Over the years, listening first to radio broadcasts and then watching TV, Patty had become - like her husband - a rabid hockey fan, and they’d held season tickets for the past year, rarely missing a home game of the Edwardia Lions. They even become team sponsors during the past season and had tickets to all home games. By pure chance, O’Dwyer had a season’s seat next to theirs, immediately behind the penalty box, and he and Philip got to discuss the merits and shortcomings of the players, as well as the officials - who often seemed blind as bats.
            O’Dwyer was a fanatical fan of the Montreal Canadians, but still enjoyed the local games as an experienced and well-informed hockey afficionado. He and Philip tended to get more than a bit excited during the games but rarely argued about technical points. Occasionally, the administrator had the surgeon over to his house to watch a football game between the Montreal Alouettes and their hottest rivals, especially the Edmonton Eskimos. Philip always bet against Montreal and that made the game more enjoyable, the arguments more energetic, and the consumption of beer more liberal. On one such occasion O’Dwyer suddenly tackled Philip about his persistent loyalty to the Chelmsford when it came to active staff membership.
    "I don’t understand why you stick with that bunch of Orangemen, Phil. You know how they hate us and besides, what the hell have they ever done for you?"
    "In the first place, Vince, I honestly don’t believe we should place religious barriers between the two hospitals, and although competition is a good thing it should be constructive rather than destructive."
    "You haven’t answered my question."
    "The Chelmsford has given me and my patients good service and that’s all I expect. St. Peter’s gives no less, and I let my patients decide where they wish to be admitted, except in certain emergency situations."
    "You could get a lot more from St. Peter’s if you switched. I guarantee you’d see your practice double in the next two years, starting with emergencies. Why d’you think an internist like Reg Asquith has built up such a big practice in just a few years?"
    "Well, in the first place he’s a darn good internist, and in the second place he’s politically popular."
    "It’s more than that, my friend. He knows that most of the G.Ps feel more comfortable at St. Peter’s and they send their work to specialists like Asquith who promote our hospital and give it all their support."
    "Maybe so, but there are also those who may benefit from a strong preference for the Chelmsford. Personally I don’t believe those are the kind of factors that should affect one’s volume of work."
    "Merde, mon ami!  Why don’t you open your eyes and take a good look at the real world and the way it runs? How do you Anglos say it? You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours."
            They agreed to disagree and Philip never gave the slightest consideration to changing his active staff membership from one hospital to the other. Perhaps there was another reason for his determination not to be a turncoat: two incidents for which he could never forgive Vince O’Dwyer, and the administrator knew it. The first was that involving a G.P. and the second concerned a radiologist.
            Emil Stanovitsky was a good family doctor, and he had an excellent practice, including a high percentage of continental Europeans who’d settled in their fair city. His privilege list at the Sisters’ hospital included a fair number of surgical procedures that he’d performed competently for a good many years. It included the removal of certain small benign tumors and cysts, and vein stripping for varicose veins. There were several established G.Ps who enjoyed such privileges and most of the surgeons - Philip, for one - had no objection. It wasn’t uncommon for certain procedures to lie in what might be called: "gray areas", and although no new privileges were being granted along such lines, none were removed without compelling reason.
            Even in the broad specialty of general surgery, although many procedures in urology, gynecology, and orthopedics were still on Philip Bosnar’s list at both hospitals, he gradually withdrew from certain surgical operations as new subspecialists came into the city. Some of the general surgeons, especially Harry Grote, Chief of Surgery at St Peter’s, bitterly opposed any surgical procedures being done by G.Ps - especially Stanovitsky. But Philip had watched Emil in the O.R. once or twice, and in addition, the G.P. had assisted him in several major procedures on his patients and proved he was surgically quite adept and a careful technician.
            Unfortunately one of his patients died of acute pulmonary embolism (a sudden blood clot in the lung circulation) three days after surgery, a standard vein stripping. Although there was nothing in the autopsy to indicate any lack of competence on Emil’s part or any failure to anticipate such a disastrous outcome, he had all his surgical privileges removed without so much as a hearing in his presence.

            Philip spoke at considerable length to Grote, to O’Dwyer and many others on the staff of St. Peter’s but to no avail. It seemed there was a lot of envy and a certain amount of prejudice involved in this decision, and he advised Stanovitsky to get himself a good lawyer. But Emil wouldn’t even consider such an action, since "it might hurt the nuns", whom he liked so much and to whom he had always been loyal. When the chips were down, Philip thought bitterly, it was not only where you give your loyalty, but who you are and what friends do you have.
            From that time forth, happy, kindly, gregarious Emil was a broken man, frequently sick and often seriously depressed. Even his bubbly, irrepressible wife, who could have cheered up Job in his time, was unable to work her magic with her husband. His opponents, both seen and unseen, had smashed his confidence and injured his self-respect, perhaps irreversibly.

            Freddy (Feodor) Ivanov was an Englishman to the core in both deportment and diction, and a thoroughly civilized sort of chap except for his political views, which were well to the right of Ghengis Khan. He came by these naturally, having been born into a family of aristocratic White Russians who fled to England when Lenin and his Bolsheviks took over the destiny of Mother Russia, "like a plague of locusts on our helpless motherland."  For the past ten years this patrician gentleman had presided over the radiology department at St. Peter’s with regal panache, as if he were current representative of the Romanovs’ Imperial Crown. He didn’t simply read his X-rays in ones presence; he had tea served ceremoniously while he expounded on the films mounted on his viewing box, and on world politics in general.
            What Ivanov exemplified was an oldworld charm and grace rather than the latest advances in his specialty, but those of the medical staff who knew him well and understood his strengths as well as his weaknesses, could see the handwriting on the wall. It would be hard for Freddy to step down from his throne when the time came, and the secret fears that haunted him in this regard were evident only to those who knew him best. He’d never really recovered from the death of his wife two years previously and was having difficulty raising his 12-year-old boy on his own. Luckily, his unmarried older sister was staying at his house and his son adored her.
            One day, a Dr. George Selkirk arrived from Winnipeg without any advance notice, to take over as the new head of St. Peter’s Department of Diagnostic Radiology, with Ivanov demoted to second in command. This was an action decided upon by Vincent O’Dwyer and the Executive Committee without any discussion whatsoever with Ivanov.
            For the next few days the fallen radiologist showed the new arrival every single item of the department in a spirit of helpful cordiality. He told Philip and some of his other friends that he liked the newcomer for his attitude and his obvious expertise, and he certainly revealed no resentment. On Friday, he went home shortly after 4 o’clock. He told his sister and son that he was taking a long trip, and said his goodbyes. Then he went out into his garage and hanged himself.
            For the next few weeks a great pall hung over the hospital and the staff all realized that St. Peter’s Hospital had lost one of its key personalities - one who simply couldn’t be replaced. (Sister Mary Patrick, the nun in charge of the X-ray technician staff and a devoted friend of her chief, not only departed from the hospital but left her holy order entirely and went down to California, where she became a senior hospital radiographer.)

            Gigi had grown up to be a most beautiful dog. In her smart Dutch cut, with her deep chocolate-brown coat and her bejeweled collar, she looked like a prizewinner, but was far too independent-minded for the Bosnars to consider entering her in any dog show. She was born to mischief, and when she was enrolled in dog-training class she managed in four short lessons to disrupt the class completely. Even the most obedient dogs became delinquent under her guidance, and the lady in charge of the classes was quite willing to pay Patty, in order to keep Gigi as far away as possible from her other pupils.
            All the Bosnar family members were extremely fond of their gorgeous poodle and proud of her aristocratic appearance and bearing; none more than Patty, who had once been so prejudiced against any kind of poodle, large or small. Now she was hooked for life. Florian was only too happy to pose for pictures with Gigi, who was a natural show-off, and they made an eye-catching photogenic pair. It was strange how Gigi learned, like Whiskers before her, to keep off the flowers in the rock garden, and she was like a mountain goat when it came to scampering up to the Lookout with her mistress. When the weather was fine the two of them went down to the seafront, where the poodle had her frenzied runs on the broad stretches of grass above the rocky bays, while Patty had long walks at full speed that kept her as fit as a fiddle.

            Phil and Patty were surprised and delighted when Jim Leigh-Jones came to visit them in Edwardia. He was on a business trip to Seattle but made a special point of stopping off to pay them a visit; he looked extremely well and had gained a bit of weight since they saw him last. His wife Daphne and three daughters - who remained home - were all well, and his electrical business was flourishing. The Bosnars had known for some time that Jim was one of the first of Britain’s postwar business millionaires, and on each of their trips to England they’d visited his huge mansion in Buckinghamshire, with over thirty rooms and large grounds adjoining a golf and country club.
            Leigh-Jones was a very shrewd businessman, despite his carefully cultivated pose as an effete aristocratic fop, and his central secret of success was to treat all his employees as if they were members of his family. Once a year, without fail, he closed down his huge London plant and offices and took all his employees and their families on a long weekend to the coast of France, in the Paris Plage area, with all expenses paid. It was the stuff of commitment and loyalty, and his workers resolutely refused to join any union; they always gave an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay. Their employer was a confirmed nonconformist and claimed that this attitude was born when he returned to Britain after the war and visited his neighborhood ‘Off License’ liquor store to replenish his meager stocks.
    "I’m sorry, chum, but I don’t seem to have your name on our customer list," he was told.
    "Of course you don’t, I’ve only just got back to England."
    "Where have you been since we opened a few years ago?"
    "I’ve been overseas with the Air force."
    "Well, there you are!  You can’t expect to get any supplies here if you’re not on our list. Try us in a couple of months and leave your name."
            After that and similar experiences, Jim invariably looked for ‘No Parking’ areas to park his car, and wherever the advertisements extolled the virtues of a particular brand of product over ‘Brand B’, he invariably sought out Brand B for his own purchases. In fact, he almost started a national trend along those lines in England and was very proud of it. Phil and Patty sent Daphne and her family all their love, and asked Jim to say how pleased they were that she never had a repetition of the dangerous complication she’d experienced after her delivery in far-off Vanwey.

            There was no doubt about it, Philip’s friend, Emil Stanovitsky was dying. After a number of heart attacks, labelled as ‘Coronary Occlusions’, he became increasingly feeble, and for the past month he’d been a private room patient on the medical floor of Chelmsford Hospital. Despite the best of care under a team of excellent internists and cardiologists, he lapsed into a chronic state of increasing cardiac failure. He was getting intensive medication and careful monitoring, yet he was failing day by day, and it was apparent to Philip that he’d lost the will to live some time ago.
            The day before he died, Emil Stanovitsky asked his wife and nurses to leave him alone with his friend for a few minutes, then spoke quite lucidly, slowly and calmly.
    "I’ve really been very fortunate, Phil, with more good friends than most and a wonderful marriage, although I would have loved to have some children. Please make sure a good man takes over my practice when I’m gone and Elsie gets an adequate deal on the takeover. She may be a bit strapped even with the insurance and our savings. I’m a bit disappointed at my colleagues in St. Peter’s and feel a bit let down by the nuns. I know you did all you could to change things around and I’m grateful, but I’ll die still wondering who wanted to ruin me and hurt my practice."
    "All I can say, Emil, is that you’re a damn fine doctor and your patients love you. The same, of course, goes for your loyal office nurse, Fran Michaels, who literally worships you. As for your opponents, they have to live with what they’ve done and I doubt if they’ve derived any benefit. You have my word that I’ll try to get the right man to take over your practice, and I’ll make sure Elsie get’s a fair deal on the transaction."
            Emil closed his eyes and drifted off into sleep with a happy smile on his face. That would be the way Philip would always remember this gentle soul, a doctor who was kind and thoughtful and should have had no enemies, except for reasons of envy or intolerance. This man of many interests and old world courtliness was also the man who had introduced him to the expanding world of tape-recording, and for that Philip Bosnar would always be grateful.

            As President of the C.P.S.A., Dr. Bosnar was glad a first-class program had been arranged and their guest speaker would be the internationally famous Richard Cattell of the Lahey Clinic; his main topic would be advances in biliary and pancreatic surgery. It was agreed unanimously that members of the Society should be careful not to embarrass their guest by asking him anything at all about his experiences as Anthony Eden’s surgeon. The entire meeting, held at the Prince Albert Hotel, went like a dream. The accommodations and facilities were beyond reproach, and the papers were of the highest standard, as were the discussions and commentaries. Cattell was in fine form and his presentations exceeded their highest expectations. Bosnar was sorry to detect just a trace of tremor in the hands and the fixed facial expression that were the early signs of Parkinsonism, but so far, the guest speaker seemed at the top of his form.
            On the Saturday evening after the end of the meeting, the two were sitting in the main bar of the hotel, chatting over their glasses of Cutty Sark and soda when Dr. Cattell suddenly astounded Bosnar by asking, "Would you like me to tell you about my involvement in the Anthony Eden case?" Bosnar could feel the sudden silence as several of his colleagues drew close to catch a conversation that was so unexpected.
    "I’d love to hear it, but before your arrival we decided it would be wrong to ask you."
    "Well, as you probably know, he had his gallbladder out in 1953 and following surgery he developed a persistent drainage of bile and slight jaundice. He was opened up again and they found that his common bile duct had been damaged to the extent that the surgeon was unable to effect a repair."
    "What was done then?"
    "They simply put in a drainage tube as a temporary measure before a commitment was made as to the next step. It so happened that I was over in Britain at the time as guest lecturer when I was contacted by Winston Churchill." He paused as they slowly finished their drinks and then continued while the bar attendant took a repeat order.
    "I was informed the Queen wished to see me, and Churchill had his chauffeur pick me up at my hotel and drive me to Buckingham Palace in the company of the great man himself. He introduced me to the Queen, who was most charming but nevertheless quite direct. ‘Mr. Cattell,’ she said, using the British surgical Mister rather than Doctor, ‘we would like you to take over the care of our Mr. Eden. He is very dear to us and we are very worried about him.’ I tried to explain that I would find it awkward to operate away from my home ground at the Lahey Clinic, and that I was quite sure that the excellent British surgeons would handle the case expertly."
    "How did she react to that?"
    "Quite calmly and firmly. ‘Of course, Mr. Cattell,’ she said, ‘we would expect you to perform the necessary surgery at the Lahey Clinic and we can arrange the immediate transportation of Mr. Eden to America.’"
            He went on to tell about the operation and two unpleasant side issues. At exploration, the common duct was hopelessly fibrosed right up to the liver, with no visible stump. He therefore used a vitallium Y-tube to insert into the right and left hepatic ducts and implanted the single end into a loop of upper intestine. The operation was difficult but successful, although it wasn’t made any easier by old Dr. Lahey, head of the clinic, who was long past his prime but insisted on ‘helping’ at the surgery. Throughout the operation he kept trying to interfere, with such remarks as, “Let me do it, Dick, I can get at it better from this side."
            Philip couldn’t resist telling his narrator about the trick he’d used at the Athlone Hospital, handing his troublesome assistant three retractors instead of the customary two. Cattell roared with laughter and thought he should have patented the procedure.
            The other awkward business concerned Mrs. Eden, who was supercilious toward everyone at the hospital and a constant embarrassment to her husband. One of her most frequent and gratuitous comments that hardly endeared her to all concerned was, "I really can’t see why this operation couldn’t have been done in London." As for Eden, he was an ideal and uncomplaining patient, and the nurses all loved him.
            When they finished their second drinks Cattell decided to complete his story. Before discharging his distinguished patient he warned him that it might become necessary at some future time to change the vitallium tube if it ever became clogged with what is known as Biliary Mud. That warning, by sheer misfortune, proved prophetic at the worst possible time in world history. It was at the time of the Suez Crisis that Prime Minister Eden reached the stage of chills and high fever, and faced the possibility of having to return to the Lahey for replacement of the Y-tube. Unhappily, therefore, it was a desperately ill man whom John Foster Dulles (in concert with the Soviets and Canada!) was able to bully into abandoning a course which might have prevented continued strife in the Middle East. It was a course that would also ensure an international waterway which couldn’t be closed to any nation on the decision of a dictator like Gamal Abdel Nasser.
    "Do you think Dulles knew how desperately ill Eden was at that particular time."
Philip felt he simply had to ask the question, and Cattell looked at him long and hard before answering.
    "You bet he knew," he replied quietly, "and so did President Eisenhower."