My Father –A Tavern Owner—Taught Me to Treat Patients as Customers
Dr. Raymond Singer is the Chief of Cardiac Surgery at Jefferson Einstein Montgomery Hospital, in East Norriton, Pennsylvania. He is also a Clinical Professor of Surgery at the Sidney Kimmel Medical College at Thomas Jefferson University. He is a member of the Heart and Vascular Institute of Thomas Jefferson University Hospital,... more
My father died on Father’s Day, 1994, just after I started my career as a cardiothoracic surgeon. My father lived a difficult life. As a child, he grew up in the tough Philadelphia neighborhood known as Strawberry Mansion. He and his family endured poverty during the Great Depression, losing his younger brother to malnutrition and illness. My father chose to leave high school to serve in the Pacific immediately after Pearl Harbor was attacked, like so many now known as “The Greatest Generation.”
My father returned home to Philadelphia after WWII, to work as a cab driver during the day and a bartender at night. He often worked 20 hours a day, 7 days a week. He eventually saved enough money to purchase his own tavern, the “Bar None” -originally located at 33rd and Diamond Streets in North Philadelphia.
Though my father never had the opportunity to finish high school or go to college, he had a passion for reading, especially the newspaper. In those days, there was both a morning and evening edition of the Philadelphia Bulletin and sometimes an “extra edition” of the paper because there was an important piece of breaking news! Of course, it was not uncommon for him to write a “Letter to the Editor” –a trait that he apparently has passed on to his son!
I could best describe my father as a combination of a self-learned man and a street guy, who had an uncanny common sense and insight into people’s thoughts and behaviors. And yet, he always showed generosity and empathy for others, even total strangers. No doubt, this hardworking, driven, and kindhearted man taught me so much of what I know today about being a good doctor.
One story stands out. I recall a dinner party at our home, so common in the 1960’s and 70’s. I was maybe 12-years old, with early dreams and aspirations of becoming a doctor someday. There was an orthopedic surgeon and his wife among the guests talking to my parents over a few “highball” drinks. The surgeon was saying that he would never let his own son go into medicine because “patients don’t ever say thank you or respect physicians anymore.” –again, circa 1968-1970!
My father listened politely, but I could see on his face that he wasn’t buying anything that this successful and well-to-do orthopedic surgeon was saying. Then, my father simply asked, “Aren’t those patients your customers?” The orthopedic surgeon shrugged his shoulders in a “whatever” pose but reluctantly agreed… indeed, his patients were his customers. My father then went on to simply say to the surgeon, “In my tavern, I don’t expect the customers to thank me… I thank my customers!”
Long before healthcare report cards, accountable care, patient-centered care, Healthgrades, and so on, my father taught me to treat every patient as a customer, just as I would want to be treated. He also taught me the importance of hard work, perseverance, and gratitude. He taught me how to talk to even the most challenging patient or family member, just as he often had to do with difficult customers at his tavern.
Sadly, my father would later develop 3 different cancers before he died. I went with him to all of his doctors’ appointments and I sat in many waiting rooms while he underwent multiple surgeries. My mother would also develop cancer and subsequently require open-heart surgery. I have often said, “I come from a family of patients, not a family of doctors.” It all taught me so much about how to treat patients and their families as people who need compassion during the most difficult times in their lives.
And so, in the end, my father –a tavern owner—taught me four simple rules to follow to be a good doctor: 1) treat every patient as a customer; 2) take the time needed for every family member, as if they were your own; 3) learn to communicate often and effectively, with empathy; and 4) provide “top-shelf” access, service, and compassionate care.
I think about my father every day. I think of my late mother, too, to whom he loved in marriage for 48 years before he died. I pray that they can both see the surgeon, person, and father that I have strived to become. I hope they are proud. I know that I am living the dream that they have wished for me, enjoying the opportunities that they never had, the life that they both worked so hard for me to enjoy.
To my late father and mother, with love always.
