Autobiography of a Baby Boomer Best
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Autobiography of a Baby Boomer Overview
Germany was one thing; Turkey another; but this absolutely freaks me out. The 9x12 foot cell (I have plenty of time to get exact measurements) is entirely empty with the exception of two emaciated Afghan prisoners sitting comfortably on their haunches, obnoxiously amused at my inability to assume their pose. The slime all over the floor and walls of this putrid box prohibits sitting or leaning like the westerner I am. A faucet, no more than a foot off the ground near a hole for defecating, is encrusted with mold and is the only structure, besides the hole and door, which change the monotonous rectangular dimensions of this shithole. My fellow cell mates most certainly do not speak English and are unnervingly content to communicate their excitement through constant eye gaze. I am their new entertainment and am thoroughly screwed!So begins Autobiography of a Baby Boomer.
In Autobiography of a Baby Boomer you will join me on a trip from Father Knows Best middle class Fair Lawn, New Jersey to the hippy trail through Europe, North Africa, the Middle East and Asia. The overland journey in search of something more than I could find at Cornell University Medical College covers four years during a time when “dropping out”, “turning on” and free-love were the gospel.
After receiving a bachelor degree from Hamilton College in 1969 I took my first trip abroad (and, on the Balearic Islands off the coast of Spain, fell in love with a bewitching French girl with a heroin habit) that made my first year at medical school of little interest to me. My escape to the road took me back to her, then overland through Turkey, Iran, Afghanistan, (through the Khyber Pass to) Pakistan, and on to India in search of much more than I left behind. Singapore, Hong Kong, the Philippines, and Hawaii completed my lengthy hiatus. Jail in Germany, Turkey, Afghanistan, and Manila were brief, but terrifying stops along the way. But it was in Paterson, New Jersey (the city bordering my own hometown of Fair Lawn) where I met the guru that would masterfully set me back on the path to becoming a doctor.
The times, my travels, the drugs, the séances, the very far-out “Road People”, Bobby Deleon (the Filipino faith healer with whom I apprenticed in a squatters area outside of Manila for six months), Bill Daut (my psychic medium guru in Paterson), Dr. John Marshall (whose persona inspired me to specialize in orthopaedic surgery; and seek residency at Harvard, no less), and my parents unremitting love paved the way for me to truly appreciate the American way of life. They brought me to the joy of having a family and the awesome responsibility that comes with it.
To borrow a line from the 1958-1963 hit TV series, “There are eight million stories in The Naked City. (Mine) is just one of them.” But I believe that mine is the story of eighty million Baby Boomers and it will be of interest to even those not born between 1946 and 1957 (statistically the time period of the postwar baby boom). The era and medical profession are the heroes about which I write; but there is even some provocative name dropping for those tantalized by the past of present day newsmakers.
Autobiography of a Baby Boomer Specifications
Germany was one thing; Turkey another; but this absolutely freaks me out. The 9x12 foot cell (I have plenty of time to get exact measurements) is entirely empty with the exception of two emaciated Afghan prisoners sitting comfortably on their haunches, obnoxiously amused at my inability to assume their pose. The slime all over the floor and walls of this putrid box prohibits sitting or leaning like the westerner I am. A faucet, no more than a foot off the ground near a hole for defecating, is encrusted with mold and is the only structure, besides the hole and door, which change the monotonous rectangular dimensions of this shithole. My fellow cell mates most certainly do not speak English and are unnervingly content to communicate their excitement through constant eye gaze. I am their new entertainment and am thoroughly screwed!So begins Autobiography of a Baby Boomer.
In Autobiography of a Baby Boomer you will join me on a trip from Father Knows Best middle class Fair Lawn, New Jersey to the hippy trail through Europe, North Africa, the Middle East and Asia. The overland journey in search of something more than I could find at Cornell University Medical College covers four years during a time when “dropping out”, “turning on” and free-love were the gospel.
After receiving a bachelor degree from Hamilton College in 1969 I took my first trip abroad (and, on the Balearic Islands off the coast of Spain, fell in love with a bewitching French girl with a heroin habit) that made my first year at medical school of little interest to me. My escape to the road took me back to her, then overland through Turkey, Iran, Afghanistan, (through the Khyber Pass to) Pakistan, and on to India in search of much more than I left behind. Singapore, Hong Kong, the Philippines, and Hawaii completed my lengthy hiatus. Jail in Germany, Turkey, Afghanistan, and Manila were brief, but terrifying stops along the way. But it was in Paterson, New Jersey (the city bordering my own hometown of Fair Lawn) where I met the guru that would masterfully set me back on the path to becoming a doctor.
The times, my travels, the drugs, the séances, the very far-out “Road People”, Bobby Deleon (the Filipino faith healer with whom I apprenticed in a squatters area outside of Manila for six months), Bill Daut (my psychic medium guru in Paterson), Dr. John Marshall (whose persona inspired me to specialize in orthopaedic surgery; and seek residency at Harvard, no less), and my parents unremitting love paved the way for me to truly appreciate the American way of life. They brought me to the joy of having a family and the awesome responsibility that comes with it.
To borrow a line from the 1958-1963 hit TV series, “There are eight million stories in The Naked City. (Mine) is just one of them.” But I believe that mine is the story of eighty million Baby Boomers and it will be of interest to even those not born between 1946 and 1957 (statistically the time period of the postwar baby boom). The era and medical profession are the heroes about which I write; but there is even some provocative name dropping for those tantalized by the past of present day newsmakers.
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