After graduation which unfortunately only my sister Diti, was able to attend from my family as my mother was ill and my father would not leave her alone. I went to New York to visit my family, planning to start my house job (internship in Aberdeen). I decided to follow my favorite professor who had just been made head of the department of medicine at Aberdeen City Hospital. He was a wonderful mentor and the first teacher that introduced me to the concepts for medical ethics.
Getting another year’s deferment from the American draft was quite a challenge. I went to my local selective service office where the same administrator was still working from the time, I applied to study abroad. We did not hit it off at the first meeting, after she commented during my panel interview, that I was going to study abroad because I could not get into an American medical school, which was erroneous, and I corrected her at the meeting. She never apologized to me but whenever I had to renew my deferment, she reminded me that when I finished, I would be obligated to do my military service.
When I entered the office and submitted my request in writing and in person her response was, “Well I don’t think you’ll get permission as you have finished medical school” “Yes but I must do an internship.” “You’ll just have to find one here in the United States.” “I would like to speak to someone who is charge of this please.” She glared at me as she called and I could hear her say to a Colonel (the name was not clear to me), what my situation was. She passed the phone to me as he almost yelled into it, “Do you have an MD degree or not?” I started to explain that what I had was an MB ChB degree (the British equivalent of an MD degree) when he said, “come to my office tomorrow so that we can get this straightened out.” The administrator wrote down the name and the address and told me to be there at 9 am. I told my parents and said, “if he says I have to cancel my Aberdeen training and do an internship here so I can go into the army, I will be leaving immediately back to Scotland and that’s it for me and America.” They were shocked but supportive, especially my father who was adamantly against the war in Vietnam. My mother was upset of course at my leaving my country and my family.
I left early in the morning and took the subway to mid-Manhattan from my Brighton Beach home. I arrived about a half-hour early. It has always been my pattern to be early, I hate waiting for people who are late, and I would rather be early than late is the latter possibility makes me anxious. I often explain my penchant for being early to my being a premi, born in the late seventh month of pregnancy. “I was early at birth and have never been late since.” It always gets a good laugh.
I could hear the colonel speaking to someone inside his office, as the door was partially open. I looked at the pictures on the wall, one of which was of General McArthur, the great but somewhat controversial hero of the second world war, shaking his hand with the inscription, saying “with great admiration” and signed Douglas McArthur. The interviewee left and I could hear my name being called. He motioned to me to sit down. “Can I call you doctor?” I said “yes” but then he said very emphatically, “tell me yes or no, I don’t want any long explanations: do you have your MD degree?” “Yes or no” in a staccato Brooklyn accented voice. I recalled my bubby telling me that “honesty is the best policy.” With my heart in my mouth I replied, “No I do not have an MD Degree.” “Well, you go and get it and when you have it come back to serve your country.”
I called the selective service office in Coney Island (not far from where I lived and a place I used to go with my father and sister to enjoy the rides, especially the carousel). The administrator was shocked, from the sound of her voice. I asked her to confirm with the colonel and provide me with the proper documentation to defer my selective service call up for another year. I stayed in Brooklyn for a few more weeks. I ran into my first serious girlfriend Frida, who I had met with her using the name Florence. We broke up after she asked me, if I had to choose between her and going to medical school what would I do? “Go to medical school—that is going to be the core of my life.” We left on good terms, but it was clear that was not what she wanted to hear.
After graduation which unfortunately only my sister Diti, was able to attend from my family as my mother was ill and my father would not leave her alone. I went to New York to visit my family, planning to start my house job (internship in Aberdeen). I decided to follow my favorite professor who had just been made head of the department of medicine at Aberdeen City Hospital. He was a wonderful mentor and the first teacher that introduced me to the concepts for medical ethics.
Getting another year’s deferment from the American draft was quite a challenge. I went to my local selective service office where the same administrator was still working from the time, I applied to study abroad. We did not hit it off at the first meeting, after she commented during my panel interview, that I was going to study abroad because I could not get into an American medical school, which was erroneous, and I corrected her at the meeting. She never apologized to me but whenever I had to renew my deferment, she reminded me that when I finished, I would be obligated to do my military service.
When I entered the office and submitted my request in writing and in person her response was, “Well I don’t think you’ll get permission as you have finished medical school” “Yes but I must do an internship.” “You’ll just have to find one here in the United States.” “I would like to speak to someone who is charge of this please.” She glared at me as she called and I could hear her say to a Colonel (the name was not clear to me), what my situation was. She passed the phone to me as he almost yelled into it, “Do you have an MD degree or not?” I started to explain that what I had was an MB ChB degree when he said, “come to my office tomorrow so that we can get this straightened out.” The administrator wrote down the name and the address and told me to be there at 9 am. I told my parents and said, “if he says I have to cancel my Aberdeen training and do an internship here so I can go into the army, I will be leaving immediately back to Scotland and that’s it for me and America.” They were shocked but supportive, especially my father who was adamantly against the war in Vietnam. My mother was upset of course at my leaving my country and my family.
I left early in the morning and took the subway to mid-Manhattan from my Brighton Beach home. I arrived about a half-hour early. It has always been my pattern to be early, I hate waiting for people who are late, and I would rather be early than late is the latter possibility makes me anxious. I often explain my penchant for being early to my being a premi, born in the late seventh month of pregnancy. “I was early at birth and have never been late since.” It always gets a good laugh.
I could hear the colonel speaking to someone inside his office, as the door was partially open. I looked at the pictures on the wall, one of which was of General McArthur, the great but somewhat controversial hero of the second world war, shaking his hand with the inscription, saying “with great admiration” and signed Douglas McArthur. The interviewee left and I could hear my name being called. He motioned to me to sit down. “Can I call you doctor?” I said “yes” but then he said very emphatically, “tell me yes or no, I don’t want any long explanations: do you have your MD degree?” “Yes or no” in a staccato Brooklyn accented voice. I recalled my bubby telling me that “honesty is the best policy.” With my heart in my mouth I replied, “No I do not have an MD Degree.” “Well, you go and get it and when you have it come back to serve your country.”
I called the selective service office in Coney Island (not far from where I lived and a place I used to go with my father and sister to enjoy the rides, especially the carousel). The administrator was shocked, from the sound of her voice. I asked her to confirm with the colonel and provide me with the proper documentation to defer my selective service call up for another year. I stayed in Brooklyn for a few more weeks. I ran into my first serious girlfriend Frida, who I had met with her using the name Florence. We broke up after she asked me, if I had to choose between her and going to medical school what would I do? “Go to medical school—that is going to be the core of my life.” We left on good terms, but it was clear that was not what she wanted to hear.
