The Most Deeply Compassionate Physician

I’m an early riser, so the 5:30 a.m. phone call last week found me at my computer writing this blog. The caller was Le Montage, a luxury hotel in Beverly Hills.

It was a perfect time. Wilshire Boulevard was deserted. The hotel was three miles away. I could park on the street. Guests during the small hours are particularly grateful. I was home in time for breakfast.

My last visit to Le Montage occurred several months ago. The call arrived at 3 a.m.

That I am Los Angeles’ leading hotel doctor is beyond doubt, but I have never dominated the elite establishments (Bel Air, Four Seasons, Beverly Wilshire, L’Hermitage, Peninsula, Beverly Hills Hotel). These already had doctors when I began in 1983.

After a few decades, some took notice, and I often covered for their doctors, but nowadays when these hotels call, it’s generally during the wee hours.

I suspect this is because a new generation came on the scene a few years ago including several young aggressive doctors building a concierge practice. Concierge doctors offer an exclusive personal service, but they accept only cash. They have no interest in Hiltons, Ramadas, Holiday Inns et al whose middle-class guests might object to the fees, but luxury hotels are a different matter. They solicited with considerable success.

“Do you think they're paying off the concierges and bellman?” asked a veteran colleague when the subject came up.

"They wouldn't stoop to that," I responded. It's illegal. I’ve met several of these doctors, and they seem personable. Check their web sites (google “Los Angeles house call doctor”). All describe themselves as skilled and deeply compassionate. Read their testimonials or the Yelp comments. Unanimous praise.

When these physicians introduce themselves to bellmen and concierges, they undoubtedly emphasize their skill and deep compassion. Who would not be impressed?

As midnight approaches, bellmen and concierges go home. The skeleton night staff has never encountered these exceptional physicians, so when a guest falls ill, they call Doctor Oppenheim. 

Ever Hopeful

I made a housecall to the Four Seasons recently. Years ago, I shared the Four Seasons elevator with Robert Duvall. He was reading a script, and I pretended not to notice.

I’ve responded to half a dozen calls from that hotel over thirty years, but this was not one. Assistcard, a travel insurer, had sent me to see an 18 month-old with a cold. I took care of the child and left without introducing myself to the concierge.

The Four Season’s house doctor is the only colleague who has been around longer than I, and he serves half a dozen premier luxury hotels around Beverly Hills. In the distant past I covered for him when he wasn’t available. My records show 45 visits to the Four Seasons and several hundred to his other hotels. I loved those calls.

I retired in 2003 and unretired in 2007. During my absence he found someone else to help out. While he welcomed me back, I’m no longer his main support, but he phones at rare intervals.

When insurance services send me to hotels that don’t call, I remind the staff of my superior qualities. This has proved an excellent source of new clients but, ever hopeful, I don’t solicit this doctor’s hotels.