into surgery where a huge chunk of his gluteus was cut out. Then the infectious disease specialist advised that he be put on a very toxic new antibiotic called vancomycin. This had to be given IV around the clock so all of us took shifts giving it. Lingering at death’s door, Henri called Cy wife and asked her would she come and bring his little daughter to see him and she replied “fuck him” and hung up.
Cy recovered from the infection but never really recovered from the mental abandonment.
This took him on a spiraling path of drinking and we all worried about him. One day his car wouldn’t start and asked me for a push. That push ended with not going home for two days, running with him from bar to bar until we ended over in East St. Louis at Henri’s uncles bar Pudgies. There we found Henri who invited us to come home with him and get something to eat. We were walking down the path between his house and the one next door and he peeped in the window to see what kind of mood his wife was in. There she sat grim face with a shot gun across her lap rocking back and forth waiting on him. Naturally, we all promptly departed back to the safety of the “G’s” to sleep it off and allow the wives to cool off. There was one good thing about being a resident and that was you always had a place to sleep and eat.
Cy survived as did the “Team of Joy” to go on to be good friends to this day and when we all meet up to relive those days long past. It is our ritual that each night’s dinner is on one of the team who get to choose and pay for the meal.
The team consisted of the chief Joe, a brilliant guy, who was one of the first Blacks to finish from the Univ.of Texas. The 3rd year was Cy a super smart guy from Ohio State. The 2nd year was Jack and he had gone to Howard “ the genius” and the 1st year was Cup my best buddy who was a Meharry grad. The other ancillary members were Haircut from Texas and Henri from Meharry. The team was not always literally working together but more a loosely knit band of brothers. Some leaving and others joining.
We shared money that we stashed in the call room which we called “the turf fund” that was used to go out on the town. This was emergency money we could draw on and replace as needed.
The team had what we called break out nights in which every one stayed out all night and no one was allowed to go home even if they wanted to, so everyone was protected.
One of the perks of being a member of the team was we played poker every pay day in a flop room from Friday afternoon until the money ran out and then we bet on credit what we called “on the finger”. Many a time we busted a new player of his cash before he knew we were playing on credit. Our favorite game was Hi-Lo, the pot getting up to a hundred or more at times.
When you were chief your junior resident dare not call you from the game unless the patient was at death’s door or there would be hell to pay. One time I had lost all my money and was trying to get back and my wife had guests for dinner and kept calling me to come home. When I finally did come home my mood was pretty foul and she asked me to apologize to the couple, who I really didn’t like. So I just stormed out and went back to the hospital, borrowed some money and went “on the turf”. There was always a certain tension between home and hospital.
One of the things that happened in St. Louis in the late 50’s was the opening of Gas Light Square, an area that was filled with restaurants, bars and coffee houses planned to revive the area. Since St. Louis closed at midnight and on Sunday the coffee houses became a big draw by featuring Jazz (Quartet Tre’ Bien) and bringing in groups like Wes Montgomery and Cannonball Adderly. I was a personal friend of the Montgomery brothers from my days in Indianapolis. When the group had a 2 week gig at a club in the Square Wes was housed in a motel but his brothers Buddy and Monk needed cheap lodging. So I told them I could slip them into the hospital as visiting interns for their stay.( remember I was president of house staff with some pull). I slipped them up to the flop rooms on the 6th floor and told them when they came in at night to come through the ER and catch the elevator at the end of the hall. I also slipped them into the dining room for breakfast. During the day they slept or played pool or ping pong in our rec room. No one was the wiser.
One night about 4 of my friends and I went to the show as their guest and since it was a coffee house we carried a bottle to spike our cups. During a particularly melodic ballad Wes was playing some ones foot knocked over the bottle of booze and for all to hear it rolled clinking down the concrete floor of this old warehouse to the bandstand. Wes, Bud and Monk knew the source of the noise and all of us cracked up as the management looked around for whence it had come; since they could lose their license.
For years afterwards, when ever I went to see them play we had a laugh about them being interns and that incident in the club.
One sad story about the team of joy involved Cy. He had wed a young lady who was a social butterfly and could not wait for him to complete his residency. He came home after a long call weekend and she was gone with his little girl. His boy Henri, who was a jokester suggested that he look in the basement behind the furnace in case she was hiding. Any way Cy became very depressed and one day Henri stopped by as was his habit to pick him up one morning about 5 am and found him unconscious in the bath tub burning with a fever. He immediately got him to the hospital his temp was 105 and he was in septic shock with an abscess in his buttock. We all rallied to save Cy. They took him into surgery where a huge chunk of his gluteus was cut out. Then the infectious disease specialist advised that he be put on a very toxic new antibiotic called vancomycin. This had to be given IV around the clock so all of us took shifts giving it. Lingering at death’s door, Henri called Cy wife and asked her would she come and bring his little daughter to see him and she replied “fuck him” and hung up.
Cy recovered from the infection but never really recovered from the mental abandonment.
This took him on a spiraling path of drinking and we all worried about him. One day his car wouldn’t start and asked me for a push. That push ended with not going home for two days, running with him from bar to bar until we ended over in East St. Louis at Henri’s uncles bar Pudgies. There we found Henri who invited us to come home with him and get something to eat. We were walking down the path between his house and the one next door and he peeped in the window to see what kind of mood his wife was in. There she sat grim face with a shot gun across her lap rocking back and forth waiting on him. Naturally, we all promptly departed back to the safety of the “G’s” to sleep it off and allow the wives to cool off. There was one good thing about being a resident and that was you always had a place to sleep and eat.
Cy survived as did the “Team of Joy” to go on to be good friends to this day and when we all meet up to relive those days long past. It is our ritual that each night’s dinner is on one of the team who get to choose and pay for the meal.
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