It had been years since I thought about John Wayne Bobbit. Years since I had reflected on that peculiar blend of infamy, science, and Gay Talese. Yet there were the memories as an attorney, seated next to me at a drug company advisory, leaned to me and whispered: "Remember the convention when they put a cystoscope into the pre-modern Ice Man from the Italian Alps and saw that he had a prostate? Don't you love urology conventions?"
That's when the memories flooded back of a Las Vegas convention long ago. I could see Leeza Gibbons emerging from the fog that cleared as I awoke from a brief convention nap. Her chirp and bubble shot vigor in my veins and I readied myself for the crowds.
Before flipping off the remote, I took note of her guest: John Wayne Bobbit, whose wife had cut off his penis and propelled him to stardom. Happily for John Wayne, his penis qualified for the 3-second rule. So he picked it up, took it to the hospital, and had it re-attached. Which made him very famous, a delightful guest for the talk shows.
Walking back to the convention of 10,000 of the world's best urologists, I saw John Wayne Bobbit again. He was taller than he had seemed on television. But could it be? Was the sun playing tricks on my sleepy head? I shrugged off his vision and picked up my pace.
In the convention hall stook my bearded colleague from Miami. I said hello, which is what I do when I see a colleague. And he said hello to me, too, though in an uncharacteristically chipper way. Normally, he sounds like Eeyore, the gloomy donkey from Winnih the Pooh cartoons. Not today. Today he was sounding like Tigger.
I told my learned, bearded colleague about my dream, that I was walking to a convention of urologists and there was John Wayne Bobbit. And he suggested that today my dreams would come true. He said he was with John Wayne Bobbit as part of his ongoing research.
Before the "what research" blurted out of my mouth, a man approached from the men's room. My colleague introduced us. Arnon, he said, I'd like you to meet Gay Talese. And you know how when you know someone's a really famous author and you have absolutely no idea what he wrote and you stuggle to say "oh, yeah, loved your this and that" and nothing comes out? That's what happened. My brain jumped from Snows of Kilimanjaro to Tropic of Cancer to Bonfire of the Vanities, rejecting every clue as it came.
So all I said was "Hello, Gay, what brings you to a urologists convention in Las Vegas?"
Gay explained that he's writing a book about penises. Why, naturally! And this of course, brought him to a urologists convention in Las Vegas, for research, you see. Having regained my composure, I asked him what kind of book this was to be: Fiction or non. Whereupon I discovered that there is in fact a third genre of books that is neither fiction or non-fiction.
And whereupon my scholarly colleague told me that John Wayne Bobbit at a urologist's convention in Las Vegas was part of the deal, the research, you see, and he had brought him there to meet Gay Talese. And did I want to tag along as they went upstairs to do their research? No, thank you, I said, I'd better go learn about kidney stones. Anti-climactic, perhaps, but I was clearly in over my head.
People ask me why I became a urologist. I tell them it's close to snorkeling as medicine gets. But that's not the truth. The truth is that I like the adventure. Like the time in Stockholm when 10,000 urologists got up and sang Dancing Queen as an ABBA replica band played. "Dancing queen ... tamborine ... only seventeen ..."
There is no magic like the magic of a urology convention. From the Ice Man prostate to the John Wayne Bobbit penis to ABBA concerts, this is one unusual bunch. And me? I'm a card carrying member of the fraternity.
