My family began to go skiing in the late 1960s. We went away each Christmas. We were lucky even in bad snow years because all the children got out a week before the public schools, so we always went up then. They would then go to a ski camp in Maine for the second week.
In the 1970s, we borrowed a house on Lake Rescue in Vermont, next to Okemo. It was a great house with lots of room and was owned by one of our neighbors and had lots of room. We would rent it the first week, and our neighbors would come up the second week.
I was no skier, so I would go to the laundry and share recipes with the ladies. I also would have a fire going by the time everyone came back, so we could warm up and dry out the clothes. In the evening, we would put water on the hill next to the house and the kids would push me down it to the frozen lake so it would get smooth. I was the steamroller.
Another year, we had a house in New Hampshire that had a great hill where we could use our blue mats and go down it like a bobsled run. We had a new puppy, but he was not wild about the ride. We had friends with us, and I got a Christmas tree and put it up. Kelly made cookies for decoration. The puppy managed to eat most of them.
We also usually went skiing during the children’s vacation in February. There will be more about the skiing later in the children’s chapter.
We usually were home for Christmas and had a big party Christmas Eve. Before that, I played Santa for the kids on the street. Kelly had a Santa hat and played my elf to help hand out the presents and a candy cane. I would always ask the kids if they were good. Then I would tell them to write if they got work. That used to grate on Kelly’s nerves.
Super Bowl
Early in the '70s, we were invited to a summer party in Darien by a patient of mine. I was out at the poolside and it started to sprinkle. A few of us got under the cover of a pool umbrella. Then, a man I was talking to mentioned his love of Dixieland music. I said I loved it, too. He suggested that we go some night to a night spot in Westport. We agreed, set a date and went.
That night, he asked Sally and I if we wanted to go to the Super Bowl. I told him yes and he said he would be in touch. I never thought about it again until I was sitting down one evening doing my dictation and I got a phone call.
"This is John,'' the caller said. Instead of just hanging up on him, I was friendly.
John said, “Are you ready to go to the Super Bowl in Miami?”
"Sure,'' I said. "I’ll have to get a hotel.''
“No worry, Tom,'' he said. "I have the penthouse at the Fontainebleau Hotel and we can share. Just pay me for a room.”
"Great,'' I told him, but I would have to get a flight. If I could not get a flight to Miami, I would go to West Palm Beach and rent a car.
The trip, indeed, was great. It seems John was head of NFL Properties. He took us to all the parties, plus those in our suite. We had a bus take us to and from the game and then back to our hotel for a cocktail party.
One of his customers had to leave for the airport, so one of his guys was going to drive him to the airport. John asked me to go along. We rolled up to a very busy airport and grabbed a porter to help the man with his luggage. My new friend was a 6-foot-5 tall Texan. He told the porter he was with the FBI and if he didn’t get this man on his plane, we would take away the porter's citizenship.
We got back to the hotel and went out to a French restaurant for dinner and there was lots of drinking. After dinner, we were drinking Godfathers (scotch and amaretto) and Grandmothers (dark rum, Kahlua and milk). This was the way to go to these affairs, which we found out later from our friends from Texaco and ABC. I will tell more about that later.
Group Therapy
One of the groups that I joined was the International Order of Characters. It was a very prestigious aerospace group and we had several trips with them that I will tell you about in a later chapter called IOC. I will tell you a story now because it is convoluted and can be told in several areas.
One member of our group was Senator Barry Goldwater. His claim to membership was that he was a flyer in the Pacific in World War II, but more recently he had picked out the site for the Air Force Academy in Colorado.
The Academy invited us out for a few days that included a football game with the Air Force Academy and Notre Dame, our usual conference and a tour through Cheyenne Mountain. The mountain was headquarters for NORAD.
It was amazing to learn how many things they were tracking in the sky. They had built buildings inside and put them on huge springs to take the shock of a nuclear bomb. The entire thing was just like something you would see in a science-fiction movie.
They also had a parade for us. I had to go to Denver and do the professor bit at Fitzsimons Hospital for the Army. The rest of the group that day had a tour to Pikes Peak. The first night we were there, we had a dinner at the hotel and asked the Academy superintendent to join us. He was very gracious. He knew that one of our members had a granddaughter at the school as a Plebe.
He told her nothing. He just sent word to be at his quarters at 6 p.m. in full dress uniform. She was scared. The superintendent does not usually talk to Plebes. She arrived and got in the car going to town. She was now more worried. It got worse when just he and she entered the hotel. Then they went to one of the reception rooms, where her grandparents were waiting. They also were surprised.
The superintendent had us as his guests for the game on Saturday. His box and the reception area behind it was huge. When we went into the nearby lounge, some of the cadets came by with a falcon, the Air Force mascot. Sally had her picture taken with it on her arm. I can’t find the picture, but I don’t know who was more worried, me or Sally.
We left on Sunday for Kansas City, where we were going to the American Academy of Ophthalmology meeting. We had reservations at the famous Muehlebach Hotel. When we got there, I think they forgot to take out the mules.
We were late, and getting to our room was a hassle. The bellboy took us to our room, but it turned out that three men had already occupied it. The bellboy told us it wasn't unusual and not to worry -- the record was four overbooked rooms.
The rooms were dirty also. Sally had to get some Comet from the maid to clean the tub. One of our friends said his room was so dirty, he took a shower with his socks on.
hotel rooms. The next night at a cocktail party, one of our friend's wife said she could not sleep very well with the clanking of women’s heels on the floor. It turned out they were staying in a house of ill repute.
Septic Problems
Back home at Salt Box, the major problem on our street was that we were on septic tanks and not sewers and they did not work. You could put a cigarette in the upstairs toilet and it would appear on the lawn before you could get downstairs.
A big piece of property was being developed across the street from us and they were getting sewers but not us. We complained. The street owners wanted to get a lawyer. At first, they wanted to get a local lawyer who was a Yalie. I convinced them to get a man by the name of Vardamus. He was a street fighter. He had once sued the Catholic church in Darien and was not struck down by God.
He became our lawyer, and we won our case. One night, I came home and Sally told me the town council was meeting on this problem and I needed to go. I did and when the chairman asked who was speaking for the owners of Salt Box, I just sat there. Then the others in the room spoke up and pointed at me.
I tried to be polite, particularly since the other lawyer represented the developer who was known Mafia. We also had the town doctor on our back with a summons that we were in violation and he was trying to condemn us. After being as polite as I could be and missing my supper, the chairman said what was it we wanted as if he was totally asleep.
I finally blurted out we just wanted sewers. I think the chairman just wanted to get the doctor off his ass.
The next day on the front page of the Darien Review, the headline read that “DOCTOR WAS ON THE WAR PATH.” That was not a real practice builder, but we got the sewers.
Another problem was that some drivers were speeding on the street with kids and dogs all around. Our dog was killed while protecting our kids. We had a small tennis court at the opening of our street. I sent a letter to the defense department identifying me as their consultant. I asked them for one of the World War I posters of Uncle Sam pointing at you, saying, "I want you!''
I planned to have Uncle Sam laminated with a slow-down slogan and put it on the tennis court. Instead, I received a wonderful letter congratulating me for my interest in armed-forces recruiting. They did not send the poster I wanted, but I did get 500 wallet-size calendars. Another idea not properly explained.
Ray's Health
Sally’s father was not well during the early '70s. Ray also was having problems with his company. Few bad people brought on the problem. This was another example of putting too much trust in people.
In order to see that the old folks were OK in Florida, Chuck or I would go down for a weekend to Florida and see them. It was also important to keep Ray's health issues a secret because the banks would have been on him like vultures.
One Sunday when I was there, Ray had been admitted to the local St. Mary’s Hospital for renal shutdown. That morning, I got a call and it was David Rockefeller. He was not only a big investor in the company, but a good friend of Ray’s. I took the call and tried my best to cover up by saying Ray was out golfing. Mr. Rockefeller accepted that.
While I was trying to cover the family’s back, the maid's husband, Clarence, was talking to me through the door telling me that he was going to borrow the car. I would need it later to go to the hospital and I did not appreciate his comments while I had David Rockefeller on the phone.
Ray, who never drove a car, used to have a chauffeur before the war. The driver joined the Army to fight for his country. After the war, he tried to come back to work for Ray. But Ray would not hire him because he had no need for a driver. By then, that job belonged to Grandmother Maust or Carey limo service in New York.
Ray died in 1974. He was not a Catholic, but Grandmother Maust was. Ray had always supported her charities and brought up both girls to be good Catholics. Despite this lack of religion, Carey got money from him and put Ray on the Cardinal's VIP committee. There also was money to Fordham and an honorary degree. Also, Ray put up the Bell Tower and bells for the church in Pelham. Despite all his benevolence, Ray was not allowed to be buried in a Catholic cemetery. Our family did not think this was right.
Bali Hai
The following year, we felt we owed ourselves a vacation. Fordham had a terrific trip to Tahiti for a week, so we decided to go. The hotel was great. Every room was on the face of a bluff, and the restaurant and pool was up on the top floor. We enjoyed the beach -- and its topless women. My camera, however, did not seem to work.
We took a side trip to the island of Moorea, which was nine miles away. The island was called "Bali Hai'' in the movie "South Pacific.''
The hotels on the island were very interesting. The rooms were small cottages built out on piers. The floor was glass and you could see all the fish at night while you were sitting in the living room. Two San Francisco lawyers who decided to give up their law practice came up with this idea. They did this in several islands in the chain.
We visited another island and did some snorkeling. I did mine with a shirt and long pants on since we were near the equator. One member of our group told us he did not burn and went snorkeling with just a swimsuit. He was a disaster by the time we were back on the plane.
Patient, No Patience
It is about time to tell you about a few more characters in my life. One morning, a man came in for an appointment. He had a large dog with him and we told him he had to leave him outside. He took him out and tied him to a tree. The two old ladies who were also in the office were gratefully relieved.
After a few minutes, the man got up and complained loudly to my secretary, asking how soon the doctor would see him. My secretary said he would be the next patient and that these ladies were just waiting for another patient I was seeing at that time. She also said that I was running only a few minutes late.
The man then said, "In the Army, if the bomb is supposed to go off at 10:30, it goes off at 10:30.”
He marched out of the office and went away with his dog. When I came out, the two ladies were gone. My patient and myself asked my secretary where everyone went. She said that he said something about a bomb going off on time and left. The two ladies had heard him say that and ran out the door.
With that, I figured that I had a space in my schedule, so I had a cup of coffee.
Friendly Sons of St. Patrick
One of the organizations that I belong to is the Friendly Sons of St. Patrick. They have one of the great black-tie dinners in New York. It is an all-men’s affair and has had only one woman in attendance. I will tell you about that shortly.
One St. Patrick’s Day, I brought along a family friend, Judge Richard Daronco, and Chuck McCartney, my brother-in-law. I had to go to a meeting in Puerto Rico and was flying in. I had my tuxedo in the car and was going to change at the Yale Club. I told the guys to change there also, since they were coming to the dinner from work.
I asked that they put a bottle of scotch in the room since I would probably be late for cocktails. I also asked that they leave me a dry towel. They left me neither.
I left to go to 51st Street and, of course, I could not get a cab on a rainy Friday night. When I got to the hotel, all the books that had the seating list were gone. I found a waiter at the door and asked him to tell me where my table was. In his best Jewish accent, he sarcastically told me he was not "information please.''
At that point, the orchestra started playing and the dais was filling up. At that moment, I saw my two guests and I was weaving quickly to get between the tables while everyone was standing. In my rush, I heard someone telling me to move aside. I wasn’t in any mood at that time for some Irishman. Fortunately, I did move aside. The voice belonged to a Secret Service agent for Vice President Spiro Agnew.
I could see the headlines the next day -- DRUNKEN IRISH DOCTOR ATTACKS THE VICE PRESIDENT. It was definitely not a practice builder.
Dick Daronco was a federal judge at that time. Shortly after the dinner in 1988, a disgruntled father came over and shot him dead while he was mowing his lawn. He died in the kitchen in front of his family.
At another dinner, the guest speaker was Senator Daniel Moynihan. His speech was so boring, like a Harvard lecture, and was not appropriate for the evening. Most of the crowd ignored him and started talking among themselves. It got so bad that Cardinal Cooke stood up and asked everyone to please be quiet. It didn’t work and then Moynihan spoke to the men at the table in front of him. One of them said something that offended Moynihan, who took off his jacket and told him to meet him in the alley. The New York papers had wonderful front pages about that the next morning.
It was the usual practice to ask the ambassador from Ireland and the American ambassador to Ireland to come and sit on the dais. This one year, it was a problem. Our ambassador was named Peggy Heckler, a woman from Boston. She was also Sally’s college roommate at Albertus Magnus.
Peggy was invited and dressed appropriately in black and kept her mouth shut, which was not her usual habit. Before she became ambassador, she ran what was then known as the Department of Health and Human Services, but she did such a terrible job, Ronald Reagan made her an ambassador.
I took my son Tommy to that dinner, and we went to the private cocktail party and introduced ourselves to her. The evening went well.
Another Friendly Sons dinner had a guest speaker who was a Jesuit priest who was president of Georgetown University. Reverend Timothy Healy claimed he had proof that God was really Irish. He said there were three facts: God lived home with his mother, did not have a steady job and hung out with 12 other guys.
Cardinal Rules
1979 was a very busy year for me. My two books came out, I was made professor, elected to the Cosmos Club and I was made a Knight of Malta.
In 1980, I decided at the last minute to go to the Friendly Sons dinner on March 17. This time, I took a Jewish friend with me. He was very nice guy, but he was not used to this type of affair. Needless to say, my late tickets got us a seat in the back of the room.
When the music started up to usher in the dais, we all stood up. The parade of guests passed in front of us, but for some reason stopped, and Cardinal Cooke’s assistant, Monsignor Rigney, was standing right in front of me while the Cardinal was talking to someone across the aisle.
I had met the Monsignor when I was made a Knight that January, but I certainly did not expect he would remember my name. I introduced myself and told him we had met in January. He was very pleasant and we shook hands. The music started up, and the line started to move. At that moment, the Cardinal turned around and put out his hand and said to me, “Nice to see you again, Tom.”
My guest asked me if I was a friend of the Cardinal's. I told him we had lunch together a few times. I explained it to him later. Cardinal Cooke was obviously keeping his ear open to his aide.
There is one more story that I think belongs to the '70s. This was our trip to Chile. It also belongs to the upcoming Walter Reed chapter, but this is also about one of our friends.
The world dumps on us publicly all the time. However, when things get to be difficult for them where they are, they send word down through diplomatic channels for help. This frequently occurs medically, and I belonged to a few at Walter Reed who get asked. This time, one of the junta in Chile had a problem and he could not leave the country or he would not get back in. I was asked to go see him. I will go into more detail later.