First Words
…thoughts of an anachronistic, solo pediatrician
by Glenn Feole, M.D.
"Be careful too that the reading of your story makes the melancholy
laugh and the merry laugh louder," Cervantes, Prologue to Don Quixote
Contact: ishmaelish36@gmail.com
Blog site: ishmaelish36.blogspot.com
July 8, 2014 Tuesday
Chief Complaint: (written on the chart before I go in the room)
“Only likes nuggets, fries, pizza, and pop tarts.” (dietary history for a three year old)
Interesting Name:
Sesame
Anecdote:
Along with Jeremy came his friend Oliver, age six. Oliver was all business as he lugged in this enormous briefcase that came up almost to his hips. Both arms were straining as he half carried, half dragged it into the exam room. He looked like an executive going off to Wall Street. It was a brown, well worn professional looking brief case, the exact kind that my Father would bring home from work, filled with about three hundred pieces of papers. I thought to myself, "This definitely is Fairfield County. He probably has his homework in there and maybe a 'Princeton Review For Getting Into The Second Grade Of Your Choice.' "
I asked him what was in it. Rather than answer me, he swung the brief case from his hips, like an Olympic hammer thrower, onto the chair and unsnapped two large clips at each side. He looked at me seriously, stone faced, as he slowly raised the lid, watching for my reaction.
Inside were about twenty-five beenie babies. I was going to suggest that he chain the suitcase to his wrist because of the monetary value that he was carrying around.
Westport, Connecticut, 1990's
Poetry:
The Russian Greatcoat
While my children swim off the breakwater,
while my wife sleeps beside me in the sun,
I recall how you once said you knew
a sure way to paradise or hell.
Years ago, you stood on the Covington bridge,
demanded I throw my coat into the Ohio—
my five dollar "Russian greatcoat,"
my "Dostoevsky coat," with no explanations,
simply because you asked.
From that height, the man-sized coat fell
in slow motion, floated briefly,
one sinking arm bent at the elbow.
At first, I evade the question when my wife asks
as if just thinking of you were an act of betrayal.
The cigarette I shared with you above the river.
Our entrance into the city, your thin black coat
around both our shoulders. Sometimes I can go
weeks without remembering.
while my wife sleeps beside me in the sun,
I recall how you once said you knew
a sure way to paradise or hell.
Years ago, you stood on the Covington bridge,
demanded I throw my coat into the Ohio—
my five dollar "Russian greatcoat,"
my "Dostoevsky coat," with no explanations,
simply because you asked.
From that height, the man-sized coat fell
in slow motion, floated briefly,
one sinking arm bent at the elbow.
At first, I evade the question when my wife asks
as if just thinking of you were an act of betrayal.
The cigarette I shared with you above the river.
Our entrance into the city, your thin black coat
around both our shoulders. Sometimes I can go
weeks without remembering.
by Theodore Deppe, from Cape Clear: New and Selected Poems.
 |
| from Impressions of the Met |
Coup d'essai: On Intellectual Pursuits
But before I continue, a digression…my roommate, Corky, was very kind about my absent-mindedness as I roamed the campus with him, my mind filled with thoughts of philosophy, poetry, literature. He would philosophically deal with this time after time. Many nights, there would be a knock on the door late at night as we studied in our room in Cuyler Hall. Corky would open the door. A friend would be standing there silently with his arm out, my sweater in is hand. Corky would take it. The friend would say, "I found this at the library (…at Commons…at the lecture hall, etc)…" "It had no name. I knew it was Glenn's." What can I say to be surrounded by such gentle friends?
Well, as I got off the plane and greeted my smiling parents, so excited to see me and hear about my experiences during my first semester, I gave them a hug and then suddenly exclaimed, "Oh no! I left the idiot on the plane!" I ran off without explanation.
Thinking about a concept, whether mathematical, scientific, musical, poetic, is a flowing journey that colors everyday experience. A removal of self, a pleasurable trip away from the everyday routines and worries of day to day living. I have counted myself as fortunate during these times of ecstatic creation ("ec" "static"). I recall recently having written over 30 songs in a burst of recording, one song coming at 2 a.m. as I lept out of bed to compose it on the spot…with joy and gratitude. A leather bound blank journal given to me by my oldest child, Kelly, and her husband, meant to inspire my art work, was filled with over a hundred pictures and sayings within a month. (Many of these pictures are in this blog.) And when I reached almost the end of that journal, with fifteen pages to go, I knew the last picture was actually the 'last' picture for that project. The artistic muse was satiated, with acceptance and happiness on my part. They are still blank and will always be so.
One last memory: when I revisit Princeton, I love taking my children to the various departments and just absorbing the intellectual energy and creativity, the "beautiful minds" that have been there. In the physics building, a towering structure, along the hallways are large blackboards, solid pieces of charcoal colored slate, each six feet high and four or five feet wide. They occur every twenty feet or so and they move me every time I see them…most are filled with some equations, sayings, formulae…just in case the professors and students are struck by an idea and the need to communicate, to create.
PART X Migrant Health Care Journal, 2002
9/9/02:
On my first day driving to the clinic, traveling about 40 miles alongside verdant fields on highway 40, I was cruising along enjoying the peaceful countryside. The road was lightly traveled going south in the morning and the sun was crystal clear and warm on my shoulder. All of a sudden a large, white BMW zipped up behind me and, with a flick of his wrist, he whipped into the left lane and passed me in one fell swoop. Within a couple of seconds, a speck on the distant horizon, he disappeared far down the road in front of me.
That seemed unusual, I thought. How many white BMW’s would I see out here as I headed for the migrant health center? It was such a contrast to the beautiful but simple fields. As I was ruminating on this, suddenly, a second white BMW swooped by, then a third, and then a quick succession of I would guess thirty of them, all in close proximity as if this were a NASCAR race. They were all elegant, immaculately washed…and white. I noticed that on the side of the doors were signs that said something like, “Race for a cure for children.” I felt like I was surrounded by angels as they surrounded me and then fled on. It was the juxtaposition of these expensive cars, transformed into a white purity as they drove with purpose towards helping others. It seemed to symbolize, I hoped, my move from pediatrics in the gold coast of Connecticut to the migrant health center.
Favorite Musician/song:
Isley Brothers, "Groove with You"
I would say that if any song or sound would typify the band I was in during the 1970's around the Princeton area, it would be this. Michael Mintz, the handsome African-American singer/dancer/athlete, had a mellifluous voice like this and was often likened to Marvin Gaye. As I mentioned before, even at the hardest biker bars, the waitresses would stop and be mesmerized in a reverie as they listened to him sing. My love is the funky, steady bass line and drums with the Rhodes keyboards floating in the background.
Favorite Book/author:
Shakespeare, Sonnet 74 "That time of year thou mayst in me behold"
I remember one summer contentedly sitting in the sun with a collection of Shakespeare's Sonnets on my lap determined to read all of them. I read all of them... and was moved, of course, by the play of the symbols, the words and alliterations, the beauty of the thoughts. Harold Bloom, the erudite author of The Western Canon, MacArthur winner and professor of literature at Yale, recommends committing favorite poems to memory, resulting in great emotional rewards…and I did this that day for Sonnet 74, my favorite of all the sonnets. The passage of time, aging, redemption, beauty.
Favorite Movie/DVD:
Encounters at the End of the World, Werner Herzog
Herzog's films are thought provoking with a quiet narrative that is perceptive, letting conversations and silence tell the enchanting story. Incredible cinematography and background music, in this case chants by monks. Exquisite.
Here is a list of movies I have mentioned so far, to my dear readers:
Alamar
The Band's Visit
The Day of the Jackal
The Doctor, William Hurt
The Elephant Man, John Hurt
Encounters at the End of the World (Werner Herzog)
The Girl in the Cafe, Bill Nighey
Groundhog Day, Bill Murray
Rushmore, Bill Murry
Tender Mercies, Robert Duvall
Ulee's Gold, Peter Fonda
Whale Rider
Win Win
Morse, Inspector
"The Remorseful Day"
Music from the Inside Out
The Straight Story
Titanic
Triplets of Belleville
Wrestling with Ernest Hemingway
Young @ Heart
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