IT AIN'T THE MAYO CLINIC

Naples once contracted the job of City Doctor. The duties included giving physicals, treating injured workers, and attending to the Jail's medical needs. Usually with a young doctor, just starting their practice. Since the contract was essential income, some were too protective of the City's interests.

One sawbones, who we'll call Dr. Cash R. Check, sometimes went overboard. When I was in the Marines, if you got scruffed up in a bar or barracks fight, an officer might inquire as to what happened to you. "Tripped on a locker box, Sir," was the correct answer. No one, officially, really wanted to know so that answer served the purpose.

Dr Check was probably a former Marine. Whenever a prisoner had been battered in the course of effecting an arrest, the medical report read: Tripped on stairs in Jail. To anyone who really cared, this answer might've been suspect. There were no stairs in the Jail.

We once jailed a huge brute, a Bluto, who'd fought our own huge brute, Ed Jones, when Ed tried to arrest him. During the fight, he wrestled Ed's .41 revolver from its holster and Ed had a helluva time staying alive. Finally, Ed twisted the arm holding the revolver up in a hammer lock, got his finger on the trigger, and squeezed off two rounds into the A-Hole's back. Shoulda killed him. But, as with many primitive life forms, the bullets did little damage and Bluto was put in jail.

In retaliation, he'd rip the bandages off, and gouge the wound until it started bleeding, requiring us to call the City Doctor. After Dr Check had made his third visit to tend to this turd, he asked Bluto why he was doing it. Bluto said: "Because I like pain."

"Oh?" said Dr Check. "Then this should tickle you to death," thereby forcing his index finger into one of the gunshot wounds, and giving it a few spirited twists.

Turns out Bluto was a liar. He didn't really like pain. So indicating, by giving a soprano-like scream and passing out. And Dr Check's innovative procedure cured Bluto of self-abuse. He never pulled the dressings off again.

Another time our City Doctor was working the ER room. In came an unruly arrestee who'd been in a knife fight in McDonald Quarters. The victim, dripping blood, was so combative that two of our cops had to hold him on the ER table.

Dr Splint told the dumb-az to hold still as he was going to need many stitches. Still no surcease. So the good doctor started to work anyway, and without a drop of pain killer, sewed in over 300 stitches. Some required sub-surface, deep stitches and, after the first few, the curses turned to screams. Then to groans and moans. He was thereafter, however, a righteous patient.

Not exactly the Mayo Clinic but an excellent example of government provided, free medical care.