A Medicolegal Housecall

Stepping out of the shower, a Doubletree guest stumbled and cut his leg. He had paid little attention, but now, two days later, the wound had grown painful.

That sounded like a good visit until he delivered the bad news: the hotel would pay my fee.

I label these “medicolegal” visits and I don’t collect. When a hotel offers to pay, it’s usually because the guest is making a fuss, and management has already agreed to other expenses such as comping the bill.

I don’t want to be part of the problem, and it’s a chance to remind upper management of my value. During my usual visits I never see a general manager. Most managers are only vaguely aware of my existence, and a few are surprised to learn that the hotel can call a doctor.

The guest’s shallow, one-inch, laceration was healing normally. I doubt he would have called if he had had to pay. I reassured him.

I shook hands with the general manager and assured him that there was no significant problem. I added that, as the hotel’s doctor, I was always available, and he should feel free to consult me under any circumstance. I waved off his offer to pay. He expressed gratitude.

Don’t assume that this guarantees a hotel’s loyalty. It’s been years since Loews in Hollywood and the Adventure hotel called. My last visits to both were medicolegal freebies.

A Hotel Doctor's Contract

People ask about my contract with hotels, but there is none. Concierges, operators, and bellmen call because they know me. 

Guests sometimes praise me, and their praise goes to concierges et al. If they decide to complain, usually because I’ve declined to give them something they wanted, they go to the general manager, often galvanizing him into one of several upsetting actions.

Referring the complainer to a competitor is tiresome. Anxious to make a good impression on his first call from Doctor Oppenheim’s hotel, he may relax his standards. 

If the manager consults the hotel lawyer, he always hears that he must never help a sick guest because guests who sue the doctor will also sue the hotel that suggested him. At any given time, about ten percent of hotels are in this my-lips-are-sealed mode, but it’s a changing ten percent because guests persist; employees want to help, and most competing hotels have doctors, so it’s bad public relations. 

Some managers make up a list, instructing staff to hand it to guests but to never recommend an individual. They believe (incorrectly) that this eliminates their liability. The employee who makes up the list mostly confines her research to the internet and in no particular order. As a result, it includes doctors who don’t make housecalls and walk-in clinics with limited hours. Fortunately once the list is made the hotel forgets about it. As years pass, it gradually becomes out-of-date, but my number remains.

Impresssing the General Manager

Years ago Prentice-Hall published The Man’s Health Book, and UPS delivered my ten free copies. Usually I gave those to family and friends who didn’t read them, so I wondered if I could put them to better use. 

I decided to visit general managers of my biggest hotels, introduce myself, and impress them by handing over my new book.  

At each, I approached the secretary in the executive office, identified myself as the hotel doctor, and asked for a minute of her boss’s time. I delivered my spiel, surrendered the book, and accepted their thanks. Some GMs expressed pleasure at finally meeting me, adding flattering words about my service. Others listened politely and thanked me for the book, but it was obvious they had no idea who I was.

I encountered a third reaction at the Los Angeles Downtown Hilton. The secretary had barely replaced her phone when the GM shot out of his office. I began my spiel but he interrupted.

“What do you mean you’re our hotel doctor?” he exclaimed. “This hotel doesn’t have a doctor!”

“I’ve been coming for years….,” I said. My database showed 119 visits which implied over 200 phone calls. The staff knew me; the valets never refused to hold my car (essential downtown).

“This hotel doesn’t have a doctor!” he repeated. “What do you mean calling yourself our doctor?”

“When a hotel calls so often…”

“We don’t have a doctor. You’re not to call yourself our doctor!”

Flustered, I held out my book. He snatched it and disappeared back into his office. I could have made better use of that copy. A few days later the mail brought a certified letter from an attorney informing me that I was hereafter forbidden to refer to myself as the Los Angeles Hilton’s doctor.

I stopped handing out books. Seven years passed before the hotel, then the Wilshire-Grand, resumed calling.

Special Treatment

“Our general manager’s husband has an eye problem. Could you see him this morning?”

“I could.”

“She’s wondering how much you’d charge?”

“There will be no charge.”

The concierge sounded delighted. I was also pleased. She worked at a large West Hollywood hotel that didn’t call.

I’m happy to care for staff gratis. A lower level employee will certainly tell colleagues about the experience. This is important because, even at my regular hotels, many employees are unaware that I exist, and guests who ask for help usually ask only once.

Hotel managers, of course, have the power to make important decisions.

I’ve never been asked to see a general manager’s spouse, but it seemed wise to give him special treatment. He was staying in the penthouse. The eye problem presented no difficulty; I suggested soothing eye drops, and informed him that symptoms should vanish once he began wearing goggles when riding his motorcycle.

On my way out, the general manager expressed gratitude. I nodded modestly and kept my hopes to myself.

Waiting for the Second Call

"This is the Shore hotel,” I heard after answering the phone.

That sounds routine, but it brought joy to my heart. It was a first call!... I almost never acquire new hotels, and the Shore, an upscale boutique on the Santa Monica beach, had opened a month earlier.

I keep an eye on hotels under construction. As the opening nears, more aggressive doctors approach the general manager or visit the staff to extol their virtues. I send a dignified letter of introduction to the GM. This rarely works, but after more letters and the passage of time – perhaps a decade or two – calls often materialize.

Before leaving the Shore, I stopped at the front desk to introduce myself, give thanks for the referral, and pass out business cards. The clerks responded with enthusiasm, accepted my cards, and promised to keep me in mind, but it was clear they had no idea who I was. When asked who had contacted me, they scratched their heads, consulted colleagues, and admitted they had no idea.

This reminded me that over thirty years, every Los Angeles hotel has called at least once. First calls always excite me, but it turns out they mean little. If I get a second, more follow. 

So far the Shore has been silent.

Gratitude is All I Get

The Adventure is a large motel near the airport that caters to foreign tourists on a budget. It’s full of colorful, young Europeans and Asians. The owner-manager phoned to inform me that his girl friend was sick. Could I see her? He would pay.

That was the third time he had asked me to see the girl friend who had a tendency to get sick. I like calls from general managers because it gives me a chance to do public relations.

After my first visit, I waved off his money but suggested that I’d like to be the Adventure’s doctor. He expressed gratitude and promised to tell his employees that I was the man.

Six months later, after the second visit, I refused his money and reminded him of his promise. He expressed gratitude and swore he would give my name to everyone.

Doing favors for general managers has won me new hotels, but it’s remarkable how often it hasn’t. Most of the time, gratitude is all I get. On my third call from the Adventure’s manager, I accepted his money.