That publication (the one that is mailed to every known D.C. on planet earth) arrived at my office. I tell myself “I am not going to read it.” I should throw it out right away, but there it sits on my desk for days. Each day I look at it and say “I’m not going to read it, I’m not going to read it!” I know if I do I’ll become disgusted, nauseated, infuriated, depressed or shocked and frankly I do not enjoy any of those feelings. But there it sits day after day tempting me like the fruit on the Tree in the middle of the Garden of Eden. I don’t know how long Eve resisted but this time I lasted twenty four days. Then on one relatively quiet, sunny, Friday afternoon, curiosity and a certain masochistic streak got the best of me and I picked it up. I told myself, “I won’t read it, I’ll just glance through it as I do the Editorial/Opinion/Letters to the Editor section of the Philadelphia Inquirer. (There is a distinct similarity between both publications when it comes to the level of intelligent thought expressed.)
“This is easy,” I say. After all, the headline article is about The Antitrust Suit. It won’t be hard to skip this one. Every chiropractic publication is talking about our great victory. After eleven years we have finally slain the Evil Monster. Victory is sweet. We are all basking in the glory of our expensive endeavor. I don’t have to read this article. It is probably just telling me things I already know: how the AMA is all but destroyed and local medical doctors are now referring patients to us faster than we can handle them. It’s probably informing me that my check’s in the mail, the one that will reimburse me for the 20 years the AMA has hurt me. It’s probably just assuring me that any day now my practice will double or triple because I will now be a respected member of the health care community and no longer conspired against. But I know all that so I can skip that article.
Then I got caught. You would think that the last article to attract the attention of a so-called straight chiropractor would be one entitled Therapeutic Mineral Ice. But there it was right above a plea for donations from the Antitrust Fund Raising Committee. (I’m going to tell them they can have my “damages check” as soon as I get it from the AMA.) Why or how I got interested in this article I really don’t know, but it captured my attention. The author, who is a technique entrepreneur, was talking about what a great public relations boost chiropractic was getting because of an advertising blitz in Southern California by the Therapeutic Mineral Ice people. I loved the article! I had read this particular D.C.’s column before but never saw a hint of an ability to write sarcastically. But here he was, line after line, with the most subtle sarcasm, ridiculing the association between chiropractic and this smelly, gooey gunk that belongs in a locker room. Great choice of words, “chiropractic. . . has been getting a fantastic boost to its image.” Here is another, “I could not help but feel pleased.” He went on to say that people will use mineral ice discover its worth, and then knowing, thanks to this advertising campaign, that chiropractors recommend it, will seek chiropractic care. I could feel the sarcasm oozing from every word, much like mineral ice probably oozes through the fingers of chiropractors as they smear it on patients’ backs. He congratulated the Therapeutic Mineral Ice people for running a national P.R. campaign on behalf of the chiropractic profession. I loved it. He went on and on. I could hardly wait until he would finally unload on our profession. Would he continue right to the end with this sarcasm or would he blast the profession for being so stupid to allow itself to be associated with something so mundane, so base, and so smelly as glorified Ben-Gay? He said we don’t need advertising, we don’t need to tell people about chiropractic, we need “good public relations,… the prospects are mind boggling, . . . we would all be helping many more people.” Nice tongue in cheek touch. Then three things happened at once. The article came to an end, I got this familiar, sick feeling in my stomach, and I came to the realization that the author was not trying to be sarcastic. He was perfectly serious.
Doggone it, they got me again! v4n2
