Happy Birthday, Lisa!

I really didn't have time to write a new blog post this week, but since my daughter's birthday is Monday, I decided to dedicate this post to her.

Lisa was supposed to be born in January, so when I started feeling mild pains in my stomach in early December, it never occurred to me that I might be in labor. I hadn't had lunch yet, so I figured my stomach was just "growling" and I made myself a grilled cheese sandwich.

A little while later, I realized my underwear was wet. I told my mom, who funny enough, also didn't think it could possibly be the baby. "Oh, just go upstairs and put on a pair of my bloomers," she said. (Yes, she actually said "bloomers!") I did and when they were also wet a few minutes later we both realized at the same time what must have happened--my water had broke and the baby was on the way!!! Ohhh!

I went to Madison Avenue hospital to have my baby. Now in those days, there was no such thing as "natural childbirth"--you were completely knocked out, and when they woke you up, you put on a pretty little bed jacket and were handed a perfectly clean, beautiful baby. (Much nicer than what they do nowadays in my opinion, but that's another story.) So when I arrived at the hospital the doctor said, "I hope you haven't eaten recently," because food + anesthesia is not a good combination. Not knowing this, I cheerfully told him I just had just polished off a nice grilled cheese sandwich. He shook his head and told me I'd "pay for that" later. (I did indeed by getting very queasy shortly after Lisa was born.)

Lisa was a beautiful, healthy baby--but small, being a month premature. She weighed just under five pounds and had to spend some time in an incubator. Oddly she had very long fingernails--I remember gently nibbling them off, for fear she'd scratch her face. She was also a very bald baby; people kept telling me, "He looks just like his brother!" This was back in the day before "scrunchies" so I kept scotch-taping pink bows to her little bald head!

Lisa always jokes that she was born early because she didn't want to miss Christmas, and in fact, she was born on a very holy catholic day; December 8th is the Feast of the Immaculate Conception.  So happy birthday to my wonderful daughter, and many many more!

And even more office stories

Through the doors to Dr. Castroviejo’s office passed the rich and famous, the world renowned artists and nobility of Europe, and the poorest immigrants from the South Bronx. All sat in the same examination chair and received the personal attention. The Sheik of Kuwait’s oldest son flew in with his mother to be scheduled for bilateral corneal transplants. In gratitude the Sheik’s wife came back to the office and presented both Cassy’s surgical secretary and his personal secretary with a gift—a large 18 carat gold pendant with matching chain, and to the doctor, two checks for fifty thousand dollars each, one check for each eye.

Dignitaries from Madrid and Barcelona used Cassy’s mansion as their home away from home. The great Spanish guitarist Andres Segovia would keep the doctor awake nights, when he would become restless about 3 am and begin strumming.  Those were the morning the doctor would step off his private elevator grumbling about his broken sleep. (You can watch and hear Segovia play guitar here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YZEUjDoji3Y )

As I mentioned in a previous column, William F. Buckley Jr. was a patient. One day Buckley brought in a veteran who had been blinded in the Vietnam war.  The army doctors could offer him nothing but a white cane.  Cassy started a series of complex operations, removing layer after layer of scar tissue before performing corneal transplants.  The soldier was able to give up his white cane, his sight returned and he became engaged to be married.  Buckley was so thrilled by this and wanted to pay for the treatments but Cassy would not accept any payment.

When Aristotle Onassis returned to Dr. Castroviejo’s office a second time, he was very distraught. His eyelid was taped open and he had the start of myasthenia gravis, a muscle destroying disease that would eventually take his life. 

Aristotle Onassis

He was a frightened man, all his bravado gone. “Call my doctor,” he pleaded with Cassy. But Cassy said that wasn’t necessary, I know what you have. This was something even the best eye surgeon in the world could not help him with; unfortunately there was nothing anybody could do. Dr. C. then proceeded to give him a kindly lecture on altering his lifestyle: “Rest more—we are the same age; you must slow down. Stop smoking!”

It was very sad to see the powerful Aristotle Onassis helpless and scared; Cassy wrote him an encouraging letter after the visit. It showed me so clearly that money can do only so much. Cassy ended his letter with “I love you, old friend.”  A few months later Onassis was gone.

Cassy had an estate in Oyster Bay and he invited us there frequently on weekends to enjoy the pool and have lunch. 

                       Castroviejo's Oyster Bay home had a beautiful pool and occasionally my  

                                    children and I were allowed to use it on the weekends.

I mentioned to Cassy that when I was on vacation in Madrid I had spotted graffiti which read, “Everyone who reads this is ignorant except Severo Ochoa,” (Severo Ochoa was a Spanish-American physician and biochemist, and a Nobel Prize winner.) Cassy thought that was amusing and insisted I tell it to Mr. Ochoa, who was coming to Oyster Bay that very afternoon for a swim, and so I did.

One Friday afternoon I had a visit from two men who identified themselves as FBI and wanted to schedule a meeting with me the following Monday. They wouldn’t tell me what it was about and all weekend I worried about it.  It turned out to be about Castroviejo.  He had just operated on a member of Fidel Castro’s cabinet and they were questioning me about his loyalty and whether he was a communist!  He was, in fact, extremely loyal and in fact had stated when asked about this, “I don’t ask a patient about their politics, I just want to fix their eyes.”  Mind you, Cassy was no angel, and he could be a very demanding boss, and had a “bigger than life” personality, as do most famous people, but I always felt it was a honor and a privilege to work for such a talented man.

La Familia

Once, when my grandmother was pregnant, a neighbor called to invite her over. She had brought back some soppressata (hard salami) to NY from Italy. My grandmother didn’t go over right away. A couple of weeks later she had a craving for a salami sandwich. She went to visit the neighbor. “Now you come?” the neighbor said. “We finished that soppressata a long time ago.” 

soppressata

Clockwise from top row, my Aunt Lily, Inez (my mother) my Uncle Loris, my Uncle Dominic, my beautiful grandmother Letitia (in pearls) my Uncle Eddie.

            My grandmother claimed that at that exact moment she felt a sharp pain in her stomach, and she lost the baby. She truly believed that if you were pregnant and had a craving and didn't get that food immediately you would lose the child. She went on to have five beautiful healthy babies, Inez (my mother), Dominic, Lily, Loris and Edmund.

            Edmund (my Uncle Eddie) was the baby. He was a fun-loving person from the very start. One day when he was in high school, a friend talked him into skipping school (playing “hooky”) and going to Times Square instead. Uncle Eddie was dazzled by the bright lights, the people, the music and the shows.  “I was shocked,” Uncle Eddie later told me. “I thought, all this goes on, every day, while I’m in class?”  That was it for him. He never went back.

            When I was born, my grandfather went to the corner of 119^th street, where my Uncle was hanging out to tell him I was born. I remember one Christmas Eve when I was a very little girl the choir was singing at Holy Rosary, the church next door. It was midnight mass and they were singing Silent Night. I could hear the music but I was too little to realize a mass was going on. Uncle Eddie brought me to the window. “Listen,” he whispered. “It's Christmas Eve. You can hear the angels singing.”

            He shared my love for great music, especially all things Frank Sinatra.  When Sinatra recorded Old Man River, he brought the record over for me to hear. “Wait until you hear this,” he told me.  We both held our breath and listened in awe as Frank sang, “Tote that barge, lift that bale, get a little drunk and you land in jaaaaaaaaaiiiiiillllllll,” We must have played the record ten times in a row that night. You can listen to Frank sing Old Man River (the amazing note he holds starts at the 2:50 mark): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fwySOwzouz4

            My Uncle Eddie and my Uncle Loris were both avid New York Giant fans. I remember the famous “shot heard round the world” game, when the Giants won the pennant, all the Giants fans in East Harlem were celebrating in the street. When my Uncle Eddie and Uncle Loris saw each other, they both fell into each other’s arms, two grown men weeping like babies.  (I think this is where my son and daughter got the "obsessed baseball fan" gene! )  Of course my brother Ronnie, a die-hard Yankee fan, told my Uncles to “enjoy it while they could” since the Yankees were going to beat them in the World Series (and he was right.) 
              My grandfather developed diabetes and heart problems and was forced to retire from his job as a fitter at Tripler's Men's Clothing Store after 20 years. He would ask me to look at the want ads with him, as he always wished he could go back to work.

                                                           My beloved grandfather Fabio

                         After a while, his condition became worse and he was afraid to go to sleep at night. He would call down to my dad after midnight and ask him to take him for a ride. One Sunday my parents were at church and my mom was praying very hard for God to give him courage and not be so afraid. I was sitting on the couch reading So Big by Edna Ferber, and my grandmother was next to me, sewing. Suddenly my grandfather motioned for her to come to him. He encircled her with his arms and gave her a long, hard kiss. Then his head went back and his eyes closed. I realized immediately what had happened and ran to the church to tell my parents. Then I ran to the corner to tell Uncle Eddie. With tears in his eyes he said, “He came to tell me when you were born and now you came to tell me he died.”  

                        We all lived on the same block, in the same building, for many years.  It helped whenever there was a death in the family that everyone was so close for support. I miss those days so much.

More office stories

Gina Lollobrigida

The Italian actress Gina Lollobrigida was also a patient. While she certainly was beautiful, she never became as popular in the United States as she was in Europe. Dr. Castroviejo ("Cassy") wasn't familiar with American movie stars, but he certainly knew who Gina was. He was very protective of her; when her office appointment was over, he made someone walk her out and put her in a cab. I guess he thought she'd be mobbed by fans; meanwhile most people in New York didn't have a clue who she was.

Another patient was the Duchess of Badajoz, Infanta Pilar, the sister of Juan Carlos, who, at the time was the King of Spain. One day soon after her visit, an envelope arrived at the office. It was thick, creamy, beautiful stationery, with the seal of the King of Spain. It was regarding the Duchess of Badajoz. It had nothing to do with her eyes. The letter stated that during her visit to New York, the Duchess had developed a fondness for Pillsbury Pancake mix, and could we please send some to Spain? Of course we sent her a huge box.

As I was writing a letter for Cassy to include in the package, I wondered out loud whether to adress the letter to "her royal highness"—was that the appropriate greeting for a Duchess? "Can't you just write, 'Dear Duchess'?" Cassy asked. He really didn't know. I tried to explain to him that would be like starting a letter to King Juan Carlos, "Dear King," and he just shrugged. It's a good thing he was an exquisite surgeon.

The Duchess of Badajoz; she loved Pillsbury Pancake Mix!

One fun thing about working in a doctor's office was that there was never a shortage of interesting people to meet. Since the majority of Cassy's patients were from Spain, whenever somebody asked us to recommend a fun place to go, we'd always say The Chateau Madrid, a Spanish nightclub on 48th street. I used to go there a lot with one of the other girls in the office, my friend Mercedes. It got to the point that whenever we walked in, whoever was singing would immediately work our names into the song. I guess you could say that The Chateau Madrid was like our "Cheers" bar—"where everybody knows your name." I remember one time a very handsome matador from Spain asked me for a date. When he asked me out, he made point of telling me "all the women in the office were looking at him." So when he told me to pick a place, naturally I said the Chateau Madrid. As soon as we walked in, the band played a merry tune and the bandleader started singing, "Hola, Tina!" The matador stared at me for a moment and then said grimly, "So, I guess they know you here." Ha!

I also played matchmaker in the office. One of the other secretaries there was a sweet girl named Gladys. One day a cute young man named Ralph brought his mother in for a checkup. Gladys did her best to flirt, but for whatever reason, Ralph didn't seem to be picking up her signals. When he left, Gladys was disappointed; and she knew Ralph wouldn't be back in the office with his mom for at least six months for a follow-up appointment. But I had an idea. I called Ralph and told him we forgot to give his mom some eye drops. Ralph asked if the drops were like Visine, and couldn't he just pick some up at a drugstore? (Men can be so clueless.) I told him if he came back to the office he'd get a six month supply for free. But the next day when he came back to the office and saw Gladys sitting there all dressed up and beaming at him like it was Christmas morning, he finally got the message. He asked Gladys out, and the rest is history. They are still married to this day. I went to the christening of their first grandchild last year!

...And MORE Famous Patients...!

Merv Griffin

Working for Dr. Castroviejo (“Cassy”), celebrities in the office were a common occurrence. Some were more memorable than others. One of my favorites was the TV host Merv Griffin. I was sitting at my desk, when suddenly I looked up and saw a very familiar face smiling down at me. “Hi,” he said, his bright blue eyes twinkling. “I’m Merv Griffin.” I blurted out the first thing that came into my head. “I KNOW!”  I squealed, unable to control my delight. He was just as nice and charming in person as he seemed on his talk show.

William F. Buckley, Jr.

Another memorable patient was William F. Buckley, Jr., the famous political author and commentator and founder of the National Review. Everyone gets scared when something is wrong with their eyes and Mr. Buckley was no exception. Early one morning we received a call asking to squeeze in him. He came rushing into the office about ten minutes later. “Oh, Ramon,” he moaned. “Something is very wrong with my eyes!” He took off his coat and we were all shocked to see he was in a robe and pajamas underneath. He was so scared he didn’t bother to get dressed, he just rushed right over. (If I remember correctly, he had a minor eye infection; it wasn’t a big deal.)  To calm him down Cassy joked with him and asked him to tell him who to vote for. Buckley loved and trusted Cassy so much, he brought his mother in to have her eyes checked. I smiled when I saw her. “You look like your son,” I said.  She smiled back as she corrected me. “No dear, he looks like me,” she replied.

Ben Gazzara

Ben Gazzara was another famous patient. Cassy wasn’t one to watch American television so he had no clue who he was. “He’s very famous,” I told him. “He’s a big TV star. He has his own weekly program, Run for Your Life, on NBC.” Cassy shrugged, unimpressed. Later that afternoon when Mr. Gazzara arrived for his appointment, Cassy walked over to him and shook his hand. “I enjoy your show,” he said warmly, as if he had watched every episode. Ha.

But the only patient I was truly in awe of was the English playwright, director, actor, and singer Noel Coward. I was such a huge fan of his work, like the film Brief Encounter.  When I was seated next to him I could barely breathe. I was supposed to be paying attention to what Cassy was saying—he was telling me Mr. Coward’s eyeglass prescription and what his new one should be. A couple of minutes into the exam Cassy asked me to repeat what he said. I looked down at my pad and realized with embarrassment I hadn’t written down a single word. “Tina!” Cassy said in shock. That was the first (and only time) that ever happened.

                                                     Noel Coward
               

Fashion designer Oleg Cassini was another patient. Oleg designed clothes for many of the celebrities that walked the red carpet at the Oscars, so it was more than flattering when I saw him glance with approval at the white suit I was wearing from E.J. Korvettes, which couldn’t have cost more than twenty bucks.

Oleg Cassini dancing with Jackie Kennedy. Jackie is wearing one of the gowns Mr. Cassini designed for her.

I should mention I was the only non-Spanish speaking secretary in Cassy’s office. The other women who worked there assumed the only reason Dr. Castroviejo hired me had to be that we were fooling around; meanwhile nothing could have been further from the truth.  The rumors made their way to Cassy, who responded by coming out of his office one day with a thick pile of letters, contracts, and correspondence which I had typed up for him that needed his signature. He plopped the huge stack of papers in the middle of the secretarial area and signed each one with a flourish. When he was through, he handed me the entire stack and said loudly to no one in particular, “And not a single mistake!” I guess it never occurred to the other secretaries that I could possibly be good at my job! 

(Editor's note: No, this last photo isn't of a celebrity, it is a photo of the author of this blog, Tina Rao!  I just couldn't resist posting this photo of my mom from "back in the day." Was it any wonder the other secretaries were jealous of her?)

Famous Doctor, Famous Patients

Dr. Ramon Castroviejo

I always said I wanted to work for an important person. That dream came true when I became an executive assistant to Dr. Ramon Castroviejo, a Spanish born eye-surgeon who was a pioneer in corneal transplant surgery. Dr. Castroviejo was a developer of techniques for transplanting corneal tissue from the eyes of those who had just died to damaged eyes of the living. His method was to insert a rectangular-shaped ''window'' into the cornea. Dr. Castroviejo explained that rectangular windows gave better results than the circular ones that had been tried earlier, since their edges could be fitted better to merge with and become a living part of the rest of the eye. Dr. Castroviejo even had surgical instruments named after him. I remember one night while watching the TV show Grey’s Anatomy, I was amused to hear one of the doctors ask for a “Castroviejo knife.”

Aristotle Onassis and his wife, Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis

Dr. Castroviejo’s clientele included many celebrities. Aristotle Onassis was one of them. I remember after Onassis had his eye surgery, he tried to give Dr. C. (“Cassy”) a check for $40,000. Cassy refused it, pushing it back in his hand. Onassis pushed it back to him. After this went on for several minutes, Cassy finally took the check saying he’d accept it “for his foundation.”  After this Onassis invited Cassy over for dinner. Cassy hesitated, at which point Onassis asked to use the phone to call his wife—Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis—to try to convince him. At this point I excused myself from the room—to give them privacy, and also so I could listen in on the phone from my desk.  I mean, come on! It was Jackie Onassis on the line! Who wouldn’t want to listen in? I gently picked up the receiver just in time to hear that famous soft whispery voice say, “Ohhh, you must come for dinner, Ramon! Ari so wants you to join us.” Finally Cassy agreed, and Jackie said, “How wonderful. Ari will be so pleased.”  After they hung up, Onassis joked with Cassy about who would be his date. Cassey knew he had to bring someone young and attractive, to be somewhat on par with Jackie. And yet for all of Jackie’s intelligence and glamour Cassy also knew Onassis preferred the opera singer Maria Callas. “She has more pepper,” he confided to Cassy.

In her heyday, Charo was difficult to ignore

Another memorable patient was the celebrity Charo. Charo burst into the reception area, a vision in knee-high white go-go boots and mile high blond hair. At the time she was married to the bandleader Xavier Cugat. “How is Xavier? Is he dead?” Cassy asked, as way of a greeting. Charo’s wide eyes grew wider in shock. “Oh, RAMON!” she gasped, and clutched her heart dramatically. “How can you say such a thing? That is my husband!” Cassy shrugged; it was his idea of a joke.  Charo had a very minor eye infection; she kept insisting to Cassy that her eyes looked a little red to her. “You’re fine, just stop staring at your eyes,” he chided her.  As she sat in the examining room chair, a young good-looking doctor by the name of Dr. Armond came in the room to ask Cassy a question. Charo immediately perked up; she smiled her best megawatt smile and tossed her blond mane of hair. When she didn’t get a reaction from the doctor, she gave a demure little cough, and when he glanced in her direction she repeated the hair flip and smile again. Still no reaction. When he and Cassy left the room, Charo turned to me, shocked and a little bit worried. “What—what is wrong with him?” she asked. I then gently broke the news to her that the handsome doctor in question was gay. “Ahhh,” she said, and looked at her reflection in her compact mirror again and gave a little satisfied smile. He was gay! So it had nothing to do with her perhaps losing her charms. She snapped the compact shut, smoothed her white miniskirt over her thighs, told me to have a nice day, and bounded out the door. And everyone in the doctor’s office stared at her as she left. Except of course for Dr. Armond.

A Mafia Message

     

   

           When I started working, I was still living in East Harlem and things hadn't changed much there. After dinner I'd meet my friend Ruby and we’d walk over a couple of blocks to the Colonial Tea Room for a coffee or maybe a soda. Ruby had a girlfriend in school and she and her brother Teddy would with sit with us sometimes. Teddy was a nice looking boy, with a big smile and curly dark hair. One night he told us that he was making a lot of money and had bought a brand new car. “How many seventeen-year-olds do you know with a brand new car?” he bragged. He told us all he had to do was pick up a package from the west side and deliver it. As innocent as we were, Ruby and I knew the package was probably drugs. We begged him not to do it anymore…it wasn't worth it, no matter how much he was paid. Of course he ignored us and we later heard he was picked up and arrested.

          Teddy told us how the police had showed him photos of children hooked on drugs. It really shook him up and eventually he gave the police the names of the people he worked for. Of course these people found out what he did and soon after Teddy was killed in a candy store. We heard rumors that they dumped his body somewhere in the Bronx. “Remember that curly hair he had,” one of the “old-timers” told us. “Well, it’s all gone now…the rats ate it!”

          Unfortunately young men will always be tempted by the idea of making lots of money the easy way.  Across the street from us lived a young man nicknamed Blondie because his hair was so light. He loved to go to the Boys Club to play handball, as did a lot of the guys in the neighborhood.  I remember him once telling me enthusiastically how great my Uncle Eddie was at the game. I guess it was hard for him to take care of his large family in a small East Harlem apartment. Blondie also got involved with the drug runners. I don’t remember exactly what his job was, but I know he was responsible for handling the money. It was a pretty high-level position.

          I really don‘t know what happened after that.  He moved his family out of the small apartment and stopped going to the Boys Club.  

          Not too much later a body was found floating in the East River with both hands cut off—a mafia message that the person was taking more than he should from whoever was running the operation.  We all knew it was Blondie because of his almost white, light hair.