Ralph Dean Dooley, M.D.

This is my Father, Ralph Dean Dooley, M.D. 1899-1978, he was a physician in the days when he was more, a Doctor, a Minister, a  Friend, an Adviser and concerned and active in his community. He listened to Walter Winchell, H. V. Kaltenborn,  Peter Grant from WLW in Cincinnati, spending many hours in front of the old Philco Radio. He was raised on a farm in Indiana, served in WWI even though he was too young, tried to serve in WWII but was too old and did as much as he could for the war effort. He always fired a small canon that he made on his lathe, on the Fourth of July, and every time he saw an American Flag, he put his had over his heart. He was as honest and hard working as they come. In this foto is a replica of a blacksmith shop from his childhood that he made. He carved the animated figures and my Mom dressed them. He loved wood working and spent many happy hours in his workshop.

His early years he was a GP, in General Practice, he made house calls, and had regular office hours, afternoon and evening. He never went to bed until the last patient was seen and treated. I spent many hours in  the old DeSoto or the Packard Clipper, riding with him when he made house calls or did his "rounds" at  Miami Valley hospital. He was dedicated to his patients and many of them became family friends. 

In the late 50's, at the end of his term as President of the Montgomery County Medical Society, I attended his farewell  banquet, and remember well his admonishment of physicians, and cautioned them on "abusing" their own insurance programs, and predicting what he felt was the future of "Medicine." So far, all of his predictions have become reality. He made the comment, prior to his death, that he was proud that he had been a physician, but not proud of what the profession had degenerated to. He felt that "some" physicians no longer practice medicine but practice deceit.

I wonder how he would feel today.

A beautiful reply to one of my Blogs

This is a response I got to a blog I did on my Father,  Ralph Dean Dooley, M.D. It brought me to tears, so many years, and such a nice memory. Thank  You Doctor for your reply to my blog .. notice, the writer was a Doctor, how fantastic is that.

Your dad Dr. R.Dean Dooley saved my life on February 21,1956 at Miami Valley Hospital. He had previously delivered three healthy sons to my parents but for months Mom was ill and having "female problems" that went on so long she consulted another physician who said Mom needed a hysterectomy. Since three boys were already more than she could handle; at age 28 she consented to the operation and checked into Miami Valley for surgery the following day. Dr, Dooley just so happened to be in the hospital and stopped by to see Mom and pray with her before surgery in the morning. But I was told by my aunt; who was in the hospital room; that Dr. Dooley seemed trouble and asked my Mom if he could perform and examine on her becuase he thought Mom looked ths same way when she was pregnant the other three times. Mom consented but was certain she could not be pregnant. At 11:26pm your Dad brought me into the world slightly premature but a healthy 6.15 lbs. I have always known he was my guardian angel.

I didn't get a chance to tell him in person but I know he hears me!

Thank you Dr. Dooley. You did the right thing. 

Sincerely

Veterans Day - 2011

Another year has rolled around ... I am in my 80th year. I will explain that, it was explained to me recently. I just had, in September, my 79th birthday ...... but, I am presently in my 80th year .... because, you live for one whole year before you are 1 ......... so, from birth to your first birthday, you are in your first year .... so, I am in my 80th year.

I can get two years worth of uhs and ahs, this year and next year. "How old are you, Joe?"

"I am in my 80th year."

And, "How old are you Joe."

"Turned 80 last September."

Veterans Day.

My Grandfather, Caleb Dooley, was in the Civil War. My Father, Ralph Dean Dooley, M.D., was in World War One. My Brother, Dean Shannon Dooley was in World War Two.

I was in the Navy during the Korean War, Son Dean was in during Viet Nam, and Son Brad served during Desert Storm. A long family line of veterans.

My Veteran story, which I have told here before, but will repeat, as I often do.

OSU-Navy football game a few years ago. I wore a hat my son Brad had given me. Navy hat BMU-2 STINGERS ...... Dooley on the back. I wore it to that game. At the Varsity Club a Navy Captain approached me, looked at my hat, extended his hand, and said, "Thanks for your service."

That happened a lot that day, first day I really felt like a Veteran.

I had a good four years in the Navy. Spent two years in San Diego working in the Discipline Office for the Eleventh Naval District, discharged the "Bad Boys," and there were quite a few of them, did a couple of months on Shore Patrol in Tijuana, and spent two years on the USS William Mitchell, hauling troops and dependents to Japan and other points East. So, I had a good four years.

I remember WWII well, had a Victory Garden, collected cans and grease, we had ration cards, and a sticker on Dad's car for gasoline purchases. I remember sugar being scarce, neighbors coming to our house to say hello when they were home on leave. Bob Shook spent time in the water when his aircraft carrier sank, and came to tell us about it. We had a Stromberg-Carlson radio, which you could record on little white records. We used it a lot, neighbors and friends would stop by and make a record to send overseas, and often, people would bring records they had received for us to play for them.

I remember spending many hours in front of the radio listening to war news. I did get to see FDR In a parade in Dayton, riding with Charles Kettering and Orville Wright.

I will never forget, and it is as vivid in my memory now, as it was that morning, when the Navy Recruiter drove his gray Navy vehicle, up Montgomery Road, to pick up our Son, Brad, and take him away, to serve in the Navy. A sadness and emptiness that is hard to explain, and so many people have gone through similar experiences.

My Dad often told the story about looking back at his Father, Caleb, the Civil War Veteran, as he left on a train  in Marion, Indiana, to go to his basic training in World War I. Caleb had lived through the horrors of war, and knew what his son was heading towards.

Just think what this country could be like, if it were not for veterans, and those who gave their lives.

My Table under the window, next to my chair

It's morning, nice and quiet, "Easy Listening" music coming out of the TV, my U.S. Navy coffee cup nearby, working on my second cup, glancing occasionally at the table next to my chair. I have a lifetime of memories on the table, that my Dad make. He made it with a glass top, and a drawer under that, so you see everything in the drawer, that he made near the top.

All the "treasurers" should be in the drawer  they don't collect dust, but I have they on top where they are readily visible for me to glance at.

A small photograph of my Mom and Dad, it was one of Mom's favorites, next to that, a photo of my Brother, Dean Shannon Dooley. We were about twelve years apart, so we were never really close fiends, he was always many steps ahead of me. He has always been my "hero" though.

A number of birthday cards, an old tintype of Caleb Dooley, my Grandfather, some things from Brad and Bernie, some things from Melissa, my daughter, a small wood carving from the 40's, purchased in Canada on a trip there, some souvenirs of my Dad and Caleb medals and things.

Also a pair of dice from the Nevada Club, along with a $5 chip from there, could be one that I handled back in the 50's.

My bottle of Dr. Franks, I use it a few times a day, seems to work on my arthritis, and under that bottle my magnets. When I get an ache or a sore spot, I use a magnet, and it goes away in a short time. Hey, it works for me, and there are many people who I suggested those remedy's to, and they have often thanked me.

My Mom always referred to things like those as her "treasures" and  these certainly are to me.

In a brief glance I can go from the Civil war, to today, and all that happened in between.

Quiet time, so much "noise" in the world, nice to spend some "quiet" time, with t table full of memories.

Ralph Dean Dooley, M.D. - My Father

I have written about him before, but it's Fathers Day, and he is my Father.

He was born on a farm in Indiana, good work ethics were instilled in him by his Father, Caleb, who served in the Civil War. In school, I am sure, he was a good student and always eager to learn. Prior to his death, I had him jot down notes about his life, that link is included on the blog.

He told of three instances where he felt his "guardian angel" intervened in his life. Once, when very littte, when he was crossing a barnyard that he was not supposed to be in, an enraged, large hog charged him. He froze, stared at the hog, and it stopped a few feet from him. If it had completed its charge it probably would have killed him. Another was during WWI. He emerged from a bunker, was going to sit and chat with comrades, something told him to move away, a shell landed and killed all of his friends. The third, after the war he was completing college, undecided about his future. He was offered an attractive future by some "natural" medical practitioners, but he wanted to pursue a career as a medical doctor. In his room at the YMCA in Chicago, he fell to his knees in prayer, asked for help, arose, and knew he was to be a medical doctor, and followed that path.

He became a  pillar of the community in Dayton, Ohio. After medical school, he interned at Miami Valley Hospital, and set up his practice in Dayton as a General Practitioner. He eventually specialized in Obstetrics, and is responsible for bringing many people into the world.

I have a picture of he and Mom close by, as well as his WWI medals and some other memorabilia, a very small hat from his youth and his barracks had from WWI. They are displayed in and on an end table, which he made, carpentry was his hobby.

Veteran's Day

Another year, not sure how many "service men" have lost their lives during that year, but I am sure it is  too many. I guess that "terrorism" is the reason for the loss of life. Terrorism really isn't "war," terrorism makes me think of an Alfred Hitchcock saying, “There is no terror in a bang, only in the anticipation of it.' Terrorists thrive on our concern over the anticipation of what they are going to do next.

A Veteran is an individual, who, for one reason or another, has interrupted his or her life, to serve, to insure that those that he/she left behind can live their lives, without fear.

Just think what it takes to leave your way of life, to follow a way of life, that could result in your life changing drastically, the losing of a limb, or even losing your life. I was in the service during the Korean Conflict, it never entered my mind, during that time, that my life in any way, could be altered, by the time my commitment ended. But just think of all of those who have given their lives, lost limbs, lost their ability to live a normal life.

It is impossible to comprehend combat, being shot at by bullets, bombs, shells, by people whose purpose is to kill you. That is war, noise, smells, hunger, rain, snow, and shooting, so much shooting.

Not all Veterans experience that but they all experience being away from home, families and loved ones and loneliness. That is part of Serving your Country.

My Grandfather, Caleb, served in the Civil War. My Dad, served in World War I, and he told of Caleb taking him to the train station in Marion, Indiana as he was leaving on the train to take him to the ship that would take him to Europe. Caleb knew the horrors of war, and all that could be facing his Son. Dad said as he looked back, there was his elderly Father, leaning on his cane, weighted down with the knowledge of what was facing his son.

My Dad took me to the train in Dayton, Ohio when I left to head to Boot Camp, and the possibility of facing the unknown in the Korean Conflict.

I remember when my Brother, Dean Shannon Dooley, was taken down to the train station in Dayton, Ohio, on his way to Chicago, and into the Navy in a V-12 Program at Great Lakes in Illinois, and then later on to Submarine School in New London, Connecticut.

I will never forget that early morning, when a Naval vehicle came down Montgomery Road and stopped at our house, and our Son Brad walked out of the house, across our yard, and into that vehicle. I have tears in my eyes as I write this, that was an emotional event in my life. My little Son, leaving home, and going into the Navy, so abruptly, one moment he is home, the next, he is gone. Agony for a few days in the Dooley household. We did get to the airport in Columbus, and get to see him off, didn't help much.

My other Son Dean served in the Navy during the Viet Nam War, but he was living with his Mother then, and I escaped the emotions involved in his leaving.

Veterans Day, 2010. Something to think about. I have heard that the ACLU wants all of the CROSSES removed from the graves of Veterans.

Bing Davis

I came across these items the other day, and I think it is a great tribute to my brother, Dean Shannon Dooley. I think it is unique in a way, Bing is well known and a celebrity in many ways. In most of his biographical material he attributes his path in life, to my brother. Not many do that, I think it is neat.

Dr. Willis Bing Davis


Chairman: Board of Directors National Conference of Artists

Cultural leader, Willis "Bing" Davis was born on June 30, 1937 in Greer, South Carolina to Verona Hargrove Davis Buffington and Livonia "Lee" Davis, a coal truck driver and gospel singer. Growing up on Dayton, Ohio's East Side, Davis attended Washington Elementary School.

Bing agreed that the smallness of the community also meant a lot of camaraderie and mentoring from older members in the community. Bing talked about his high school teacher and coach, Dean Dooley: “More than a teacher, he was there, he talked with my family, talked to my mother, aunts and uncles, to point me in the right direction.”


Bing remembered that when Coach Dooley found out he was planning to drop out of Wilbur Wright High School, he took him and three other boys on an impromptu road trip to visit DePauw University.

The trip changed his life, not only because he ended up attending DePauw and went on to become a prominent artist, but because his coach’s interest in him showed him the importance of having supportive, encouraging mentors reaching out to you.

“If someone had not nurtured me, I would not have been able to do it. The potential might have been there, but I would not have done it.” The work he does as an educator is his way of giving back for all he received.

R. D. Dooley, M.D. - Chapter XI

CHAPTER XI

This chapter should be entitled, "now I am a man". This story is not one of which I am proud, but is a rather humorous episode enacted during my boyhood days, and it marks the time at which I had grown up.

My father and I were burning trash that had accumulated during the previous winter at the site of a dump some five hundred yards from the house. It was a warm day and the heat from the burning trash pile quickly dehydrated me, so I soon needed a drink.

I proceeded to make my way to the house, and started to enter the kitchen when my sister Ruth, who was busily mopping the kitchen floor, asked me not to walk across the damp floor. I could have gotten a cooler and fresher drink at the well, which was just as close, and as handy as the kitchen tank. But, I was not going to be ordered around, so I proceeded to walk into the kitchen.

My sister told me if I walked on the floor she would strike me with the mop. I did not heed her warning, and continued across the floor, whereupon, she took a "Babe Ruth swing" with the wet mop, and struck me square in the face.

She dropped the mop, sped up the stairs with my sister Mary in close pursuit, and locked the bedroom door behind them. They called to my Dad from the bedroom window and he came to their rescue.

We walked back to the dump site where we had been working. My Dad picked up a barrel stave and informed me he intended to make it difficult for me to forget my folly, and approached
me as if he planned to apply the barrel stay to my backside.

I drew myself rigidly to my full height, and answered I had no intention of receiving a whipping, and he must have lacked a desire to pursue the confrontation, and dropped the stay in the fire, and that day and place, I became a man, and was never punished by whipping again.

There was not much pain in the little tiff, but the Humiliation was colossal.

To be continued

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I know people are reading this blog, and would love to hear from you.

Las Vegas, I would love to hear from you, and anyone else who visits my site.

Just an email to let me know who and where you are.

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Just be interested in hearing ...................

We live not too far from this basket ....... know what and where it is?

R. D. Dooley, M.D. - Part 1

Years ago, before my Father passed, he and I sat down and recorded some memories of his life. It is worth reading. I will periodically print some of it here. So check back often.

INTRODUCTION
As you will find out, my Father was a Doctor, and even though we had a close, nice, normal family life, being a Doctor, during my early years he was in General Practice, with home and office together, and then he went into Obstetrics, which takes even more time. I have many pleasant memories of my childhood.

Later on, after he had some health issues, he spent some time in a nursing home. Some of my most pleasant memories of him, oddly enough, were during this time.

A Doctor has people waiting on him, hand and foot. Nurses, secretaries, assistants and more, all at his call. But when he was in the nursing home, he was dependent upon me. I took him a nice breakfast every Sunday morning, visited him often during the week, and during much of this time, he was bedridden. So, we talked and talked, something that had not often happened because someone was always busy doing something.

Many of the incidents mention in this book, we talked about. Some I had heard before, but not in detail, and maybe being in a hurry, did not pay as much attention to the details.
That is when I suggested to him that he jot these things down, get them on paper, and inasmuch as I was in the printing business, I had the resources to do the typesetting, and ultimately print the book.

The first issues, was set on a pair of Freidan Justowriters, an early typesetting system, punched out on a 1” yellow tape, and then run through a reproducer, actually, old IBM typewriter type equipment. It was what we called “direct output” which meant no room for error. So, the first book had a number of errors, but still, the fifty or so first ones, went fast to family and friends.

This book, was set from a corrected copy, which had many scribbles and notes
I wanted to get recorded some of these incidents of his childhood, that would be unknown, after his passing. Thus this book. In many instances, he will refer to me, Joe, and Bud, my brother and perhaps other family members. He basically was writing this for my brother and I.

Dean Shannon Dooley and Joseph Bradford Dooley