n early June, 1933, my father learned he had passed the Connecticut State Medical Board and received his license to practice medicine.

He bought a Model-T Ford for $250. It was a coupe, but only one of the two doors worked. The windshield wiper didn't work, either. The non-electric klaxon horn, which had a rubber bulb that the driver squeezed to make noise, had broken loose from its mount and was lying on the seat. During winter months, traveling back and forth between New Haven and New York, he had to wear three pairs of pants and socks because the heater didn't work. My father says that when the car started up, "it bucked like a bronco." So, he named it "St. Vitus," an allusion to "St. Vitus Dance," the term used to describe the spastic movements that some people experience with Rheumatic Fever.

He drove St. Vitus to New Haven, with a second-hand examining table lashed to the back, to begin practicing medicine.