In my section of New York City in the “Mad Men” 1960s era, both my primary care doc and my dentist smoked cigarettes in their offices as they treated me. OK, the dentist would wash his hands, but his breath reeked. When I was hospitalized for an appendectomy, I kept a diary in my bedside drawer – until some nosy intern found it, called in his friends and read it aloud. And my surgery was delayed because the doc was out Christmas shopping – he had his hands full of presents as he waltzed by me in my pre-surgery anesthetic haze.

We wear lanyards, clip-on’s or sticky labels. This day, our names show affiliations with the California Hospital Association, the Central California Sikh community and a West Coast petroleum association.