I can’t get over how what you need to read is always available for the taking,
as long as you are willing to be taken.
This morning at 5:00 AM I finally got to last Sunday’s paper. Christopher
Gray, NY Times, 2/08/90, _An 1871 Row House Co-Designed by Calvert Vaux_. The
entire piece made me laugh, and I was late to work for the rereading four or
five times extra. In particular I enjoyed the following reference to
resuscitation of a dead rabbit. For those of you who do not have the pleasure
of rising early on Sunday morning and waiting for the newspaper delivery truck
to deliver the Times at your local 7-11, an excerpt follows.
“In 1908 The New York Times said she had received her medical degree at 20 and
described her as a small and retiring person who "lives only for her work."
Dr. Robinovitch believed that a direct current of about 35 volts was far
better for surgical procedures than were chloroform or cocaine.
In 1909 she resuscitated a dead rabbit in the offices of the New York Edison
Company on Duane Street; company officials were trying to find ways to revive
employees electrocuted while on duty. In 1910 The Times reported that she had
served as the electro-anesthesiologist at the amputation of a man's frozen
toes at Saint Francis Hospital in Hartford.”
Having recently undergone an electro-physiologic ablatment of a nasty vigor
that has spent my entire life trying to assert its right of dominance I feel
deeply indebted to Dr. Robinovitch for her pioneering efforts on expired
rodents. As well to Mr. Gray for bringing Dr. R to my attention.
My extra nerve kept taking on a major role in my ambitions at inconvenient
times, like when the concrete truck would show up, or after my bending over in
the main hall at Grand Central to tie my shoes -- just before a BIG pre-
contract meeting with LMB and Metro-North, for a probe project that we did get
to do. It has for many years kept me from pursuing a helicopter license, which
has less hope as my eyesight slowly melts into haze.
My cardiac operation consisted of being wired, through vein and artery and the
kind doctors exciting my pumper into manic mode. I was strapped down and quite
alert despite morphine and sedatives. Later they confessed I was too hardy for
anesthesiology, which I can only attribute to the immunization of a wayward
youth on the wrong bus. When they found the most excitable X they calmly
administered a series of mild charges, counting out the seconds, and burnt the
culprit with intent of full and final elimination. I was then taken around the
block a few times with the vascular organ charged up full power, let down
again, and run a few laps around a country block. Onward with bunny.
Electrical charges are used to reduce pain. I know of at least one individual
who walks around with a small accessory that provides a charge to his spine.
When the body becomes accustomed the unit requires adjusting. Nurses like to
tell us we are 90% water, but we should not forget we are 100% atoms, which
consist of neutrons, protons, strange vocabulary, and excited electrons.
Moving our electrons is an electrifying experience, giving Walt Whitman
something to crow about. Which reminds me that Edison is reported to have
invented the electric chair in order to scare people away from Tesla’s A/C
current. That is one final solution to the pain problem. I’ll return to my
study of the history of torture another day. And I will not get into people
dancing in alfalfa fields during electric storms buck naked.
It is the human aspects of historic preservation that I find most
entertaining. I’m quickly bored by the clinical approach to technical problem
solving, or the counting out of CMU and dollars.
With the above in mind, I admire the recent flood of WINDOW messages on BP and
PL, but regret that none of them go into depth to relate the emotional
economics that wood windows and wavy glass just feel real good for gardeners.
One of my finest experiences with a window, beside looking out of them from
time to time, was having a good friend, an accomplished stained glass dedact
explain to me what I was looking through. I’ve never seen through windows the
same twice as a result.
One last note. Making an experimental excursion to Manhattan this week on the
subway, on the way back, I was waiting for the train and one lens of my
eyeglasses popped out onto the track below the platform. In my younger days I
would have gone after it, and kicked the rats out of the way. This time I had
sense to think I may not be able to climb back out of the pit. Since my
experiment I have been traveling with prescription sunglasses. If the above
prose seems wandering or slightly demented, then you try driving on Long
Island in the dark, in the fog, with shades. I’m beginning to feel young and
rebellious again.
][<en Follett
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