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Tuesday, October 10, 2017


I officially took my first breath at 11:30 in the morning of the 10th of October in 1942.
Our Dr. Brown, as usual, spent his Friday evening gambling with the Quinns and other notables in a room on the backside of the 3rd floor of the Massasoit. 
Come Saturday morning the old doc with a wooden leg and a big head had two deliveries to get to that wouldn't wait. 
My classmate Helen Schultz, out on Northwest Road and me, on 5 Irving St. 
It was my mother's first and only delivery and I had managed to turn the wrong way, so our already impatient and hung-over "mid-wife" reached into his bag of tricks and grabbed the DEEP FORCEPS. 
So out I came with much noise, pain like you can't believe and two big channels dug into my skull that could be seen for over six months. 
I hope Helen had a better time of it, but I never asked her and the poor girl passed long ago. 
About 12 years later the same Dr. Brown was consulted after extreme pain in my abdomen that had gone on for two weeks. His diagnosis was to give me Haley's M-O for indigestion. 
My mother balked at this instinctively and when my father came home from work that Friday I insisted that Memorial Hospital was the place to go as Hurricane Diane was due in a couple days, and I'd be trapped until it passed. 
My ruptured appendix was removed within an hour of arriving at the hospital and I had a tube in my side to suck the poison out for 12 days. 
So as I pass my 75th birth anniversary, I'm glad I never gave him a third chance to mess me up.
I'd piss on his grave, but I'd have to go to Quincy to do it. 

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