Robert Schultz - Autobiography of a Baby Boomer: One mans detour from Cornell Medical School across Europe, Afghanistan, Iran, and India (with a few potholes along the way)

Title Page

robert schultz, md

Copyright

Copyright 2012, by Robert Schultz, MD

Robert Schultz, MD

rschultz@lightmessages.com

rschultz.lightmessages.com

Published 2013 by Light Messages Publishing

www.lightmessages.com

Durham, NC 27713 USA

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-61153-049-0

eBook ISBN: 978-1-61153-050-6

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise, except as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 International Copyright Act, without the prior written permission except in brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Dedication

To Mom, Dad, Helaine;
my first family, the one into which I was born

and

To Debbie, Eric, Stephanie, Morgan;
the family I was blessed to help create.

Acknowledgments

W ithout the encouragement of family and friends like Carol Stanziale, Carl Waldman, Marta Leipzig, Elliott Brown, and Peter Peuler who knew of and showed fascination with my personal odyssey, I might have gone silently to my grave, never disclosing those special memories of the very sexy 60s and 70s. Despite my wife Debbies dissimulation of my formative years, Eric, Stephanie, and Morgan would not let such tales disappear. Hippies, India, Jail were words that could not be forgotten. One story at bedtime led to another and pleas for just one more. The probing finally frenzied into my belief that I had a worthy (okay, freaky) story to tell.

How to present it, however, was not easily forthcoming. Toying with the idea of a novel based on truth seemed more like a cop-out based on fear that a memoir would be too narcissistic. Lacking celebrity status could well mean that no one other than family and a few friends would have any interest. But, then it dawned on me that Autobiography of a Baby Boomer is about an era and a (medical) profession that are filled with nostalgia and entertainment.

All of us post-war Baby Boomers deserve credit for being so massive in number and so resilient in spirit that we have, by our very nature, exciting stories to tell. Autobiography of a Baby Boomer is just one of them.

If not for Pat (Paladino) Tanis introducing me to Tom Dust (Dusty Roads Media) this work might never have made it into eBook form and subsequently come to the attention of Elizabeth Turnbull, Senior Editor of Light Messages who recognized its worth and brought Autobiography of a Baby Boomer to life in print.

Thanks to Scott and Jill Sample and again to Pat Tanis and Carol Stanziale for their Beta testing, and to Light Messages for preventing me from looking like a rank amateur.

Preface

T he Great War is over. Economic prosperity begins. The transistor is born along with more babies than our nation has ever seen. One of them is me, fresh out of the Blizzard of 47, and ready to jump into the perfect life of the 1950s: TV, bobby sox, and the birth of Rock n Roll. The Life of Riley until the 60s warps it all into revolution and psychedelic euphoria.

Somerset Maughams The Razors Edge becomes reality as I leave the confines of Cornell University Medical School to explore the first half of the 1970s across four continents. I am not alone. Many of my fellow Westerners, from North America and Europe, join the Road People seeking mysteries only the East can reveal.

Though totally vulnerable I am blinded by the enchantment of youth and immortality. Miracles occur that carry me around the world physically and evolve me spiritually so that when I land back in the safe haven of Fair Lawn, New Jersey I am no longer the nave pilgrim or cynical egotist (with $100 in his pocket) that left his parents at the airport, refusing their desperate plea to accept their monetary assistance.

Through no simple logic (rarely a trait of us post-war Baby Boomers) I resume my medical training (for all the wrong reasons) and actually become a Harvard trained orthopaedic surgeon, eventually settling down to career and family in the 1980s and 90s.

But the spirit lives on though the outward accomplishments of stature and wealth seemingly mask its fiery flame. My approach to lifes vicissitudes is deeply flavored by an acceptance and welcoming of the ebb and flow that each new decade brings. I yearn to pass this discovery on to my children, but know that they must make their own journey and, hopefully, survive in a much more complex world.

The new millennium brings forth a barrage of information that leaves little time for existential thinking. Because of this we Boomers have much more work to do than did our parents. Pick-up games and drive-ins are now organized sports and interactive warfare. TVs that stopped broadcasting at 9:00 PM are now computers with a 24/7/365 blitzkrieg including hard-core porn. The quiet sanctuary of the library is replaced by Google/Bing (anywhere; anytime).

Is this the way our parents saw our generation? Perhaps?

Some accuse us Boomers of being spoiled brats; that the Greatest Generation (before us) provided too much security and pampering. But I am part of a hardy lot, living longer and stronger, embellished by sixty years of remarkable change.

Excited to keep up the vigil, I look forward to what each new decade brings. Come along with me on a journey back through our era and see if my life to date is not a lot like yours.

Part One
CHAPTER 1
Twelve Days in Hell and
the Sanctuary of my Mind

G ermany was one thing; Turkey another; but this absolutely freaks me out. The 9x12 foot cell (I have plenty of time to get exact measurements) is entirely empty with the exception of two emaciated Afghan prisoners sitting comfortably on their haunches, obnoxiously amused at my inability to assume their pose. The slime all over the floor and walls of this putrid box prohibits sitting or leaning like the Westerner I am. A faucet, no more than a foot off the ground near a hole for defecating, is encrusted with mold and is the only structure, besides the hole and door, which change the monotonous rectangular dimensions of this shithole. My fellow cellmates most certainly do not speak English and are unnervingly content to communicate their excitement through constant eye gaze. I am their new entertainment and am thoroughly screwed!

How I got through the night is unclear, but my right side is slippery and my matted clothes smell of methane. The only way I know it is daytime is because the well-armed, wretched prison guard just led me out past the heavy wood door (with a hole in the center, no larger than a baseball catchers mask complete with iron bars for further securityas if someone could actually squeeze through the frickin opening) for twenty minutes of exercise in the courtyard. In order to see the sky I had to look straight up, a la New York City but without a sole around except for the malodorous goon who obviously enjoys his work. Problem is, when I got back to my cell the overpowering smell of stale urine brought me to my knees. Guess I got used to the stench a few hours after being locked up. If my olfactory system can cope, maybe the rest of my brain can, too. But at this point, Im not really sure.

Now, all I have is plenty of time to thinkthats all I havetime to think.

Damn! Damn! Damn it! My parents were right. Im a stupid naive punk; in over my head. Nirvana? You cant be serious, Bob. What were you thinking? That the world was out there for the taking? That your ridiculous questions about other dimensions and the spirit world would simply be answered by venturing out? Be honest. It was as much about having a good time: drugs, free love and adventure as it was about God. And now this might be the end; right here in this piece of shit jail in a God-forsaken country. Dad knew I threw my medical career away. I cant imagine his disappointment and Moms devastation when they hear about my pitiful death in an Afghan prison.