Author: Lawrence Hurwitz, MD

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Ode to Kobe and Basketball

Kobe and the NBA Finals
Entering Staples Center Lakers v. Magic 2009

A few weeks ago I was in Palm Springs participating in the lugubrious task of looking for an assisted living facility for a relative when I received a phone call from my son. “Kobe Bryant just died in a helicopter crash,” he uttered in disbelief. After a short period of “it can’t be,” a wave of sadness and tears enveloped me. Crying does not come easily to this sexagenarian, especially for the demise of such a public figure. 

Why was I so profoundly affected? Of course, the tragedy of losing his young daughter and the others who were in the prime of life was obvious. But, after a few days of reflection, I realized that basketball had been a refuge of joy for my children and I, and that the sanctity of entertainment that it had provided was breached by this terrible event. 

Those of us born in New York City were introduced to the game at an early age. There were hoops in every indoor and outdoor gym. Living a few doors down from us was the City College of New York center who had won the NCAA and NIT tournament in one year, a feat never since duplicated. Phil Jackson, then a reserve player for the New York Knicks, lived in Queens and played pick-up at my elementary school. Everyone  in public school had to play and I did. And I stunk, though fleeting accomplishments are burnished into my memory: my 6th grade teacher, Mr. Axelrod, giving me a thumbs up after sinking two foul shots for my only points of the year; sinking the winning layup in overtime to lift the intramural Bayside High School Newspaper team over the Chess Club (OK so they were not physically gifted but they did think two passes ahead). And through family lore: my 70 year old 4 foot 8 inch aunt recounting her brush with basketball greatness: “Lawrence,  I got out of the car and was looking at his belt-buckle. I looked up and saw him and almost fell over.” She was describing meeting Wilt Chamberlain, then a bellhop at Kutscher’s Hotel in the Catskills, NY where he played summer ball in between semesters at University of Kansas. But it was fandom for the NBA that refined my love of the game. It was the rise of the NY Knicks in the late 60’s after decades of futility that energized me and the city. My high school buddies going to Madison Square Garden on December, 31, 1968 and watching the likes of Willis Reed and Walt Frazier dismantle the Baltimore Bullets; listening to the Knicks win their first championship on radio in 1970 (not televised in the NYC area back then). Going out west and living in Los Angeles and later San Diego, I came under the Laker spell. A lifelong friend had gone to Michigan State grad school and first informed me of a freshman sensation, Earvin Johnson. As a junior gastroenterologist in a large multispecialty group in LA County, I found a coterie of docs who worshipped the Lakers. One, who had season tickets since the team came from Minneapolis, was especially passionate. “Anytime you need a partner, I’m ready to go,” I pleaded with him as I informed him of his patient’s polyp burden. After a year, I got the call and accompanied him to Showtime in the Forum in Inglewood. We were center court, one row behind Karem Abdul Jabbar’s dad. And then there were 48 minutes of watching Magic Johnson’s craft with no look passes, Jabbar skyhooks and basketball magic that pushed Newtonian physics to its extreme. The day I interviewed for hospital privileges at Whittier Presbyterian hospital was the day the Lakers signed Shaquille O’Neal. I don’t remember any of the interview questions I was asked that day, but I do remember the excitement of an all-star center coming to LA. What followed was joyful hours of watching the Kobe-Shaq and later the Kobe-Gasol Lakers on TV and at Staples Center. Kobe picked up the mantle  of Laker greatness and pushed the athletic limits of great basketball. We were treated to over two decades of multiple winning seasons.

 Kobe’s greatness extended beyond the court. My son was the recipient of a Kobe “high five” after seeing him leave U.C. Irvine Basketball Practice Facility one summer day 10 years ago. And following in the erudite tradition of great former NBA players, Kobe thought outside the box and was able to deconstruct greatness for the average fan, allowing us mortals a glimpse of a higher level of performance. And so, with a bit of satisfaction, I watched my younger son embrace the Washington Wizards when he went to Georgetown and my older son participate in the well being and fandom of the Miami Heat. Basketball is a team game and mirrors the collective nature of human kind but also rewards individual great talents. We can only imagine what insights were lost with the passing of Kobe Bryant. What my family and I  have is the joy and memories of watching the Mamba play the game in such a way that it sketched us a blueprint for life.

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The Art of the Golf Excuse

With retirement comes the end of one of golf’s most prized excuses: “I don’t have enough time to practice.” Realizing that my golf foundation has been built on the art of the golf excuse, my anxiety level naturally elevated. While there are plenty of golf instructional books and videos, there is a dearth of expert commentary on the golf excuse. I will detail my excuse tree as generated over 50 years to help the struggling golfer with alibis for their own game.

  1. The Physician Golfer: I grew up watching golf on TV. There was Dr. Stone, Donna Reed’s pediatrician husband on “The Donna Reed Show” playing a Wednesday round; Dr. Cary Middlecoff and Dr. Gil Morgan (OK a dentist and optometrist but still in healthcare) were skilled PGA professionals with doctorates. Sitting for the MCAT (Medical College Admission Test) in 1974, the general knowledge section had the question: “Which sport do you take a divot?” Checking off golf, I dreamed of a future of an expanding medical knowledge and a shrinking handicap. Reality ensued over the years with the rise of HMO’s, IPA’s and 80 hour work weeks that left little time for golf. And the realization that pharmaceutical reps are the scratch golfers in healthcare.
  2. Learning the Game at the WRONG COURSE at the WRONG TIME: Few serious golfers seek New York City for their home base for learning and living the game. But that was not the case in the late 19th century when golf was brought over the Pond from Scotland. Willie Tucker was one of the first golfing emigres . Willie was was born in Scotland. His father was a greenskeeper in Wimbledon and his maternal grandfather competed against Old Tom Morris in the British Open. His brother in law, William Dunn, had the happenstance of meeting William Vanderbilt, the grand son of Cornelius, who was in the vanguard of the gilded age tycoons. Vanderbilt met Dunn in Biarritz, France where he was teaching his guilded age cronies the art of the game.Dunn summoned Willie to assist him in France., Willie realized his talents and funding were aligned in NYC where gilded age money was waiting to build golf courses for the privileged few. And build them they did. Willie Dunn designed Shinnecock Hills and their contemporary, Dr. Alister Mackenzie ( yes, of Augusta fame and a trained surgeon) designed the Bayside Links, just steps from my high school.  Willie Tucker got into the act, constructing the less heralded Clearview Golf Course and Yacht Club and Douglaston Golf Course, both in Queens. Golfing nirvana in Queens? Well, in 1920, New York City government took over management of Willie Tucker’s courses, cut down the trees to speed up play and put a goldfish pond near the clubhouse to (?) placate the golfers waiting hours to play a round. The end of World War II brought peace but golfing disharmony to the Queens tract. Robert Moses, the NYC Parks Commissioner, (see Robert Caro, The Power Broker, an in depth view of Moses) built the Clearview Expressway and Cross Island Parkway that further diminished the golf course acreage. New homes for returning veterans led to the closure of several golf tracts. Alister Mackenzie’s Bayside Links was closed and replaced with tract homes but Willie Tucker’s Clearview Golf Course was given a pardon. By the 1960’s, Clearview Golf Course had few trees, few traps, a busy expressway adjacent to the 5th hole, no practice areas and a typical 5 hour wait on the weekends. My first golfing lessons at Clearview were 1) aim is secondary and 2)always have a hammer ready to get your tee in the ground. If you got frustrated there was always meditation near the goldfish pond. 
  3. Golf magazine overdose: My first Golf magazine subscription was mid 1960s:take it back slowly, take it back quickly, stand close, stand far, take a lot of sand, take little sand: 50 years of golf tips was enough to prove the “paralysis by analysis” hypothesis. Luckily, I was spared of the launch monitor and spin rate statistics of the 21st century. 
  4. NYC High School Golf Team: under normal circumstances, competitive golf would be a boost to excellence. Our team played at the infamous Clearview course (vide Supra) and our golf coach was moonlighting from his usual job as the  the High School basketball coach. Not being familiar with the game, the team schooled him in the finer points of golf. We received “let’s press,” and “dig deeper” from his basketball motivational speeches. Bogey golf was the order of the day. 
  5. Getting Older: the only legitimate excuse in retirement. Loss of elasticity, lumbar and cervical discs on the move, degenerative joint disease, forgetfulness. The only benefit of dementia is vaccination against #3 and insures the golfing edict, “stay in the moment.”

The human mind (aka neocortex) is resourceful and resourceful hackers (the golf variety) can contribute to the “golf excuse” online community. I welcome your comments.

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Now What? The Retired Doc Manifesto


My thoughts wandered back to my first year in college, afflicted with infectious mononucleosis during my first semester. After spending 3 days in a University infirmary, my dad flew me back to NYC for a second opinion with his company doctor. “So you’re majoring in political science. You know there’s not a real world job out there,” declared Dr. Sussman behind his mahogany desk on Park Avenue. “You should try for medicine,” he counseled. Fifty years later, mentally replete with the teachings of Hans Krebs, Bert Vogelstein, Sidney Winawer and a host of others, I walked out of the endoscopy center, bid adieu to colleagues, staff and my endoscopes and entered the world of the “retired doc.” Now what? Travel the world, sleep in and watch “Get Smart” reruns, volunteer in indigent clinics, hangout in hospital dining rooms and talk about the good old days? Turning to the internet, I found a plethora of sites advising me on finances, providing lists of post-doc duties but no voices of the retired physician community describing the journey of the medical retiree. In this blog, I hope to stimulate discussion of meaningful and whimsical topics of value to the retired physician community. Let’s go!                                      

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Should you retire? A Cognitive Test of Retirement-Worthiness

There are plenty of retirement calculators on the internet using your financial health as barometers of retirement. For those that want to supplement your retirement decision, take the following quiz.

  1. The patient is “digitized” means digoxin rather than  an electronic medical record.
  2. You know the difference between ouabain and digitoxin.
  3. Your mentors are Ben Casey and Dr. Kildare.
  4. Your go to analgesic is Zomax.
  5. Your peptic ulcer patients all go on heavy cream (Sippy diet).
  6. You were the treating physician at the Legionaire’s conference in 1979.
  7. You still carry two or more pens “just in case.”
  8. You are comfortable with terms like “thymol turbidity” and “Wasserman testing.”
  9. On the radiology order form you search for “pneumoencephalogram.”
  10. You enter the room and are surprised nobody offers their seat to you.

Score:

10/10:  Methuselah  Doc: go straight to retirement and offer your services to a Medical History Museum.

7-9/10: Research 55 and older communities: notify your colleagues of impending obsolescence.

4-6/10: Double your CME: spend more time with millennial docs.

0-3/10: Rest easy: proclaim you’re youth in the twitterverse and toss out a few Smiley emojis. You are low on the Obsolescence curve.