“Is that so? Say, is that what happened to old man Kestler? He got an allergic reaction to the pills you prescribed?”
The doctor shrugged. “It’s possible. My associate, Dr. DiFrancesca, was inclined to think so. Where there’s a known allergy to a particular medicine, of course we don’t prescribe it. That’s why we always tell patients what the medicine is and ask about their allergies, if any. Normally, for instance, I would have prescribed penicillin for Kestler, but I knew he was allergic to it, so I prescribed one of the tetracyclines. He could have been allergic to that, too, but it was a lot less likely. I mean, a number of people are allergic to penicillin, but not too many to tetracycline. And I’d had him on it before. But even there you can’t tell. Sometimes, it’s sort of cumulative.”
“Any chance the drugstore made a mistake?”
The doctor shook his head. “No, I shouldn’t think so. They’re terribly careful these days because of this sophisticated formulation I mentioned. A mistake on the part of the druggist is highly unlikely. And the manufacturers cooperate by putting out their pills in all different shapes and colors instead of just round and white the way they used to do years ago. The pill I prescribed for Kestler, for example, was kind of pink oval—”
“Orange, I’d say,” said the chief.
“No, pink. Well, maybe you could call it salmon-colored. How do you know?”
“I looked at them. I’ve got them right here. I’m sure they’re orange. Just a minute.” He pulled open a desk drawer and took out the envelope that contained the bottle of pills. He uncapped the bottle and shook a few pills out on the desktop. There was no mistake. Oval they were, but they were also unmistakably orange. “Now wouldn’t you call them orange?” he asked.
“Let me see that bottle.” The doctor read the label aloud: “J. Kestler, Limpidine two hundred fifty, one tablet four times a day, Dr. D. Cohen.”
“That’s what you prescribed?”
The doctor nodded.
“And those are the pills? What did you call them—Limpidine?”
“I always thought they were pink. Look, I’ve got a book at home that the pharmaceutical industry issues every year to all doctors. It has all the information on the medicines they manufacture as well as colored plates of the pills. I could swear that Limpidine is pink but I’ll look it up as soon as I get home.”
“You do that, Doctor, and call me back. I’ll be here for a little while.”
Dr. Cohen managed to observe the speed limits all the way home, but just barely. He parked his car in the garage and then hurried to his study without bothering to take off his coat. He opened the Physician’s Desk Reference and stared at the colored plate. He was right! The Limpidine was pink. The orange pill was actually a form of penicillin put out by the same house. Somehow Aptaker had made a mistake and issued the penicillin pill. And of course the old man had reacted to it, since he was sensitive to the medicine. So the mistake was the druggist’s, and he was in the clear!
His heart sang within him. It had happened! He had gone to the retreat; he had prayed, truly prayed perhaps for the first time in his life; and the very next day, this great depressing weight had been miraculously lifted.
He reached for the telephone.
The problems of parents with their children, all seemingly requiring nothing less than a rabbinic decision or at least an opinion, were many and various. Rabbi Small saw each parent in turn while the rest waited outside on a settee near his study.
“… I know it isn’t terribly important, but kids are sensitive, and when Malcolm Studnick was given the part in the play, where everybody said my Ronald was so much better in the tryouts, he was hurt….”
“… You know how it is with girls, Rabbi. Being popular is important to them. It can affect their whole personality. So dancing class and tennis lessons, they’re part of her necessary development as a woman….”
“… It isn’t that my Sumner is not interested, Rabbi. It’s just that he hasn’t got the time….”
“… Right now, Rabbi, where he’s been sickly almost since he was a baby, my husband feels, and I do too of course, he should be outdoors as much as possible. I thank God for Little League. If it weren’t for Little League, he’d be moping around the house all the time. That’s why I was so interested in the camp when my husband came home and told me about it Wednesday night. Now if he could get his Judaism there during the summer—”
“What camp is that, Mrs. Robinson?”
“You know, the place up in Petersville. As I understand it, it’s to be used not only as a retreat for adults, but there’ll be opportunity for the children to go up there for a couple of weeks in the summer.”
“But that’s not for the immediate future, Mrs. Robinson, it’s just being discussed.”
“Oh no, Rabbi. According to my husband they discussed it thoroughly at the retreat yesterday, and they were going to vote on it today.”
“Oh, I see.” Rabbi Small managed to curb his impatience and gave no indication that he was anxious to get rid of her, but when the conference was over and he saw Mrs. Robinson to the door, he said to the woman who was about to enter, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Kalbfuss, but I have to go to the board meeting.”
“But it’s over, Rabbi. They all left a little while ago.”
He looked down the corridor, and sure enough, the door to the boardroom was open and the room was empty.
As he was driving home, Chester Kaplan spotted Dr. Cohen raking leaves on his front lawn and drew up to the curb. “Hi, Doctor,” he called. “Sorry I had to rush off this morning without saying good-bye.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” said Cohen, approaching the car, rake in hand.
“How was it? Did you like it?” Kaplan asked eagerly.
“It was fine,” said the doctor, his face expanding in a broad grin. “Real fine, kind of wonderful, in fact. Reminds me, I haven’t paid you yet. If you’ve got a minute, I’ll go in and make out a check, or come in if you like.”
“No, that’s all right. You send it to me. I’ve got to run along. I’m glad you had a nice time.”
“Oh yeah, it was a real experience.”
When he got home, Kaplan immediately went to his study and typed a letter on temple stationery to Marcus Aptaker, Town-Line Drugs, informing him that the board of directors of the temple had voted unanimously to sell the Goralsky Block and the adjacent land to William Safferstein, 258 Minerva Road, Barnard’s Crossing, and that he should address his request for renewal of his lease to him.
23
“Don’t do it, David,” Miriam urged. “Kaplan put one over on you. Don’t give him the added satisfaction of showing him that you’re hurt.”
“I can’t just let it pass,” the rabbi said, but he took his hand off the telephone.
“But you don’t know what happened. All you know is what some woman told you they were going to do at the meeting. You don’t know if they actually did it. Why not wait until they tell you officially?”
Her husband sat down, and since he appeared receptive, she continued. “You think they voted to buy that place up in Petersville. Well, what if they did? They have a right to, haven’t they? They don’t need your permission. You’re just invited to attend board meetings as a guest. You weren’t elected to the board.”
He nodded. “No, of course not. And if they want to buy a piece of land up-country for some ordinary purpose—”
“Like what?”
“Well, even for investment. I might have some thoughts on the wisdom of the move, but no real interest as rabbi of the congregation. But on the basis of what Kaplan has let drop the last couple of months, I am reasonably sure they plan to use the place as a retreat. Now that does concern me.”
“Well, I suppose since it’s a religious thing—”
He looked at her in surprise. “It’s more than that. It’s not just something that I feel they should have asked me about, like—like whether to buy a new Scroll of the Law. This retreat idea involves a chan
ge in the direction that the temple is taking. Suppose they’re considering doing away with the Bar Mitzvah at the age of thirteen in favor of a confirmation at fifteen or sixteen as is the case in many Reform temples. Or suppose they decided to institute a new seating arrangement where women would be separated from men as in Orthodox synagogues. Those are not the kinds of things where just my opinion or advice is involved. In matters of that sort which indicate a basic change in the temple, it is my consent that they must get.”
“And if they refuse?”
“Then I resign, of course,” he said simply. “I say, in effect, I am a Conservative rabbi and as such accepted a position with a Conservative congregation. Now you wish to become a Reform congregation or an Orthodox congregation. Very well, it is your right, but I cannot continue to serve.”
Miriam was troubled. “Aren’t you overreacting, David?” she hazarded. “If a few members of your congregation want to go into the woods and pray on their own—”
“It’s not a few members. It’s the president and the board of directors of the temple, presumably acting for the congregation as a whole, and using congregation monies. And they’re not just going into the woods to pray. They’re setting up a branch of the temple and are engaging this rabbi, of whose views I know nothing, to guide them.” He got up and went to the telephone.
Miriam tried once again. “Well, even as a matter of tactics, wouldn’t it be better if the board notified you about what happened at the meeting? I mean, wouldn’t it be better if they came to you, instead of you going to them? For all you know, Kaplan plans to call you sometime this afternoon or even to come over to explain it.”
He considered. “I doubt if he will. He probably expects to see me at the minyan this evening.”
“Same thing.”
He was silent as he thought about it. Finally he said, “Maybe.”
He was moody all afternoon and spent most of it in his study. Miriam realized that her husband was deeply hurt and did not disturb him. But in the evening, she entered his study and was surprised to see that he was standing in the corner praying, his lips moving rapidly as he recited the Shimon Esra. She waited until he was finished and said, “Aren’t you going to the minyan, David?”
He shook his head. “No, I’m not. And I don’t think I’ll go for the rest of the week.”
“They’ll think you’re sulking.”
He grinned. “Let them. Maybe I am, at that. I haven’t decided just what I’m going to do, but I am not going to argue this issue in the corridor with Kaplan and whoever else might decide to join in. I’ll wait until Sunday and then when the minutes of the previous meeting are read, I’ll know exactly what they did and act accordingly. If they have passed a motion to buy the land in Petersville for a retreat, then I’ll ask for reconsideration.”
“And if they reconsider and end up voting the same way?”
“Then I shall ask that they call for a general meeting of the membership where I can state my views and ask for a vote by the congregation as a whole.”
“And if they refuse?”
“Then, of course, I will resign.”
24
On the spur of the moment while on his way home, Lanigan parked his car at the corner instead of entering the street. He winced as he always did when he saw the neon sign, YE OLDE CORNER DRUGGE STORE, JOS. TIMILTY., REG. PHARM., PROP., but he went in nevertheless. Timilty, a short, dark, stout man, came hurrying over. His Russian-style tunic of pale green nylon with Ye Olde Drugge Store stitched on the pocket in dark green had short sleeves, exposing hairy forearms. He was bald, but as though to compensate, he had bushy black eyebrows accentuated by the heavy dark frames of his eyeglasses. Even immediately after shaving, his jowls were bluish; now, late in the afternoon, they were blue-black.
“What can I do for you?” he asked, to emphasize the importance of the customer, as taught in the salesmanship course he was taking. He was new in the area, having bought the store less than a year ago from the Brundages, who had operated it as far back as Lanigan could remember.
Somewhat taken aback at the directness of the approach, Lanigan cast about for something to buy. His eye swept along the displays, the salted nuts, the boxes of candy, the perfumes; the dog collars, leashes and rawhide chewing bones; canary and lovebird supplies; the children’s toys. But he had neither dog nor pet bird, nor child at home and he knew that if he brought home a box of candy or perfume, Amy would think he had been drinking. Then he thought of the tiny sample bottle of pills Dr. Cohen had given him and drew it out of his pocket.
“A funny thing happened to me this morning,” he said. “I was in my office down at the stationhouse looking over some files, and I bent over, and by God, I couldn’t straighten up.”
Timilty nodded knowingly. “Sacroiliac,” he said positively. “First time it’s happened?”
“No, but never like this.” He went on to tell of calling Dr. Cohen, “… and these pills he gave me, well, they worked like magic. A half an hour later, I was as good as new.” Timilty nodded, smiling the superior smile of the professional at the layman’s marveling at the wonders of science.
“Usually it takes me as much as a couple of weeks to get over an attack, but here, in half an hour—nothing. So I was wondering if you had these pills—they are just a sample that Doc Cohen had in the house—well, I could keep a supply of them handy. Then if it happened again, why, I’d have them.”
Timilty glanced at the little glass bottle the chief held out to him. “Sure, we’ve got them. There are a number of preparations that do much the same thing, muscle relaxants we call them. But you want to be careful about driving when you’re taking them. They can make you drowsy.”
“Do I need a doctor’s prescription? Because if I do—”
“No, you don’t need a prescription. How many do you want?”
“Gee, I don’t know. A dozen?” the chief suggested.
“Sure. You can always get more if you want them.” He went to the prescription room in back of the store, and Lanigan followed.
“Gosh, how do you keep track of all these medicines, Joe?”
“Oh, there’s no trouble if you have a system.” He laughed. “Old Man Brundage used to do it by instinct, I guess.” He selected a plastic tube and typed a label. “You understand, I can only put the trade name of the medication on the label,” he said. “You can write in the doctor’s name and the dosage yourself if you want to. I can’t without a prescription.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” Lanigan said easily. “You do a lot of prescriptions?”
“Fifty, sixty a day.”
“You pour them out of the big bottles into the little bottles, eh?”
Timilty was about to explain haughtily that there was a great responsibility involved, but he remembered that Lanigan was an important man in the town, so he winked and said with a grin, “That’s just about it.”
“You never actually have to make up something?”
“Oh sure. Liquid medicines, salves, suppositories, sometimes even pills. Some of the old-timers have their special prescriptions even for pills and I compound them and put them up in plastic capsules. By the time I came into the drug business, the drug houses had got it all organized.”
“Ever make a mistake?”
Timilty shook his head gravely. “Never on a drug. No druggist does. He’d go out of business.”
“But some pharmacists—”
Timilty shook his head stubbornly. “I’m not one to go around boosting the competition, but no druggist can afford to make a mistake on a prescription. Sometimes, a doctor will specify the drug of a particular pharmaceutical house, say Squibb’s, and you’re out of it. But you’ve got the identical formulation from, say, Parke-Davis. Well, I’ve known of druggists who’ll give the Parke-Davis. Now that’s not really a mistake. It’s what you might call unethical. And some doctors will overlook it, while some will raise hell. My rule is that we always contact the doctor and ask him if we can make the change.
Otherwise, I just don’t dispense it.”
“You mean, you just hand the prescription back to the customer and tell him you can’t fill it?”
Timilty winked again. “The usual thing is to tell him it will take a little time to fill, and we offer to deliver it.”
“I see.” Lanigan grinned. “It’s happened to me. Then I’ve wondered when I got the pills what there was about them that took time since they were obviously manufactured. I mean the druggist hadn’t rolled them himself.”
“That’s business. A good businessman tries to hold on to his customers.”
“Yeah, I guess so. But look here, some druggists must be more reliable than others.”
“Not on filling prescriptions accurately,” the druggist said. “Not if they’re still in business.”
“Then how do you people compete with each other?”
“On service, price, location, personality. Just like grocery stores. The Campbell’s soup in one store is the same as the Campbell’s soup in the other. But one store is cheaper, or it’s nearer or cleaner. So you go to that one.”
“Or maybe one gives a little more than the other,” Lanigan suggested.
“How do you mean?”
“Well, you come in with a prescription for some pills, say. So one guy will fill the bottle and another guy maybe stuffs in a lot of cotton batting.”
Timilty shook his head vigorously. “The doctor indicates on the prescription how many he wants, and that’s what we give him. There are a lot of medicines where he wants you to take just so many pills and no more. Or he wants you to take the full dosage, no matter how good you feel after you’ve taken half of them. So we give exactly what the doctor calls for, no more and no less. Besides, with some pills costing seventy or eighty cents a piece, nobody is going to give any extra.”
“How about the pharmacists who work for you?”
“They wouldn’t be any different when it comes to filling a prescription.”
“I suppose each one initials or signs the prescriptions he fills.”
Wednesday the Rabbi Got Wet Page 12
