The transition from internship and residency into private practice was a paradigm shift that I did not comprehend and consequently made a muck of it. There’s a world of difference between the practice of internal medicine while on service under tutelage of teaching staff physicians and that of facing the same medical problems on your own. I was confident that I could handle any medical case but what I never gave a thought to was the fact that all the patients that I had on my service were referred to staff physicians. When I was a resident, the only contact I had with the referring men was to bump into them once in a while when they came to look at one of their patients. I treated them with casual respect and cool disdain. It never occurred to me that the referring men were the core and the lifeblood of the practice. I learned that lesson much too late.
Several months before my residency was over time it became known that DOH was looking to build a new hospital. Downtown Detroit was active but was becoming increasingly hostile. There was a buzz throughout the hospital staff as to where the new hospital would locate. We knew it would be in the suburbs but we had no idea where. Over the years I cultivated a confidence with one of Dr. Lindberg’s secretaries. I sat with her one afternoon and talked about the rumors that were flying in the doctor’s dining room. She winked at me and said none of the rumors were true. I said “Come on, be a sweetheart and tell me. I want to open up a practice and be close to the new hospital.” She swore me to secrecy and then very quietly told me the hospital just purchased acreage in Warren, Mich., at 10 Mile and Schoenherr Avenue. It was a Wednesday afternoon and I decided it was worth a shot. I called my friend Bill Munro and we drove out to the site. It was far out of town and was rather desolate; just small farms and homes scattered throughout.
The tale that I’m about to relate sounds thoroughly improbable but I assure you that it is true, word for word true.
Approximately 200 yards from the corner of 10 Mile and Schoenherr were three small homes. I got out of the car and knocked on the door of the first one. I introduced myself to the man who opened the door, told him that I was a physician, that I was interested in opening a practice in the area and if the price was right, I would buy his home and convert it into a medical office. To my astonishment he said “sure, I’ll sell but it will cost you $8,000.” I called Bill in from the car and we sat in his living room and wrote up a bill of sale. I gave him a $100 cash binder, said I would be back in the morning with the legal papers for a land contract at 8%. When we were ready to leave, I casually asked him if he thought his neighbor might be interested in selling his house. He said “let’s call and find out.”
Fifteen minutes later we were sitting in the living room of the house next door negotiating to buy it. The owner said he would be willing to sell but he wanted more money than $8000. We settled on $8500, gave him $100 and came back the next morning with a land contract at 8%. Each property was 150 feet on the front by 300 feet deep. I only had enough cash for the first house; Bill & I became partners and he put up the second $100. By the end of the evening we had purchased a tract of land 300 x 300 directly across the street from where the new hospital was to be built. We returned the next afternoon, signed all the legal papers and assumed ownership. We gave them 90 days to vacate the premises mostly because we needed the time to figure out where to get the money to pay off the land contracts.
It sounded great but I didn’t have any money. Bill Munro was working in a large surgical group and he and I talked about going into practice together. We were a good team in those days; he was a skilled surgeon and I was a hotshot internist. We thought we would build a clinic right across the street from the hospital and develop a lucrative practice. The hospital wouldn’t be built for several more years and I needed to find something to do in the meantime.
We called Leo Stein, a builder well-known in the Detroit area. He was a heavy set garrulous Jewish man, as round as he was tall, with a cigar clenched firmly in his jaw. He drew up plans for a two-story building 100 x 100 square with parking and landscaping. The price he quoted was a couple hundred thousand dollars; the price made no difference to us because we had no money at all and we were going to float everything. He told us that we could shop around and talk to other builders but we would never find anything to equal what he would do for us. I remember him telling us to be careful of other builders because they had a “degree in financial chemistry, which means they turn your money into shit.” I had never heard that expression before and it stuck with me.
We decided to wait until construction on the new hospital began. Time passed and we never did anything with the property. DOH held a ribbon-cutting dedication ceremony on the acreage at 10 Mile and Schoenherr Avenue. During that afternoon, it hit the fan when it became known that I was one of the owners of the property directly across the street. I remember being persona non grata among my colleagues but it was a good feeling. I have never revealed until now how I came to know about the location.
Bill Munro went into practice with another surgeon and I went up to Traverse City. The curtain fell on the construction plans when Bill and his new partner bought out my half of the property. It was the first $150,000 that I made in real estate.
The story is true…..every word of it.
I was offered to join in practice with Dr. Daniel Siegel, one of the staff physicians at DOH and one of my mentors. Dan Siegel was a bright physician but his style conflicted with mine and I respectfully declined his offer. I did not realize it at the time but he was very offended by the fact that I refused his offer of practice.
I accepted an offer to join William H. Dickerson, D.O., chairman of the Department Medicine, Pontiac Osteopathic Hospital. Bill Dickerson was an outstanding internist and I was delighted to be with him. We moved from Detroit to Pontiac, rented a small home and started work. Bill Dickerson was a hands-on internist and was skilled at endoscopy. With him I learned how to play a tune on a gastroscope. In the 60s, endoscopy was done with hard pipe instruments. Fiber optic scopes did not come into being until much later. I learned gastroscopy and esophagoscopy and became very handy with the instruments. Bronchoscopy came under the tutelage of Bill Munro. I remember my starting salary was $300 a week plus staff privileges. It was considerably less than I was making when I was moonlighting after hours as a senior resident.
I was happy with the job but not really. I was a bit weary working for someone else and wanted to be on my own. One of my friends told me that the Traverse City Osteopathic Hospital was advertising for a chairman of the Department of Medicine. I called and set up an interview. I had never been to Traverse City and the drive north through the woodlands of Michigan was spectacular. It took me five hours to get from Pontiac to Traverse City and when I crested a hill and looked down over the city, nestled in the crook of Grand Traverse Bay, it was covered with new fallen snow sparkling like diamonds. It was awesome and I knew it would be hard for me to turn away.
Traverse City Osteopathic Hospital was a typical 70 bed community affair staffed almost totally by general practitioners. There was a residency trained surgeon, radiologist and anesthesiologist. The hospital administrator showed me the books and assured me there was plenty of work to be done. The hospital was full at all times and the economics of the area was solid. I spent several days there, met with most of the staff, told them that I would return home, make a decision and let them know within a week.
I went back to Pontiac and politely told Dr. Dickerson that I was going to leave and go on my own. He bade me goodbye and wished me luck.