Stanley Feld M.D., FACP, MACE

Every year my brother, Charlie his two adult son’s Jon and Kenny, me, and my two adult sons Brad and Daniel ,go on a trip for two days. The purpose of the trip is to simply be with each other and relate to each other without wives, kids or other distractions. The trip is always a wonderful bonding experience as well as intellectually stimulating. I believe we each learn something from each other and about the others’ dreams and goals. I have always said if you do not have goals you cannot score baskets.

In recent years we’ve gone to spring training baseball games. Last year we went to Fenway Park. This year we decided to go to Wrigley Field and the Cubs, but the plans changed and we decided to go to a game at Yankee Stadium in its last season.

Brad was in charge of getting the tickets. He polled everyone in March 2008 for a weekend. With our schedules and the Yankee schedule plus sellouts he could only get tickets to the Yankee game on September 13^th. The Yankees were to play the Tampa Bay Devil Rays (The Rays). I was disappointed because Tampa Bay was the worst team in baseball in March 2008.

It turned out last weekend was the last homestand in the “House that Ruth Built”. It also turned out that Tampa Bay is currently the best team in baseball. Brad is a genius. Tampa Bay slaughtered the Yankees 7-1. As we watched the first two innings Jon noted that Derek Jeter did not jump after balls hit that he could have easily gotten. We also noticed lethargy in the stands. A-Rod and Pugh Rodriguez were not in the Yankee starting lineup. The crowd was not in the game. Mike Mussina stunk. We left in the fifth inning.

The terrible game hardly ruined the weekend. First stop on Friday night was Dizzy’s Club at Lincoln Center. On Saturday my brother hired a car ( a great big Suburban) driven by a great big guy (Frank) to take us to the neighborhoods we grew up in.

Frank drove us from the New York Palace via the East River Drive to Buckner Boulevard. I had never seen Buckner Boulevard completed as a highway. It was being built for over 20 years. He connected with the Bronx River Parkway and exited on Gun Hill Road.

Kenny commented that it looked like a neighborhood somewhere in Europe. We passed the site of the pizza place I took Cecelia on our first date. It was gone. It was replaced by a shiny stainless steel Diner. I told the boys what clothing Cecelia was wearing on our first date. They immediately called her to see if I was making it up. She confirmed my description. She was wearing bermuda shorts and a blue button down man tailored shirt. I fell in love with her at first sight and we have remained in love for 50 years so far.

Our house in the Bronx was smaller than I remembered.  The basketball court across the street was still there. I played endless hours of pickup street basketball with the kids in the NYC Projects. I learned to use my elbows to survive. Next we passed Cecelia’s house. It brought back memories of our fabulous courtship.

Frank then drove down Allerton Avenue. I made him stop at the White Castle for old times sake. It was still in the same spot for at least 65 years. The facade had been modernized. Everyone thought I was crazy when I jumped out of the car to take a picture and get a White Castle hamburger.

As a kid we would clip the 5 for twenty-five cent coupons out of the New York Daily News on Mondays. My brother and I would eat 10 at a time. My mother’s friends would clip extra coupon for us. My hamburger cost 75 cent now.

We then passed Columbus High School (my brother went there) and then down Moshula Parkway to Kingsbridge Road. Kingsbridge Road to the Grand Concourse to Mount Eden Avenue. We lived in an apartment building on the corner of Mount Eden Avenue and Topping Avenue from 1945 to 1954. It had been torn down, replaced by a parking lot and presently a row of three story apartments.

Claremont Park as not the same. The playground where we played punch ball was gone. Our baseball field was gone. The “rocks” which always seemed monstrous to me as a kid were only about 4 feet high. My stepping stone good luck rock on the rock wall border of the park was still there.  It was a thrill to see it once again even if it was a little worn.

Geller’s Candy Store was gone. The only store left in the neighborhood was a little grocery store. It has not been updated.

Saturday night we had dinner and walked around Broadway and Times Square. It was hot, muggy, rainy and wall to wall with people. When we got to 42^nd St and 6^th Ave. we finally got to some peace and quiet.

As usual there was stimulating political discussions. And as usual no one changed the other guys’ mind. The weekend gave us a chance to hang out and feel each others progress.

We laughed and talked endlessly. I recommend this kind of experience with siblings and your siblings’ children. The togetherness is inspiring, educational and therapeutic.

Next year’s trip will/might be to Chicago in May. Chicago Cubs will play the Chicago White Sox in interleague play. I assume it will be another cold and rainy weekend in May because it always seems to be cold and rainy in Chicago in May.

The opinions expressed in the blog “Repairing The Healthcare System” are, mine and mine alone.

Stanley Feld M.D.,FACP,MACE

In 1950 there were a number of summer camps ringing New York City.The Herald Tribune Fresh Air Fund did great things for the kids in New York City. The Fresh Air Fund’s goal was to give kids the opportunity to get off the hot city streets and enjoy some fresh country air. The sole advertising vehicle was ‘posters in the neighborhood recreation center and police stations. On a hot summer day in June 1950, H.B and I went down to the police station to get applications for summer camp.

After studying the qualifications and dates, we took the applications home to our parents. My father said, “Absolutely not! Are you crazy? There are going to be kids in that camp from the toughest neighborhoods in New York City. You will never live to go to medical school.” My mother was a little more subdued although it was clear she did not want me to apply. ‘

Somehow I convinced them it would be a good learning experience. They proceeded to complete the application. I was accepted and scheduled for a physical examination at an address on 39th Street and 10th Avenue. The significance of that address might not mean much to readers of this blog but in 1950 39th and 10th was a war zone. I had traveled all over the city alone for years at that time but never dared to go to 39th and 10th Avenue.

About 150 kids showed up for physical examinations. Every race, color, and creed from every bad neighborhood in the city was represented. Outstanding were the 12 kids from the Red Hook District in Brooklyn. Their whole street gang was accepted to camp. There were only two kids from the Tremont section of the Bronx. H.B. and me.

My first impression of all the kids was they were big, muscular and mostly black. I was pubescent but scrawny at 5’6” and 118 lbs. H.B. was frightened. I told him not to worry but I was scared stiff. After an hour wait on the hot sidewalk they let us into the store. They told us all to strip. This was not my most favorite task at 12 years old in front of all these big pubescent black kids.They were better endowed than I was. I stripped and passed the physical.

We were told to meet at 10 am on Sunday with a camp trunk ready to depart for camp. They did not tell us the name of the camp. They said they would give the address of the camp to our parents at departure. My mother, father and brother drove me down to 39th and 10th. When my father saw the crew he decided to make a U-turn. My mother convinced him to let me go to the camp.

The bus ride to camp was terrifying. The bus was old. The kids were not well behaved. The counselors did not seem to have control of the crowd. All the 12 year olds were smoking the newly released Chesterfield Kings in order to be cool. I passed. I thought at that moment going to this camp was going to be mistake. It looked like I was going to have a very hard two weeks.

We arrived at camp about one and a half hours later. The camp was a brand new Herald Tribune Fresh Air Fund camp near Bear Mountain New York. Since there were only two of us from the Bronx, I was assigned to the Red Hook Section of Brooklyn’s bunk. I was terrified. The smallest kid in the group was at least 20 pounds heavier and two inches taller than me. The biggest kid was 50 pounds heavier and 6 inches taller. Every one of them talked Brooklyn tough.

Camp was set up so that each bunk competed with other bunks in categories such as baseball, basketball, football, rowing, bunk cleanliness, mess hall chores and a few others. I was a very good baseball and basketball player. I was a good football tight end. I gained the respect of my bunkmate quickly. After the first day, I found the kids in my bunk to be tough but great. We all stuck together, worked as a team to excel and beat the other bunks in almost every category. All my bunkmates cooperated with each other. There was none of the fighting between each other and with others that I had expected. At the end of the two weeks four of the twelve of us in the Red Hook bunk received honors. We were invited to be junior counselors for a group of 8-10 year olds coming in the next two weeks.

To my disappointment, I never made it because on the last day of camp I got pink eye a very contagious form of conjunctivitis. It disqualified me from being a junior counselor.

The moral of the story is never judge a book by its cover. The Herald Tribune Fresh Air Fund Camp was a very educational and rewarding experience. It taught me a very important lesson in team cooperation and leadership. I have retained this lesson my entire life.

Thank you Herald Tribune Fresh Air Fund.

The Fresh Air Fund established in 1877 is a worthy cause and a fabulous model for creating unforgettable memories and fresh possibilities for living. http://www.freshair.org/the-fresh-air-fund.aspx

The opinions expressed in the blog “Repairing The Healthcare System” are, mine and mine alone.

Stanley Feld M.D.,FACP, MACE

I was born in the Bronx. I grew up fifteen blocks from Yankee Stadium and twenty two blocks from the old Polo Grounds. This year the House that Ruth built is going to be torn down and replaced by a 1.3 billion dollar new Yankee Stadium. The Feld Mens’ Annual Trip (my brother, his two sons Jon and Kenny, and me and my two sons, Brad and Daniel) are going to the old Yankee Stadium. We are going to the Yankee Stadium for the sake of nostalgia and the celebration of my bother Charlie’s and my youth.

I have many Yankee Stadium stories. One unforgettable story happened in 1948 when I was ten years old and my brother was six.

Every Saturday morning when the Yankees were in town the Herald Tribune Fresh Air Fund distributed a limited number of tickets to the Saturday afternoon baseball game at local police stations throughout the city. The tickets were distributed on Tuesday afternoons. As soon as school ended, my friends and I would run over to the Tremont Avenue police station as fast as we could to pick up our tickets. Most of the times we were successful in getting to the police station because we were able to run the seventeen blocks to the station faster than most of the other kids in the neighborhood.

When Charlie was six years old he begged me week after week to take him to Yankee Stadium on Saturday morning to interview a Yankee player and to see a Yankee game in person. The ten inch black and white TV we had in the apartment was nothing like the real deal.

I had a difficult time saying yes because taking him to a Saturday Yankee game had a few problems. First, he couldn’t run as fast as we could to the police station on Tuesday. Second, the policeman wouldn’t give a six year old a ticket to the Yankee game. Third, and most important my mother would not let me a ten year old, take Charlie, a six year old, to Yankee Stadium to see a baseball game.

However, Charlie’s persistence was compelling. He talked my mother into letting me take him. This was the major barrier. It was an easy subway ride from Mt. Eden Avenue to 161st Street and River Avenue. Kids his age got into the subway free accompanied by an adult. I figured we could figure that out. When we got to the subway station I would ask an adult to take him in for me. It cost me 5 cents and we would be on our way.

I had one admission ticket to the game. I figured he was so small I could sneak him in behind me. They let us into the stadium at 10.30 am for an 11 am interview with one or two Yankee ball players. So far that year we had interviewed Joe DiMaggio, Phil Rizzuto, Yogi Berra, Bobby Brown, and Snuffy Stirnwiess.

We got to Yankee Stadium at 10 am one Saturday morning. There were lots of kids there on line already. I was sure I would have not trouble sneaking him into the ballpark. The line started moving. My poor brother was getting pushed along the pole by the crush of other kids while hiding behind me. In two minutes we made it through the gate and into Yankee Stadium without a hitch.

I had just read Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn in sixth grade. It was all about mischief. Successfully getting my brother into the Yankee Stadium made me fee like a 1948 version of Huckleberry Finn. I also realized the ticket taker knew my brother didn’t have a ticket. He let us in because he thought it was cute for an older brother to help a younger brother go to the game.

We made it and we were both thrilled. In the grandstands all the kids were betting on which players would show up for the interview. Hank Bauer and Charlie Keller showed up. Two hundred and fifty ten year olds with tickets to the Herald Tribute Fresh Air Fund Saturday Baseball game and one six year old without a ticket interviewed Hank Bauer and Charlie Keller for forty five minutes. A glorious 45 minutes for all of us.

My brother insists that we interviewed Bob Cerf. I remember the Bob Cerf interview but I believe it was different year.

After the interviews we were let loose in the grandstands to retrieve any baseballs hit in the grandstands during batting practice. My team the Bronx Red Wing strategically placed guys in different sections of the grandstands. We never failed to snag 5 baseballs at the Saturday session of batting practice. We played with those balls all the next week.

The Herald Tribune fed us hot dogs and soda for lunch. There is nothing like eating a hot dog with mustard at Yankee Stadium. I can still taste them. We then settled in to watch the game. Charlie and I got home at about 5.30 pm after leaving the house at 9.15 am. He looked a little droopy and tired. I remember my father asking us when we walked through the apartment door. “What have you guys done interesting today?”

Can any of you imagine giving your kids the opportunity to do all that at the new Yankee Stadium next year in 2009?

The opinions expressed in the blog “Repairing The Healthcare System” are, mine and mine alone.

Stanley Feld M.D., FACP,MACE You will recall in Jake the Pickle Man I started to tell stories of my past on the advice of my son Brad. www.feld.com This blog is dedicated to Phil Rizzuto. This is my story of my Summer of ’47. 1947 was a great year for both the New York Yankees and the New York Giants. It was also a great year for the Bronx Redwings baseball team. I was starting first baseman because I was the only lefty on the team. We lived in the Bronx on Mount Eden Avenue, fourteen blocks from Yankee Stadium on 161st St. and nineteen blocks for the Polo Grounds on 155th St. None of my teammates’ families could afford to send us to summer camp so we figure out how to entertain ourselves while increasing our baseball skills. We all met at Geller’s Candy Store at promptly 8 am each morning. Some of us got there a little early. We thumbed through Mr. Geller’s New York Daily News. Next, we went to the baseball field in Claremont Park to practice until 11:30 a.m. We did not have a coach so we had to improve our skills by watching and imitating major league ballplayers. At 11:30 we all went into our respective apartment buildings for lunch. We met at Geller’s at 12:15 p.m. When the New York Yankees were in town we wore Yankee hats. When the New York Giants were in town we wore Giant hats. We walked to the Mt Eden Avenue Subway station IND (Number 4) when the Yankees were in town, paid a nickel to get into the subway and got a free transfer for the 161st St. to 155th St. shuttle. We got off the subway at Yankee Stadium on 161st Street. We stood outside the box seat entrance and invariably would be taken into the stadium by some business men in suits, ties and fedoras. We were cute kids and they looked respectable. After a Yankee game, we used the subway transfer to ride the shuttle over to 155th St. We took the IRT (B train) back to Jerome Avenue and 174th St. When the New York Giants were in town we took the Jerome Avenue IRT(B train) subway to 155th St. and got off at the Polo Grounds. We stood outside the box seat with our New York Giants hat on and again we were taken into the stadium by businessmen who had extra tickets for some cute looking kids. We repeated the routine going home, taking the shuttle to 161st St. and then the IND (4) to Mount Eden Avenue. The business men taught us a lot about baseball as did our powers of observation. The experience was our substitute coach. We would discuss the game, the pitchers and the strategies used on the way home after each game. We saw almost every weekday game in the Summer of ‘47. The games started at 1:05 p.m. and were always over by between 3:30 and 4:05 p.m. We always beat the rush hour on the subway. Our mothers’ had supper for us at 5:30. We were out on the baseball field by 6:30 to practice what we learned that day. The Summer of ’47 was a great summer for me and my teammates. We learned the beauty of the game of baseball in the most fabulous environment in the world. Cost was about $3.00 for the subway the entire summer. The value of the experience was priceless. Think about it. Would you let your kids do this in Bronx today? People do not even let their kids walk to school by themselves. Would you let a stranger take you child to a baseball game? Would you let him in a public park by himself to play baseball for six hours a day? Unfortunately, some things have changed in America. We now know the price of everything and the value of nothing. This is also true of our healthcare system. We are driving the humanity out of the healthcare system and destroying the physician patient relationship. It has to stop and the patients and future patients are the only ones who can stop the trend.