We moved into our new house and office in 1970 and about that same time
things started to go bad professionally and personally.
One of the problems that physicians encounter is delayed payment from third party payers ( insurance companies). This greatly affects cash flow and with salaries, expenses and taxes being on going it becomes impossible to stay current with debt. I soon was behind in payments on loans and than taxes which provoked an IRS audit. From there things went downhill since even after getting a payment agreement with them, I defaulted the terms.
With this going on it began to affect my marriage and led to a separation and later divorce.
Now I was burdened with maintaining living space for myself, the new house and the new office. My architect partners in the office were having a down turn in business which eventually led to foreclosure on the building. So in the midst of all this, I had to move to a new office.
An opportunity arose that fortuitously got me thru some of the financial hardships. The Supreme Court legalized abortions in January 1973 and I established the first abortion clinic in Indiana in July 1973. This was something that I had felt was necessary since during my residency I saw my share of horribly botched abortions some leading to death and I had no philosophical or religious reluctance to do them.
The clinic was a way for me to give up OB and concentrate on my Gyn office and surgical practice.
I also remarried and we had a new baby girl, Becky who brought a new dimension to my life. Things were looking up! We moved into a town house and were soon joined by my stepson Lenny.
To go back in time a little ways, my father and mother and brother had lived in Evansville for all these years and Evansville was going through a recession that had really crimped my Dad’s practice. He took a job with the VA hospital and they moved to Indianapolis 1965. My favorite Aunt Madeline had retired and moved from DC to join my parents. They had decided to build a new house about the time I moved out of mine. So both of our lives appeared to be on the upswing. As I have learned, life is a series of peaks and valleys and I was about to go through the deepest valley imaginable.
On the morning of August 7, 1975, I was at the hospital and my secretary said my Aunt wanted me to call her right a way. When I called she said she had called my wife Rena to see if she had talked to my mother that morning because my mother was not answering the phone and they talked daily at around 10AM, so she went out to the garage of the apartment building where they lived to see if my Dad’s car was gone, thinking they had gone on a errand. She said the car was in its parking space. I told her to get someone in management to open the apartment and I would be right over. Driving over I had this premonition that something bad had happened. My thoughts were that both of them wouldn’t have had some dire medical problem at the same time so what could have happened.
When I pulled up in front of the apartment building my apprehensions were worsened because there were several police cars at the curb with flashing lights. They lived on the first floor in a garden apartment and as I ran down the hall I saw my aunt slumped against the wall crying and as I approached she said “ Burley, Gwen and Earle are dead. ” At that moment I was paralyzed. A police officer stopped me and said I couldn’t go in the apartment until the crime lab comes. So my aunt and I went to sit in the neighbor’s apartment next door waiting for the investigators to finish. She was trying to tell me what she found when she went in with the maintenance man. As I recall I arrived at about 11AM and it wasn’t until around 2PM that they asked me to come make an identification. I had called my wife and brother who was in school in Bloomington. And now I sat trying to comfort my aunt about something I didn’t even know what.
A detective came and got me and said they had been brutally murdered and was I able to go in and identify them. I indicated that I could and as I climbed the stairs to the 2nd floor hallway I saw a hand sticking through the banister railing and steady myself to go on up. When I looked down the hall the carpet was soaked and the wall splattered with blood and there they lay in their night clothes stabbed innumerable times. The details are imprinted in my brain and I don’t want to describe the horrible picture I will carry to the day I die. I told the detective that they were my parents and staggered back to join my aunt and await my brothers arrival from Bloomington.
I had to get home to my wife and baby and I told my aunt she had to come with me so pack some things and we would go as soon as the police allowed us to. Because I had friends on the police force the murder was made a priority and by the time I arrived home many of my friends were calling or at the house.
I remember having this overwhelming sadness and wanting to cry but couldn’t and I was standing on my patio with one of my best friends and he said let it out and I wept in his grasp like I had never done before. My mother and father had reached a place in their lives where they were getting ready to enjoy the fruits of their labor……two sons raised and seven grandchildren between us; me with six children and Bruce with one and now their lives extinqished by a later to be an unsolved murder.
The stress of all this was not immediately evident and as I tried to take charge of their burial, cooperate with the police investigation and care for my aunt, I noticed that I was having anxiety attacks. At this time in my life I was a heavy smoker so between the cigarettes and the alcohol I was drinking to cool out, I noticed I would have these occasions of rapid heartbeat. This had happened before when I drank too much and I ignored it……too much to do and arrange and I was the only one that could physically and financially handle it all. My aunt was a basket case and my wife was recovering from recent surgery. The funeral was planned for August 11th which was a Monday and because of their disfigurement it was to be a closed casket service.
The morning of the funeral as I was getting dressed, I started feeling weak and dizzy and decided to lay down for a minute in the guest bedroom not wanting to disturb my wife. I asked a doctor friend to take my pulse and it was over 240/min. On the morning of my parents funeral they rushed me to the hospital with a cardiac arrhythmia, me thinking, is this how all this ends.
Until I wrote these words I haven’t recounted any of this to anyone or even gone over it in my mind. I am not a religious person so I cursed no god but I have never felt after their brutal deaths that life had much further meaning to me. I had escaped early death with tuberculosis and now my parents suffer death by murder so what ever becomes of me now is welcomed.
Whatever happens to me I look at as being on borrowed time from that day in August 1975. Much of me died along with them.
I did promise my aunt that as a kind of memorial to them I would finish the dream house they were so eager to build. That is the story that follows.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Building two houses and an office
If you have always wanted to build your own house as I did, I can guarantee from my experience of building 2 houses and an office I have run into every snafu that one could possibly encounter in the process.
Every project that I am about to describe had it’s own unique situation.
All the projects start out with a budget that no matter how prudent one wants to be rapidly multiplies like adding yeast to dough.
The house I decided to build was really unique and since it was designed by a friend who was an architect, he also agreed to supervise the construction since we had engaged a contractor who was doing the job on a material cost plus basis. That entailed me paying all the cost of material at his wholesale discount and he added a percentage for his services as general contractor. In that way, I would save substantially by being able to buy material at his discount. What sounded very good, turned out to be a bad deal I later was to learn.
I had secured a building loan from the bank that was paid out in disbursements, one half to frame out the project, one fourth to do finish work and the balance on their final inspection. The bank officer who handled my loan dispersed the funds as each of these marks was reached.
Once the footings were dug and poured every Thursday the contractor would come by to get a draw for labor, the architect would check the work and give me an ok to pay him. On a couple of occasion his laborers told me they weren’t being paid. Things were going well and it was time to order framing lumber which I paid the lumber yard directly. Much later I found out from one of his workers that the contractor was ripping me off on some of the lumber and using it to build another project on my dime. As the job progressed more shady stuff evolved. I found that the reason he was able to price the job so reasonable was he was using scab labor and stealing my stuff.
One time I was watching them put in the ceiling which was tongue and groove planks that had to be secured with special rod nails that were driven in with 8 pound hammers that cost 80 dollars each. As I watched, a worker carelessly dropped one in the mud never to be found again.
Next came the dealing with inexperienced subcontractors on a job this big and detailed. I had to have 600 amp electrical service because I had zone heating and cooling plus a swimming pool heater. all had to be run in conduits below ground. The contractor had never wired a house with more that 200 amp service, it so happened his son was working as a helper and told me.
Than the pool deck was to be smooth stones floated in concrete and it took 3 tear outs and pours ( that’s 3 concrete trucks loads @ $700/load ) to get it right because the concrete contractor had never poured and floated stone. I found out later that Portland Cement Co. had a special consulting service to advise how to do custom effect jobs like I had.
It goes on! The contractor told me that the area where I was building had a sanitary sewer system and hooked into the line it turned out it was a storm sewer, and after 2 days in the house sewage backed up into all the toilets and we found out we had to have a septic system dug in the front yard; all this costing me more money. Two final things happened that almost made me kill him. One was the foyer which was to be 3 sq foot marble slabs laid on mud ( a concrete base). It was so heavy I had to have the floor reinforced to support the load. Lastly the roof was to be redwood shake shingles, but the pitch was so steep that no one locally would do the job. Luckily some hillbillies were passing thru town and needed work and damn if they didn’t do a perfect job. They were all over the roof like band of monkeys. When the house was finally finished the cost had doubled the projected estimate. Even so it turned out to be a really a great house and I know that my kids loved it. Eventually I lost it to divorce and taxes but it was some house with it’s conversation pit for adults and areas for kids and guests. I don’t for a minute regret building it. I had two more building projects that brought me their share of grief and disappointment………. READ ON!
The next project was an office building that was (a co-adventure) with my friend the architect. He and his partner had gotten a huge job to design twin high rise low income housing units that necessitated their firm expanding and I was looking to move to another office location. So we decided to invest in building shared offices. I would occupy the 1st floor and they would have the basement and 2nd floor. The building was very contemporary having 16 panes of golden glass/ side surrounding a mansard type 2nd floor.
My space on the 1st floor would have no windows for patient privacy (OB/GYN’s). The basement having the architect’s firms draftsmen and utilities, the floors connected by an elevator. It was in a prime location and the bank was eager to lend us money in 1970.
This time we put out bids on the job and hired a general contractor to supervise the construction. He was good, but unfortunately he got hit in the ear by a nail on the job and contracted meningitis and died leaving us to run over on cost and delayed completion; this forced us later to lose business and ultimately lose the building to foreclosure. The plus was that the building was so avant gard that people drove by just to see it; but occasionally vandals shot out the window panels that cost $600 to replace. Another bitter lesson learned!
The last project was completing a house that my parents had started before their untimely death. Because the project was 3/4th complete and to sell at that stage would have been a big financial loss. I decided to complete the house which was agreeable with my wife since the design was something both of us could accept. The architect was my same friend but the contractor was the owner of the housing addition and builder. It turned out that he was inept and his sub-contractors equally so, the back patio had to be re-poured because the water drained into the house not away from it. And the drive way had to have a retaining wall built so we could access to the garage….more cost over-run There were so many faults in construction I had to legally dismiss him from the job and hire someone to correct the botched work. More time and more money. And to this day I can still see evidence of the workmanship that was so poorly done I get sick whenever I pass the house that I long since sold. As a house it was a great place for my daughter Becky to grow up in but the fact that it had a pall of sadness over it was always depressing to me, knowing that this was a dream house of my tragically deceased parents.
I know that I will never build another house, but the experience I have had in doing so are priceless and the journey of learning made the trip worth it.
What is money for unless we can use it to accomplish some dreams?
Every project that I am about to describe had it’s own unique situation.
All the projects start out with a budget that no matter how prudent one wants to be rapidly multiplies like adding yeast to dough.
The house I decided to build was really unique and since it was designed by a friend who was an architect, he also agreed to supervise the construction since we had engaged a contractor who was doing the job on a material cost plus basis. That entailed me paying all the cost of material at his wholesale discount and he added a percentage for his services as general contractor. In that way, I would save substantially by being able to buy material at his discount. What sounded very good, turned out to be a bad deal I later was to learn.
I had secured a building loan from the bank that was paid out in disbursements, one half to frame out the project, one fourth to do finish work and the balance on their final inspection. The bank officer who handled my loan dispersed the funds as each of these marks was reached.
Once the footings were dug and poured every Thursday the contractor would come by to get a draw for labor, the architect would check the work and give me an ok to pay him. On a couple of occasion his laborers told me they weren’t being paid. Things were going well and it was time to order framing lumber which I paid the lumber yard directly. Much later I found out from one of his workers that the contractor was ripping me off on some of the lumber and using it to build another project on my dime. As the job progressed more shady stuff evolved. I found that the reason he was able to price the job so reasonable was he was using scab labor and stealing my stuff.
One time I was watching them put in the ceiling which was tongue and groove planks that had to be secured with special rod nails that were driven in with 8 pound hammers that cost 80 dollars each. As I watched, a worker carelessly dropped one in the mud never to be found again.
Next came the dealing with inexperienced subcontractors on a job this big and detailed. I had to have 600 amp electrical service because I had zone heating and cooling plus a swimming pool heater. all had to be run in conduits below ground. The contractor had never wired a house with more that 200 amp service, it so happened his son was working as a helper and told me.
Than the pool deck was to be smooth stones floated in concrete and it took 3 tear outs and pours ( that’s 3 concrete trucks loads @ $700/load ) to get it right because the concrete contractor had never poured and floated stone. I found out later that Portland Cement Co. had a special consulting service to advise how to do custom effect jobs like I had.
It goes on! The contractor told me that the area where I was building had a sanitary sewer system and hooked into the line it turned out it was a storm sewer, and after 2 days in the house sewage backed up into all the toilets and we found out we had to have a septic system dug in the front yard; all this costing me more money. Two final things happened that almost made me kill him. One was the foyer which was to be 3 sq foot marble slabs laid on mud ( a concrete base). It was so heavy I had to have the floor reinforced to support the load. Lastly the roof was to be redwood shake shingles, but the pitch was so steep that no one locally would do the job. Luckily some hillbillies were passing thru town and needed work and damn if they didn’t do a perfect job. They were all over the roof like band of monkeys. When the house was finally finished the cost had doubled the projected estimate. Even so it turned out to be a really a great house and I know that my kids loved it. Eventually I lost it to divorce and taxes but it was some house with it’s conversation pit for adults and areas for kids and guests. I don’t for a minute regret building it. I had two more building projects that brought me their share of grief and disappointment………. READ ON!
The next project was an office building that was (a co-adventure) with my friend the architect. He and his partner had gotten a huge job to design twin high rise low income housing units that necessitated their firm expanding and I was looking to move to another office location. So we decided to invest in building shared offices. I would occupy the 1st floor and they would have the basement and 2nd floor. The building was very contemporary having 16 panes of golden glass/ side surrounding a mansard type 2nd floor.
My space on the 1st floor would have no windows for patient privacy (OB/GYN’s). The basement having the architect’s firms draftsmen and utilities, the floors connected by an elevator. It was in a prime location and the bank was eager to lend us money in 1970.
This time we put out bids on the job and hired a general contractor to supervise the construction. He was good, but unfortunately he got hit in the ear by a nail on the job and contracted meningitis and died leaving us to run over on cost and delayed completion; this forced us later to lose business and ultimately lose the building to foreclosure. The plus was that the building was so avant gard that people drove by just to see it; but occasionally vandals shot out the window panels that cost $600 to replace. Another bitter lesson learned!
The last project was completing a house that my parents had started before their untimely death. Because the project was 3/4th complete and to sell at that stage would have been a big financial loss. I decided to complete the house which was agreeable with my wife since the design was something both of us could accept. The architect was my same friend but the contractor was the owner of the housing addition and builder. It turned out that he was inept and his sub-contractors equally so, the back patio had to be re-poured because the water drained into the house not away from it. And the drive way had to have a retaining wall built so we could access to the garage….more cost over-run There were so many faults in construction I had to legally dismiss him from the job and hire someone to correct the botched work. More time and more money. And to this day I can still see evidence of the workmanship that was so poorly done I get sick whenever I pass the house that I long since sold. As a house it was a great place for my daughter Becky to grow up in but the fact that it had a pall of sadness over it was always depressing to me, knowing that this was a dream house of my tragically deceased parents.
I know that I will never build another house, but the experience I have had in doing so are priceless and the journey of learning made the trip worth it.
What is money for unless we can use it to accomplish some dreams?
Kids and Dogs
It seems that I had my share of kids and with them came a steady assortment of dogs and events which intertwined into a litany of tales.
Robbie my oldest proceeded to lose his glasses at 4 y/o on a trip to the St. Louis Zoo he had had them only a week, I was only making $70mo and the glasses cost $50. When we lived in our first house he was playing in the basement and was told not to run; he immediately bounced off the steel support post splitting his head open and required a trip to the ER for sutures. Kenny and Robbie were playing with Titan our German Shepard, with their friend. Titan grabbed him by the arm and tore a plug out trying to keep them from running from him. When we were building the new house it was muddy and we chained Titan on the pool deck, one of the workers teased Titan and underestimated the length of the chain, this ended in he being bitten. I had to get rid of my favorite dog because of this.
The house I had designed had a special area for kids, the boys had a room Kenny and Timmy in trundle beds and Robbie had a loft space. One night they had a sleep over and I went upstairs to see why I kept hearing a thump noise that shook the house, to find them taking turns jumping from the loft trying to touch a huge globe light suspended from their ceiling and bouncing off the beds. Ask them what happened to them?
Another time I came home late from a delivery and they were all sleep, I went to the refrigerator to drink one of my DO NOT TOUCH dad’s Nehi lemon soda. to find it all gone. I yelled for everyone to come downstairs NOW! Diane, Michelle and Timmy were small and Michelle they called “Niagara Falls” because she cried at a raised voice. Robbie and Kenny said Michelle drank it Dad. I said Michelle reach in the refrigerator and she couldn’t touch the shelf so I sent the little ones back to bed, and said you boys asses are mine and proceeded to dispense a whipping they still remember.
But we had a West Highland White Terrier named “Popcorn” who the kids loved. While chasing them onto the school bus at the end of our driveway, the bus ran over him as it pulled away, to the horror of all the kids on the bus. I remember to this day driving down the drive way trying to signal the driver to pull off with all these little faces staring out at smooshed “Popcorn” on the pavement. I had to go back and scrape him up with a snow shovel before going to work. Then we had “Popcorn II” who came to live with me in my apartment and bit the maintenance man so I had to get rid of him. Next we had “Tinkerbell” who I bought for my new wife and she ended up giving her to her 2nd son since he didn’t want to live with us.
Then we moved to a house and got a Norwegian Elkhound “ Weegie” who would run away in a minute. I paid so many rewards for his return that I finally took his collar off and said if he was so dumb he can’t find his way home good riddance. This was right after he jumped up and pulled off some short ribs of beef I had just grilled. After that I got “Honey” who was a favorite of my wife and who loved to roam at night, but he tangled with a raccoon and loss big time. Then we got a little Shih Tzu we called “Sushi”, she was 8 weeks and went for her shots, my vet being the one that Titan had run out of the house years ago. This was Becky’s dog and that night the dog was kind of feverish from the shots and Becky asked “ Daddy is my dog going to die” I replied “ No way baby, dogs feel bad after getting shots” but she decided to sleep on the floor in her sleeping bag with him in our room. During the night, I had my hand kind of slung over the bed and heard this whimpering and the puppy was licking my hand, In the morning, I got up to get ready for work and didn’t see her. So I searched around the apartment we were living in. Becky was sound asleep in her sleeping bag. So I looked everywhere during the search I thought I saw her under Becky’s bed but decided it was a teddy bear and got a broom to kind of prod it out, until I saw it was “Sushi” cold, stiff and dead.
When my Becky and my wife saw her they went berserk, crying and saying the doctor had killed their puppy by over dosing the shots. I was about to dispose of her down the trash chute when they called the vet’s emergency phone number. Now it was chaos and he said bring him to the office on my way to work. So I put him in a big zip lock bag and dropped him off to get an autopsy. They have never forgotten this nor forgiven me for taking him to this vet. We got a replacement for “Sushi” and as fate would have it, she slipped out on a frigid winter night and she got loss in a snow drift and froze to death. Between my kids mischiefs and dogs death’s, I have had my run of bad luck.
My present dog is Alvin who was named after the one of the chipmunks and is now 10 years old and holding……..good for him and me and us!
Robbie my oldest proceeded to lose his glasses at 4 y/o on a trip to the St. Louis Zoo he had had them only a week, I was only making $70mo and the glasses cost $50. When we lived in our first house he was playing in the basement and was told not to run; he immediately bounced off the steel support post splitting his head open and required a trip to the ER for sutures. Kenny and Robbie were playing with Titan our German Shepard, with their friend. Titan grabbed him by the arm and tore a plug out trying to keep them from running from him. When we were building the new house it was muddy and we chained Titan on the pool deck, one of the workers teased Titan and underestimated the length of the chain, this ended in he being bitten. I had to get rid of my favorite dog because of this.
The house I had designed had a special area for kids, the boys had a room Kenny and Timmy in trundle beds and Robbie had a loft space. One night they had a sleep over and I went upstairs to see why I kept hearing a thump noise that shook the house, to find them taking turns jumping from the loft trying to touch a huge globe light suspended from their ceiling and bouncing off the beds. Ask them what happened to them?
Another time I came home late from a delivery and they were all sleep, I went to the refrigerator to drink one of my DO NOT TOUCH dad’s Nehi lemon soda. to find it all gone. I yelled for everyone to come downstairs NOW! Diane, Michelle and Timmy were small and Michelle they called “Niagara Falls” because she cried at a raised voice. Robbie and Kenny said Michelle drank it Dad. I said Michelle reach in the refrigerator and she couldn’t touch the shelf so I sent the little ones back to bed, and said you boys asses are mine and proceeded to dispense a whipping they still remember.
But we had a West Highland White Terrier named “Popcorn” who the kids loved. While chasing them onto the school bus at the end of our driveway, the bus ran over him as it pulled away, to the horror of all the kids on the bus. I remember to this day driving down the drive way trying to signal the driver to pull off with all these little faces staring out at smooshed “Popcorn” on the pavement. I had to go back and scrape him up with a snow shovel before going to work. Then we had “Popcorn II” who came to live with me in my apartment and bit the maintenance man so I had to get rid of him. Next we had “Tinkerbell” who I bought for my new wife and she ended up giving her to her 2nd son since he didn’t want to live with us.
Then we moved to a house and got a Norwegian Elkhound “ Weegie” who would run away in a minute. I paid so many rewards for his return that I finally took his collar off and said if he was so dumb he can’t find his way home good riddance. This was right after he jumped up and pulled off some short ribs of beef I had just grilled. After that I got “Honey” who was a favorite of my wife and who loved to roam at night, but he tangled with a raccoon and loss big time. Then we got a little Shih Tzu we called “Sushi”, she was 8 weeks and went for her shots, my vet being the one that Titan had run out of the house years ago. This was Becky’s dog and that night the dog was kind of feverish from the shots and Becky asked “ Daddy is my dog going to die” I replied “ No way baby, dogs feel bad after getting shots” but she decided to sleep on the floor in her sleeping bag with him in our room. During the night, I had my hand kind of slung over the bed and heard this whimpering and the puppy was licking my hand, In the morning, I got up to get ready for work and didn’t see her. So I searched around the apartment we were living in. Becky was sound asleep in her sleeping bag. So I looked everywhere during the search I thought I saw her under Becky’s bed but decided it was a teddy bear and got a broom to kind of prod it out, until I saw it was “Sushi” cold, stiff and dead.
When my Becky and my wife saw her they went berserk, crying and saying the doctor had killed their puppy by over dosing the shots. I was about to dispose of her down the trash chute when they called the vet’s emergency phone number. Now it was chaos and he said bring him to the office on my way to work. So I put him in a big zip lock bag and dropped him off to get an autopsy. They have never forgotten this nor forgiven me for taking him to this vet. We got a replacement for “Sushi” and as fate would have it, she slipped out on a frigid winter night and she got loss in a snow drift and froze to death. Between my kids mischiefs and dogs death’s, I have had my run of bad luck.
My present dog is Alvin who was named after the one of the chipmunks and is now 10 years old and holding……..good for him and me and us!
Housing in Indianapolis
After the relief of my passing my boards and draft cancellation, I was in pretty good spirits and looking forward to a fairly normal life of work and family. My wife and I started to look around for a larger house now having 5 children. There were several new sub-divisions being built that were attractive to us. I had always wanted to build a house like my parents had and harbored a secret longing to be an architect, so for years I had clipped and sketched plans for a house of my dreams. At this stage I felt that I needed to put that dream on hold and just buy a larger house.
There were some houses located in a very nice addition and we went to check them out after we decided that one would fit our needs we made an offer to buy and the builder informed us that he didn’t have any more for sale. I was suspicious and asked my friend Tom, who was white, to inquire and indeed he was told there were houses available. This was in 1967 and I decided to file a suit against the developer for housing discrimination, so I called the director of the local Federal Equal Housing Office who I knew. Her response was you have a case but when it’s over you will have wasted a lot of time and money and end up with no house. So as much as I hated to, I didn’t pursue it.
As fate would have it, I got a settlement from an auto accident in St. Louis occurring some years before which provided me with money to buy a lot and that gave me the opportunity to plan to build a house. Luckily, I had a close friendship with a young architect who had recently formed a firm and over the next 3 years we worked on my dream house. You can buy a house that has already been built and you can pick through a builders plans and build what you see or you can hire an architect and pour over your ideas and his designs and build what is basically yours. In a house that you pick out, you are given few choices on what goes into the construction, but in the house you build everything from brick to door knobs flooring to windows is chosen by you and based on your desires and pocketbook. The land I had purchased was an acre on a very busy boulevard and I had him design this special house with no windows fronting the street, instead everything was open to the back with an enclosed swimming pool and the house was so unique that many thought it resembled a church.
It had an area for adults and one for the children and another for guests. If I do say so, it was really a house I loved and I had some good times there, but some dark days lay ahead.
Unfortunately I had undertaken a lot on my plate, I needed to move my office since I was not interested in buying the building the practice was in.
So my friend the architect and I agreed to partner on a building, housing both our offices. During the construction of the building the general contractor developed meningitis and died delaying occupancy which led to my not having an office for 6 months. This necessitated my working out of rented space at the hospital and caused me to lose significant income. When I finally was able to occupy the space I had to borrow money to catch up on my mounting debts. All this happened during the passage of Medicare and their insurance carrier Blue Cross-Blue Shield was always 3-4 months delinquent in reimbursing services. I was being squeezed by debt and slow collections which eventually led to the building partnership dissolving because the architects were also overextended. We loss the building in a foreclosure and I was forced to sell my house because of tax issues. Also on a personal note, I was separating from my wife and a divorce was in the offing so I had to develop a plan to regroup.
One of the hardest things to happen was leaving the kids, but the solitude and peace I was able to get by moving out to a studio apartment was enough to energize me and I reveled in it. I felt some how that I could regain some control of my life even though I was dealing with a contentious divorce.
I had engaged a tax lawyer and his recommendation, which now I would have never followed, was concede to the IRS. That strategy kept me hostage to them for the next 25 years.
With all my financial problems, I decided to give up Obstetrics in my practice because I was having difficulty enjoying that part of my work and the patients were starting to piss me off. The recent trend toward catering to the patients request for care had me getting angry at the patient, so I felt they deserved a doctor that favored delivery care plans, which I did not. So I decided to do strictly office Gynecology and GYN surgery.
If I could practice Obstetrics in a way I thought was practical, I probably would not have given it up. It was my belief that the normal OB should be taken care of by Nurses ( midwives or nurse practioners) and complicated cases by the Obstetrician. In recent years, this paradigm has come to pass.
So like so many practical things in my life, I was ahead of the curve.
Here is a sample of a day in my practicing without the office that was being built. The nurse was hooked into the answering service which received the calls from patients as before; emergencies, deliveries and surgeries were done in the hospital. Office visits were done in rented space in the hospital clinic which I paid a nominal fee to use. I stayed in touch by pager from wherever I was. This arrangement lasted about 6 months and I managed to preserve my practice. I moved into the house and office in 1970 and ended up loosing both in 1973.
During this time, I met a young woman who I later married that was a great help in my gaining my equilibrium. She had recently divorced and it seemed that our lives just kind of came together at the right time. I was trying to take a path that would bring some meaning and happiness to my life.
I was in a loosely structured men’s club that really only did social things, like go to big sporting events and on a trip to a Chicago Bear game, I invited her to the city. Over that weekend, I found I could relate to her and she to me what we wanted in a relationship and from there we began what became a journey that has not always been happy but has been to say the least an interesting love affair. It did produce my 6th child Rebecca, who I named after the heroine in the novel “Tom Sawyer” a favorite of mine. When all is said and done Rebecca has turned out to be the most perceptive and supportive of my children maybe because she has always lived with me. I have no doubt that all my other children love me she and I have a special bond.
There were some houses located in a very nice addition and we went to check them out after we decided that one would fit our needs we made an offer to buy and the builder informed us that he didn’t have any more for sale. I was suspicious and asked my friend Tom, who was white, to inquire and indeed he was told there were houses available. This was in 1967 and I decided to file a suit against the developer for housing discrimination, so I called the director of the local Federal Equal Housing Office who I knew. Her response was you have a case but when it’s over you will have wasted a lot of time and money and end up with no house. So as much as I hated to, I didn’t pursue it.
As fate would have it, I got a settlement from an auto accident in St. Louis occurring some years before which provided me with money to buy a lot and that gave me the opportunity to plan to build a house. Luckily, I had a close friendship with a young architect who had recently formed a firm and over the next 3 years we worked on my dream house. You can buy a house that has already been built and you can pick through a builders plans and build what you see or you can hire an architect and pour over your ideas and his designs and build what is basically yours. In a house that you pick out, you are given few choices on what goes into the construction, but in the house you build everything from brick to door knobs flooring to windows is chosen by you and based on your desires and pocketbook. The land I had purchased was an acre on a very busy boulevard and I had him design this special house with no windows fronting the street, instead everything was open to the back with an enclosed swimming pool and the house was so unique that many thought it resembled a church.
It had an area for adults and one for the children and another for guests. If I do say so, it was really a house I loved and I had some good times there, but some dark days lay ahead.
Unfortunately I had undertaken a lot on my plate, I needed to move my office since I was not interested in buying the building the practice was in.
So my friend the architect and I agreed to partner on a building, housing both our offices. During the construction of the building the general contractor developed meningitis and died delaying occupancy which led to my not having an office for 6 months. This necessitated my working out of rented space at the hospital and caused me to lose significant income. When I finally was able to occupy the space I had to borrow money to catch up on my mounting debts. All this happened during the passage of Medicare and their insurance carrier Blue Cross-Blue Shield was always 3-4 months delinquent in reimbursing services. I was being squeezed by debt and slow collections which eventually led to the building partnership dissolving because the architects were also overextended. We loss the building in a foreclosure and I was forced to sell my house because of tax issues. Also on a personal note, I was separating from my wife and a divorce was in the offing so I had to develop a plan to regroup.
One of the hardest things to happen was leaving the kids, but the solitude and peace I was able to get by moving out to a studio apartment was enough to energize me and I reveled in it. I felt some how that I could regain some control of my life even though I was dealing with a contentious divorce.
I had engaged a tax lawyer and his recommendation, which now I would have never followed, was concede to the IRS. That strategy kept me hostage to them for the next 25 years.
With all my financial problems, I decided to give up Obstetrics in my practice because I was having difficulty enjoying that part of my work and the patients were starting to piss me off. The recent trend toward catering to the patients request for care had me getting angry at the patient, so I felt they deserved a doctor that favored delivery care plans, which I did not. So I decided to do strictly office Gynecology and GYN surgery.
If I could practice Obstetrics in a way I thought was practical, I probably would not have given it up. It was my belief that the normal OB should be taken care of by Nurses ( midwives or nurse practioners) and complicated cases by the Obstetrician. In recent years, this paradigm has come to pass.
So like so many practical things in my life, I was ahead of the curve.
Here is a sample of a day in my practicing without the office that was being built. The nurse was hooked into the answering service which received the calls from patients as before; emergencies, deliveries and surgeries were done in the hospital. Office visits were done in rented space in the hospital clinic which I paid a nominal fee to use. I stayed in touch by pager from wherever I was. This arrangement lasted about 6 months and I managed to preserve my practice. I moved into the house and office in 1970 and ended up loosing both in 1973.
During this time, I met a young woman who I later married that was a great help in my gaining my equilibrium. She had recently divorced and it seemed that our lives just kind of came together at the right time. I was trying to take a path that would bring some meaning and happiness to my life.
I was in a loosely structured men’s club that really only did social things, like go to big sporting events and on a trip to a Chicago Bear game, I invited her to the city. Over that weekend, I found I could relate to her and she to me what we wanted in a relationship and from there we began what became a journey that has not always been happy but has been to say the least an interesting love affair. It did produce my 6th child Rebecca, who I named after the heroine in the novel “Tom Sawyer” a favorite of mine. When all is said and done Rebecca has turned out to be the most perceptive and supportive of my children maybe because she has always lived with me. I have no doubt that all my other children love me she and I have a special bond.
The Draft and the Boards
When I got my draft notice, I called my man Cup in Pontiac Michigan to commiserate with him about my plight and he said “ bye mutha fucka I’ll take a drink of Jackie D in your memory.” Man. that was cold but payback can be a bitch! He just didn’t know it at the time.
When I was ordered to report for my induction physical, I knew that I would need to start planning for my family, the house and dealing with the patients in my recently purchased practice. There was a lot to be done and I didn’t know yet where I might be assigned or my military medical role. My Aunt lived in DC and I decided to fly there to see if I could make some contacts with the Army on what my options were before any orders were cut.
I purposely went to the Dept of the Army and asked to see anyone who could give me information on when I would be called and where I might be sent. The information desk sent a Colonel to take me back to his office and as we walked thru the corridor that was lined with huge photos from Vietnam wounded soldiers and crashed helicopters, I sensed that I had to be careful in what I wanted to get from him.
When we got to his office there was a map of the world and his junior officers were making assignments literally by throwing darts at the map. I knew than that I was on thin ice. So I explained that I really didn’t care where I was assigned all I wanted was a heads up so I could have time to make plans for my family and practice. He said as soon as I received orders to call him and he would tell me where and when I was going. I felt that was fair enough and thanked him and left. I got the impression that being in OB GYN was not to my advantage even though I was Board certified since that made me dispensable and I was probably ticketed to go to Vietnam, but at least I had a contact to call. It so happened that flying back, I was seated next to the Congressman A.J. from my district and he asked why was I in DC. I explained that they could draft me up to age 35 and he said he didn’t understand how they would take me with 5 kids, I agreed and we parted on arrival in Indianapolis. This was like in May or June the Boards had notified me I passed in April and I pretty much forgot about our conversation and went back to work.
Before I go into what transpired with the draft, I want to give you some background about the Boards. The American Board of Obstetrics and Gynecology gives an exam that consist of 2 parts after you have completed a residency. Part I is a written that’s taken 1 year after finishing and Part II is taken 1 year after passing the written. A case list of all hospital admissions ( deliveries, Gyn surgeries and Gyn medical cases ) for 12 consecutive months and documented by the medical record department and submitted for review by the Board. This list is scrutinized for trends in management, C-section rate and complications and is later used in the oral questions that are then directed specifically at you. My patient population and referral base put me in an outlier group when it came to a high risk practice (poor and Black, Eclampsias, 2 maternal deaths, etc). There was even the question of why I was doing so much obstetrics as a solo practitioner, remember I had taken over a two man practice with 30-40 deliveries/mo as apposed to their ideal of 15-20/mo. Lord help me on this! The Board pass rate was @ 79% for first time takers.
Because I was studying alone, It was impossible to do it at home because there was no where to go for quiet space so I used my office and read when attending deliveries at the hospital……..not ideal but I made do.
Beside the actual oral in which 3 examiners questioned you 3 on 1, there was a pathology practical where they gave you 5 path slides and a microscope and you had to make the diagnosis and then 20 color slides with various conditions depicted and you were quizzed on these by a solo examiner.
The exam was always given in November at the Conrad Hilton Hotel in Chicago over 5 days, the day you were scheduled was by names selected alphabetically. I was so prepared that I took my wife with me and the night before I hung out with a friend who took me to a big affair at a trade show and got me drunk. The next morning as I descended in the elevator, still with a slight buzz to the floor the exam was to be given, a fellow exam colleague entered and just before the door closed his wife kissed him as if he was going off to war. I said to myself, if things turn out to be that bad I’m glad I got tore up last night.
I was pretty confident especially about the pathology part because my Path rotation at Wash U was outstanding and though I had been out of residency 2 years the stuff I was seeing in practice had kept me sharp and staffing Methodist residents didn’t hurt any in keeping current with the recent literature. It’s pretty much accepted that text book knowledge is 5- 8 years out of date so reading journals is where the questions probably would originate and I was a journal junkie.
When I walked into the room and sat at my microscope and they handed me my 5 slides I was like B’rer Rabbit getting thrown in the briar patch. I was finished with the slides so quick I thought they may be tricks, I decided to sit in the room and let someone else leave first. There were two parts that gave me pause in Part II . One was a question on how I would handle a Diabetic in pregnancy, which I said I would refer because Methodist had Diabetologists on the staff so why would I try to manage one alone. And lastly a complication on my case list provoked an extended round of questions.
The case involved a patient that had an enormous ovarian cystic mass ( the size of a watermelon) that had attached itself to the ureter and pulled it out of it’s bed necessitating cutting it and re-implanting it in the bladder to preserve it’s vascularity. This was done after consulting an Urologist who assisted in the operating. In unison and individually they kept asking me “ you mean you cut the ureter.” After asking me this for like the umpteenth time, I said “ what would you gentlemen have done.” Under my breath I uttered “mutha fuckers” Their reply was “doctor, you may go!”
An IUSM classmate was taking the exam the next day and asked me to stop by his room and share some of the questions I had with him, When he opened the door he had books strewn everywhere in the room. I told him to pack up the books and for us to go down to the bar for a drink, since there was nothing more he was going to learn now! He also passed on the first try
In April 1966, I received my notification of passing and right after that good news came a brown packet from the Dept of Defense, 5th Army Headquarters, Chicago, Il. with instructions to reply within 10 days. ( these were the orders I so dreaded receiving ). They arrived on a Friday and I didn’t want to open them and spoil my weekend plus I planned to call the Colonel in DC to see what he might be able to find out about my assignment, maybe since I had passed my Boards I might get sent to a hospital where women dependents were treated.
On Monday, I had an early surgery and planned to call DC later in the day, delaying the inevitable as long as possible. During the operation I received a page to call my answering service right a way.
I asked the nurse to get the call for me and she said to call a Colonel Letrec in Chicago as soon as possible. I could barely finish the operation. I asked the resident to close the incision for me and went to the physician’s lounge to return the call, my hand sweaty as I picked up the phone.
When I connected with the Colonel his first question was had I opened my orders. I was hesitant to tell him I hadn’t because I was putting off the bad news, but I told him no. He said write across the front of the envelope “ DO NOT OPEN/ MY INSTRUCTIONS AND PRINT MY NAME AND SIGN IT ” and return to me. I immediately sped home, grabbed the packet and did as instructed and returned it as ordered. To this day I don’t know what the orders said or why they were cancelled nor do I care. All I know is that I was spared a trip most likely to Vietnam and my man Cup was drafted the next year to spend 4 years in Anchorage, That was his payback and I drank to that!
Having been spared, I decided to plan on buying a bigger house and getting some family things in order since I would turn 35 in February 1967 and be draft exempt, figuring things happen for a reason so make the most of them.
When I was ordered to report for my induction physical, I knew that I would need to start planning for my family, the house and dealing with the patients in my recently purchased practice. There was a lot to be done and I didn’t know yet where I might be assigned or my military medical role. My Aunt lived in DC and I decided to fly there to see if I could make some contacts with the Army on what my options were before any orders were cut.
I purposely went to the Dept of the Army and asked to see anyone who could give me information on when I would be called and where I might be sent. The information desk sent a Colonel to take me back to his office and as we walked thru the corridor that was lined with huge photos from Vietnam wounded soldiers and crashed helicopters, I sensed that I had to be careful in what I wanted to get from him.
When we got to his office there was a map of the world and his junior officers were making assignments literally by throwing darts at the map. I knew than that I was on thin ice. So I explained that I really didn’t care where I was assigned all I wanted was a heads up so I could have time to make plans for my family and practice. He said as soon as I received orders to call him and he would tell me where and when I was going. I felt that was fair enough and thanked him and left. I got the impression that being in OB GYN was not to my advantage even though I was Board certified since that made me dispensable and I was probably ticketed to go to Vietnam, but at least I had a contact to call. It so happened that flying back, I was seated next to the Congressman A.J. from my district and he asked why was I in DC. I explained that they could draft me up to age 35 and he said he didn’t understand how they would take me with 5 kids, I agreed and we parted on arrival in Indianapolis. This was like in May or June the Boards had notified me I passed in April and I pretty much forgot about our conversation and went back to work.
Before I go into what transpired with the draft, I want to give you some background about the Boards. The American Board of Obstetrics and Gynecology gives an exam that consist of 2 parts after you have completed a residency. Part I is a written that’s taken 1 year after finishing and Part II is taken 1 year after passing the written. A case list of all hospital admissions ( deliveries, Gyn surgeries and Gyn medical cases ) for 12 consecutive months and documented by the medical record department and submitted for review by the Board. This list is scrutinized for trends in management, C-section rate and complications and is later used in the oral questions that are then directed specifically at you. My patient population and referral base put me in an outlier group when it came to a high risk practice (poor and Black, Eclampsias, 2 maternal deaths, etc). There was even the question of why I was doing so much obstetrics as a solo practitioner, remember I had taken over a two man practice with 30-40 deliveries/mo as apposed to their ideal of 15-20/mo. Lord help me on this! The Board pass rate was @ 79% for first time takers.
Because I was studying alone, It was impossible to do it at home because there was no where to go for quiet space so I used my office and read when attending deliveries at the hospital……..not ideal but I made do.
Beside the actual oral in which 3 examiners questioned you 3 on 1, there was a pathology practical where they gave you 5 path slides and a microscope and you had to make the diagnosis and then 20 color slides with various conditions depicted and you were quizzed on these by a solo examiner.
The exam was always given in November at the Conrad Hilton Hotel in Chicago over 5 days, the day you were scheduled was by names selected alphabetically. I was so prepared that I took my wife with me and the night before I hung out with a friend who took me to a big affair at a trade show and got me drunk. The next morning as I descended in the elevator, still with a slight buzz to the floor the exam was to be given, a fellow exam colleague entered and just before the door closed his wife kissed him as if he was going off to war. I said to myself, if things turn out to be that bad I’m glad I got tore up last night.
I was pretty confident especially about the pathology part because my Path rotation at Wash U was outstanding and though I had been out of residency 2 years the stuff I was seeing in practice had kept me sharp and staffing Methodist residents didn’t hurt any in keeping current with the recent literature. It’s pretty much accepted that text book knowledge is 5- 8 years out of date so reading journals is where the questions probably would originate and I was a journal junkie.
When I walked into the room and sat at my microscope and they handed me my 5 slides I was like B’rer Rabbit getting thrown in the briar patch. I was finished with the slides so quick I thought they may be tricks, I decided to sit in the room and let someone else leave first. There were two parts that gave me pause in Part II . One was a question on how I would handle a Diabetic in pregnancy, which I said I would refer because Methodist had Diabetologists on the staff so why would I try to manage one alone. And lastly a complication on my case list provoked an extended round of questions.
The case involved a patient that had an enormous ovarian cystic mass ( the size of a watermelon) that had attached itself to the ureter and pulled it out of it’s bed necessitating cutting it and re-implanting it in the bladder to preserve it’s vascularity. This was done after consulting an Urologist who assisted in the operating. In unison and individually they kept asking me “ you mean you cut the ureter.” After asking me this for like the umpteenth time, I said “ what would you gentlemen have done.” Under my breath I uttered “mutha fuckers” Their reply was “doctor, you may go!”
An IUSM classmate was taking the exam the next day and asked me to stop by his room and share some of the questions I had with him, When he opened the door he had books strewn everywhere in the room. I told him to pack up the books and for us to go down to the bar for a drink, since there was nothing more he was going to learn now! He also passed on the first try
In April 1966, I received my notification of passing and right after that good news came a brown packet from the Dept of Defense, 5th Army Headquarters, Chicago, Il. with instructions to reply within 10 days. ( these were the orders I so dreaded receiving ). They arrived on a Friday and I didn’t want to open them and spoil my weekend plus I planned to call the Colonel in DC to see what he might be able to find out about my assignment, maybe since I had passed my Boards I might get sent to a hospital where women dependents were treated.
On Monday, I had an early surgery and planned to call DC later in the day, delaying the inevitable as long as possible. During the operation I received a page to call my answering service right a way.
I asked the nurse to get the call for me and she said to call a Colonel Letrec in Chicago as soon as possible. I could barely finish the operation. I asked the resident to close the incision for me and went to the physician’s lounge to return the call, my hand sweaty as I picked up the phone.
When I connected with the Colonel his first question was had I opened my orders. I was hesitant to tell him I hadn’t because I was putting off the bad news, but I told him no. He said write across the front of the envelope “ DO NOT OPEN/ MY INSTRUCTIONS AND PRINT MY NAME AND SIGN IT ” and return to me. I immediately sped home, grabbed the packet and did as instructed and returned it as ordered. To this day I don’t know what the orders said or why they were cancelled nor do I care. All I know is that I was spared a trip most likely to Vietnam and my man Cup was drafted the next year to spend 4 years in Anchorage, That was his payback and I drank to that!
Having been spared, I decided to plan on buying a bigger house and getting some family things in order since I would turn 35 in February 1967 and be draft exempt, figuring things happen for a reason so make the most of them.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Indianapolis 2 ( the early years continued )
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.
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.
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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