DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Reverie, v. 3, issue 3, whole 10, September 1940

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Reverie, v. 3, issue 3, whole 10, September 1940

Page 18

18                       Reverie

By BILLIE DETTLOFF
"Calling Doctor Slick!"
             ------
   "Stick out your tongue!" the solemn, bewhiskered old medico used to shout at you. You'd thrust forth the little varnish-coated stamp licker, both dignified as a couple of cabbages. Then came swing, jitterbugging and radio quizzes; and high pressure artists in magazine selling. The kingpin of them all emerged from cosmic obscurity with the advent of the doctor who can sell pain with glamour! He smiles you out of your ouches and makes operations fashionable. He wears a rose in his coat lapel, and is deft on the come-backs. He doles out tonsils, babies and appendixes with equal skill, verve and wit.
   A flame of pain attacks your innards. Panicky, you lose no time telephoning for Dr. Clark Gable, who bounces in and demands to know what all the rumpus is about. The glint in his eye denotes superior medical knowledge and capacity for fine workmanship. At least you think so, which helps a lot. His diagnosis is charmingly presented, as casually as if you were receiving an invitation to go to the movies: "You've got something there; now what hospital would you prefer?" This settled, you're as good as on your way.
   Doc greets you cheerily at the door of your hospital room, where radiant, angel-garbed pulse-takers are already at work on you. They too, it seems, know how to dish out grins and humor. Infectious, you think. A gay "I'll be seeing you!" from the doctor as he departs for the hand-scrubbing preliminary to the precision incision and hauling out of your expensive innards. The scene shifts to the operating room and it won't be long now!
   "Calling Doctor Slick!"

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18 Reverie By BILLIE DETTLOFF "Calling Doctor Slick!" ------ "Stick out your tongue!" the solemn, bewhiskered old medico used to shout at you. You'd thrust forth the little varnish-coated stamp licker, both dignified as a couple of cabbages. Then came swing, jitterbugging and radio quizzes; and high pressure artists in magazine selling. The kingpin of them all emerged from cosmic obscurity with the advent of the doctor who can sell pain with glamour! He smiles you out of your ouches and makes operations fashionable. He wears a rose in his coat lapel, and is deft on the come-backs. He doles out tonsils, babies and appendixes with equal skill, verve and wit. A flame of pain attacks your innards. Panicky, you lose no time telephoning for Dr. Clark Gable, who bounces in and demands to know what all the rumpus is about. The glint in his eye denotes superior medical knowledge and capacity for fine workmanship. At least you think so, which helps a lot. His diagnosis is charmingly presented, as casually as if you were receiving an invitation to go to the movies: "You've got something there; now what hospital would you prefer?" This settled, you're as good as on your way. Doc greets you cheerily at the door of your hospital room, where radiant, angel-garbed pulse-takers are already at work on you. They too, it seems, know how to dish out grins and humor. Infectious, you think. A gay "I'll be seeing you!" from the doctor as he departs for the hand-scrubbing preliminary to the precision incision and hauling out of your expensive innards. The scene shifts to the operating room and it won't be long now! "Calling Doctor Slick!"