November 23, 1983

On this day in 1983... A man died.

Okay, so I'm sure a lot of people left us on November 23rd, 1983. But this man deserves to be commemorated. Not for how he lived, but how he died.

James "Jimmy the Beard" Ferrozzo was 40 years old, but had a tough reputation from working in the strip clubs of San Francisco's North Beach area. At the time of his death he was the assistant manager of The Condor Club, which remains in operation today.

The Condor was America's first topless club, and was made famous by Carol Doda. She was among the first topless dancers (and definitely the first bottomless) in the area, and unquestionably one of the most famous strippers ever. She built the reputation of the club (which hosted several visiting dignitaries during the 1964 Republican convention), and for many years The Condor's sign featured a full length picture of her with flashing red lights on her silicone-enhanced size 44 chest.

Her act began in dramatic fashion. She'd enter the theater from above, lying on a white, velvet-covered baby grand piano. It slowly descended from the ceiling and moved to the stage, where she took it off- all off.

Back to my story:

We don't know exactly what happened on that fateful night 29 years ago, between The Condor Club's closing time and when a janitor came to clean up in the morning.

James Ferrozzo was dating a 23 year old stripper named Teresa Hill. Sometime after the club closed the 2 of them climbed on top of the piano, I assume to make sure it was tuned. They apparently hadn't started, as his body was fully clothed when found (she wasn't wearing quite as much).

Somehow, likely due to their legs hitting the switch, the piano turned on, and began rising toward the ceiling. Distracted with other activities, neither Mr. Ferrozzo nor Miss Hill noticed the slow change in altitude.

When the janitor arrived at 7:00 that morning, he heard Mrs. Hill screaming and called the San Francisco police and fire department.

James Ferrozzo was dead, crushed against the ceiling, and was still on top of Miss Hill, who was lying on the piano.

Miss Hill was alive, but trapped. Attempts to lower the piano were unsuccessful, as its motor had burned out during the night. The fire department had to destroy it in order to free the young lady. She was taken to a local hospital, and treated for bruises.

Due to intoxication, Miss Hill had no recollection of the evening's events, or even of getting on the piano at all. She remembered having been in the club that night, and then waking up pinned between the late Mr. Ferrozzo and the piano.

Mr. Ferrozzo was determined to have died of asphyxiation from being crushed between the club's ceiling, a nude dancer, and a moving velvet-covered piano. His large frame (6'2", 220 lbs.) is likely what saved Miss Hill's life, as it provided several inches of cushioning between her and the roof.

Today Carol Doda runs a lingerie shop in San Francisco, and still performs as a singer/dancer (with her clothes on) at local restaurants.

Teresa Hill vanished into anonymity, and likely lives in modern suburbia. She's probably grateful not to remember much of the night, and may not own a piano.

The Condor Club is still in business, albeit after some ownership changes. The drink menu now includes a concoction named "Sex on the Piano" in Mr. Ferrozzo's memory.

Thanksgiving Thursday morning

Dr. Grumpy: "This is Dr. Grumpy, returning a page."

Mr. Turkey: "Yeah! Are you guys open on Friday?"

Dr. Grumpy: "No, we're not."

Mr. Turkey: "Crap. I need to get my prescription refilled."

Dr. Grumpy: "Okay, I can call it in. Which pharmacy do you use?"

Mr. Turkey: "I don't need it until Monday, so I'll just call back then. Thanks!"

Tuesday morning

Dr. Heller: "This is Dr. Heller, with Major Illness Insurance."

Dr. Grumpy: "Hi, this is Ibee Grumpy, I'm a neurologist, trying to get a brain MRI authorized on one of my patients."

Dr. Heller: "Okay, can you tell me about her?"

Dr. Grumpy: "She had a brain MRI on May 21, 2012, which showed a possible mass, so this is a 6 month follow-up study to see if it's changed."

Dr. Heller: "Okay... That sounds reasonable, but it hasn't been 6 months yet."

Dr. Grumpy: "What?"

Dr. Heller: "Well, her previous study was done on May 21th. Today is November 20th. So it isn't 6 months yet."

Dr. Grumpy: "Well, the study won't be done until next week, anyway, when it will have been 6 months."

Dr. Heller: "But the point is that you're calling on the 20th. It won't be 6 months until tomorrow."

Dr. Grumpy: "So you can't authorize this?"

Dr. Heller: "Nope. You'll have to call back tomorrow. Have a good day."

Medical education

I'd like to thank my friends at VBB, who sent me this illustration seen in a Urologist's office:

It raises a number of points (so to speak):

1. Wow. I had no idea urology models were this buff. Usually the patients are guys in their 70's with a bloated prostate.

2. Where's the left adrenal gland?

3. What's with the hands? They look like a 1970's GI Joe doll.

I asked my staff for opinions, and they feel our office needs more educational displays of this sort.

Microbiology

Last Friday Frank had a cold, and got sent home from school. My office is near Wingnut Elementary, so during a break in the action I picked him up and put him in the back office with stuff to keep him busy.

Since he had a low grade fever I got some Tylenol out of my desk and had him take it. I asked if he needed a Diet Coke to wash it down, but he said no. He pulled a store bottle of chocolate milk out of his backpack and drank most of it while swallowing them.

Dr. Grumpy: "Did mom buy you that this morning?"

Frank: "No, I traded Matt for it at lunch last week."

Dr. Grumpy: "LAST WEEK?"

Frank: "Don't worry. It's been in my backpack the whole time, and almost always inside."

Weekend entertainment

Due to an insane amount of kid stuff this weekend, I'm just going to share one of history's finest movie moments.

Thursday afternoon

Mrs. Patient: "I think my mother, Lucy, saw you several years ago."

Dr. Grumpy: "She may have. What's her last name?"

Mrs. Patient: "I don't know anymore. She changes it all the damn time."

Found in a hospital chart

I don't know what it is. But it sure sounds bad.

For non-medical readers: The real phrase is "subarachnoid hemorrhage," which is a bleed in the spaces around the brain.

History in 1:37

All shook up

My cell phone rings while I'm with a patient. It's one of my call partners office.


Dr. Grumpy: "Hello? This is Dr. Grumpy."

Voice: "Please hold for Dr. Nerve." (This drives me nuts. WTF can't other doctors dial a damn phone?)

Dr. Nerve: "Hello? Ibee?"

Dr. Grumpy: "Hi. What's up?"

Dr. Nerve: "Can you trade call with me for this weekend? I just found out that my (soft voice) mumble whisper gargle is in town."

Dr. Grumpy: "That should be okay. What did you say was happening?"

Dr. Nerve: "My (whispers) mmph chz fumph is in town."

Dr. Grumpy: "I still can't hear you."

Dr. Nerve: "Hang on, let me close my office door so my staff can't hear me... I said my favorite Elvis impersonator is in town."

Probably bothers bystanders, too

Dr. Grumpy: "How are you doing with the new medication?"

Mr. Firearm: "Fine. The tremor is much better. Now it only bothers me when I'm shooting a handgun."

Veteran's Day

Veteran's day is to thank those who have served the militaries of our respective countries. We throw parades, hold services, and honor our warriors in many ways. But it should never be forgotten that not all veterans walk upright.

Sergeant Stubby, United States Army

No one knew when or where he was born. In common terms he was just a stray dog.

It was an early morning in 1917 at Yale Field in Connecticut. The area had been taken over by the U.S. Army for training, and a group of young soldiers was there, preparing for World War I across the Atlantic.

At some point a medium-sized dog wandered onto the field, and took an interest in the young men. They befriended each other, and Private J. Robert Conroy liked him enough to take back to their base that night.

The dog, though officially not supposed to be there, quickly became a part of the camp. He got used to the daily routine of orders and bugle calls. He even learned to salute: when he saw humans all doing it around him, he'd put his right paw on his eyebrow.

Eventually Conroy and his division were ready to ship out for the war in Europe. Rather than abandon the dog (now named Stubby) they smuggled him (under coats) aboard the troopship S.S. Minnesota for the journey across the sea.

Stubby turned out to be far more of a dog than his finders ever expected. Staying with his owners, he served in combat in France. He lived in the frontline trenches with the 26th Infantry (102nd division), for over 18 months. His first battle was in February, 1918, and overall he fought in 4 major offenses and 18 ground battles.

Frontline trench warfare is a nightmare, but Stubby, like his fellow soldiers, learned to live with it. At one point his position was under 24-hour continuous enemy gunfire and shelling for over a month. He never deserted his company or position.

In April, 1918, he was wounded by an enemy hand grenade, and sent to Red Cross facilities. While recovering he improved morale there by routinely visiting other wounded soldiers. After healing he went back to his company in the front.

Later that year he miraculously survived a gas attack in the new era of chemical warfare (though was extremely ill for several days afterward). He quickly learned to recognize the smell long before his primate colleagues could. Later, when the Germans launched another surprise gas attack in the early morning, Stubby noticed it first. He ran through the trenches, barking and even biting his comrades to waken them so they could put on their masks. Since there were no gas mask to fit him, after spreading the alert he'd run out of range behind the trench and wait there until the all-clear was sounded.

His keen ears could hear the high-pitched whine of incoming shells before humans could, and his warning barks gave his friends an extra few precious seconds to take cover.

Stubby - of his own accord - undertook some of the most dangerous missions of the war, searching no-mans-land between trenches for wounded soldiers. He could differentiate between English and German speech, and successfully led medical teams to the injured. He also was able to lead dazed, but walking, soldiers back to safety. How many lives he saved is unknown.

Later, Stubby and his men were deployed to the battle of Argonne Forest. There, while walking around on his own, he single-handedly caught a German spy that had slipped behind allied lines to map their formations. Stubby detected him behind a bush, raised the alarm, and then detained him (by holding onto the back of his pants) until 2-legged soldiers could arrive.

For his remarkable heroism and skills, the commanding officer of the 102nd division recommended him for promotion, and Stubby became Sergeant Stubby - now outranking his owner, Corporal Conroy.

Stubby's remarkable skills extended beyond the battlefield. During a visit to Paris with Corporal Conroy, Stubby suddenly dashed out into traffic and saved a young girl who was about to be struck by a car.

After allied forces liberated the town of Château-Thierry, the local women made him a chamois coat. It kept him warm and was also used for his growing collection of medals, including the Purple Heart.

After the armistice, Corporal Conroy returned home with his friend. Stubby was now a celebrity, routinely leading parades. He met 3 Presidents and was made a life member of the American Foreign Legion and Red Cross. In one instance he received a distinguished service award, presented by no less than the fabled American General, John "Blackjack" Pershing.

Sergeant Stubby leading a victory parade. His heart was bigger than his body!

As the cheers faded the pair transitioned back to civilian life. Conroy enrolled in Georgetown law school, and Stubby found employment as the team's mascot. He often performed a football halftime show, pushing a ball around the field.

He died on March 16, 1926, with Conroy holding him. He is remembered by a brick at the World War I memorial and at the Smithsonian. The latter has his remains on display.

 

 

Thank you, veterans!

With my most sincere apologies to Gilbert & Sullivan

I am the very model of a modern Major-General.
I've information vegetable, animal, and extramarital
I know the men of power, and I quote affairs historical
From Clinton through to Spitzer, in order categorical
I'm very well acquainted, too, with matters infidelical
I understand positions, both the simple and quadratical.
About the bedroom theorem I'm teeming with a lot o' news,
With many cheerful facts about the secrets of my private muse.

I'm very good at integral and differential calculus;
I know the iPhone numbers of ladies infinitacus
In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and Sildenafil,
I am the very model of a modern Major-General.

I know our mythic history, Fatal Attraction and The Graduate;
I answer ads on Craigslist, I've a pretty taste to fornicate
I quote in hidden diaries my flings in far Arabious
When up-close I can tell peculiarities paralabious;
I can bounce undoubted playmates whilst on a waterbed afloat
I know the moaning chorus from my 8-track of ye olde Deep Throat
Then I can hum a fugue of which I've heard the panting din afore,
And secretly record them all with CIA gadgets galore.

Then I can put a lingerie bill on my private credit card
And teach you ev'ry detail of what it takes to get me hard
In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and genital,
I am the very model of a modern Major-General.

In fact, when I know the secrets of a Langley Hilton one-night-stand
When I can tell at sight a Trojan from a Durex lamb,
When at affairs as sorties and surprises is so fun to be,
And when I know precisely what is meant by "promiscuity"
When I have learnt what progress has been made in male gunnery,
When I know more of tactics than Hugh Hefner in a bunnery
In short, when I've a smattering of elemental adultery
You'll say a hotter Major-General has never before slept with thee.

For my orolingual knowledge, though I'm plucky and adventury,
For I have only been going down since the beginning of this century;
But still, in matters vegetable, animal, and extramarital,
I am the very model of a modern Major-General.


The above is only vaguely based on the recent events concerning General David Petraeus. It is not meant to be taken as anything other than silly satire, and a pathetic attempt to procrastinate on reading a pile of EEG's until tomorrow.

Thank you, S.M.O.D., for the original idea.

Rimshot

Dr. Grumpy: "So you've had speech therapy since the stroke. How did that go?"

Mrs. Kramden: "I think I'm doing better."

Mr. Kramden: "Oh yeah. Doc, I can definitely vouch for my wife being able to talk."