Have you noticed how the practice of medicine is changing? Gosh, I have.

There’s a significant new trend. It started 10 years or so ago. It’s still small, but it’s growing. Controversial, some feel. It comes by various names.

VIP medicine. Platinum practice. Boutique medicine. Retainer medicine.  Executive health care. Concierge medicine. There’s no shortage of imaginative ways in which interested MDs have been choosing to sell it to their patients.

It even has its own professional association. AAPP. That stands for the American Academy of Private Physicians (www.aapp.org).

I heard about it via our mail carrier.  I’m in beautiful Newport Beach, California, as usual waiting out the cold and ice and snow of a Connecticut winter. Well, not too much snow this year. That’s only fair considering last winter’s incredible downfall.

Milady Annabelle showed me a letter.  “What do you think of this?” she said. It came from our esteemed primary care doctor, Thomas A. Rubinacci, M.D.

I looked at the envelope. Letters from him were very rare. Usually only his name and address appeared in the top left corner.

I spotted something very different—the label “Concierge Medical Care.”

What oh what is this, I wondered.

Inside was an attractive two-color folder on nice coated paper. It had his photo on the front. He’s a good-looking guy. But it’s the first time I was seeing him in a suit and white shirt and tie. Usually I see him in the office with slacks and a golf shirt and loafers.

I like that. Sets a tone I appreciate. Casual and relaxed. Never, never with a white jacket and a stethoscope looped around his neck à la TV–the favored style for many docs these days.

With the folder came a letter. A long letter. Single-spaced. It ran all the way down the first page and down half the second page. Dr. Rubinacci had a lot to tell us about, whatever it was. I gave it immediate attention.

By the way, Dr. Rubinacci is not his real name. I’ve changed it. (If there’s a real Dr. Rubinacci somewhere, it’s an extreme coincidence!) Before I get into all the letter’s details, let me tell you a bit about him.

He’s about 45. To me that’s the perfect age for your doctor. He’s had plenty of experience and is on top of all the marvelous new technology. But he’s not thinking yet about hanging up his stethoscope. He still has plenty of energy and enthusiasm. By the way, “he” could well be “she.” Nowadays half the students in medical school are women.

(As some of you know, two years ago I completed a full hitch in the Peace Corps. I was a university teacher in Ukraine. Ukraine was part of the Soviet world till that fell apart 20 years ago. One thing I saw was that most doctors in those countries were women, even now. Medicine was considered a women’s profession—the way we used to look at teaching school. And still do quite a bit. And it’s similarly poorly paid.)

Dr. Rubinacci has top credentials. Credentials that would be envied by many other doctors. He is a graduate of a fine California state university, and of the highly regarded medical school of another state university. More than that, in college he made Phi Beta Kappa—the prestigious fraternity honoring distinguished academic work–and he graduated summa cum laude—that’s Latin for “ with very highest honors.”

He served his residency at a top-quality hospital, and then a two-year fellowship at another. He began practicing 12 years ago and set up his office nine years ago.  Now he shares office and staff with another internist with significant credentials, Dr. Anna Kraviska. I’ve changed her name, too.

He’s a Diplomate of the American Board of Internal Medicine. “The” professional society for that specialty. It doesn’t accept doctors into its ranks until they have passed its very stiff examinations. Not all of them pass it. I saw that for myself when I checked it online. Some doctors take it again and again. He passed it on the first try, and again with top grades.

I go to Dr. Rubinacci while I’m here because Annabelle introduced me to him. She’s had him several years, referred to him by a friend. So in a sense, for several years I’ve had two doctors, one in California during the winter, and one in Connecticut the rest of the year. Truth is, a few times I’ve talked with Dr. Rubinacci while in Connecticut because I wanted his input.

We like him because he’s smart, personable, and we can really have a good chat with him. So important. Some doctors can’t afford the time to chat, I’ve found out. We consider him not only our doctor, but also a friend. Of course, we’ve noticed that his time increasingly is at a premium.

Now about his letter. First, that expression, “Concierge Medicine.” That certainly has uppity overtones. Well, it does to me. Concierge is a new word in our dictionary. (By the way, it’s a French word meaning “building superintendent.”):

What’s a concierge to us Americans? A forever smiling and bowing fellow in a spiffy suit at a mahogany desk at an expensive hotel. He’s there to give you expert advice on anything you approach him about. You may be familiar with concierges.

You go to the concierge with your needs, problems, or concerns, as a guest. He’ll take care of it. Again, maybe she. Buy you tickets to a hit play. Give you sightseeing recommendations. Make a reservation for you at a hairdresser’s. Direct you to a Spanish restaurant if that’s what you want. Do just about anything legal. No fee, but tips are definitely welcome. Fat ones preferably.

To me, “boutique medicine” has similar connotations. Upscale. Luxurious. Expensive. Exclusive.

What did all this have to do with medicine?

Dr. Rubinacci was straightforward.  He was transitioning into a new type of medical practice on March 1. Same office. Same staff. But with a much reduced number of patients. That way he would be able to give more time. He’d be more relaxed with them, and that would be nice. He would continue to accept Medicare and other usual government insurance as well as private insurance and continue to process all those forms and assume the headaches of that whole process and accept those payments.

It was clear this was a difficult decision for him, and he had given it plenty of thought.

Why was he doing this?  His letter explained it in detail. And at the bottom of it, he invited his patients to come and attend a question and answer and session.

Annabelle and I phoned that we were coming. We were four couples in his wafting room at 6 p.m., the announced hour, and to my eye not one of us was under 70.He didn’t appear till 6:20, as he escorted his last patients out—an elderly man and woman, the man leaning on a cane.

He quickly sat down, and smiled, He didn’t apologize. We understood. And he got right down to business. No white jacket. No stethoscope. Again the golf shirt and the slacks. The Dr. Rubinacci we really knew. And oh, no cookies. No soft drinks. Which is what you expect at the very least when somebody is pitching you something.

Here’s what we learned. Right now he had some 3,000 patients. More than half of them were seniors.  And the seniors were the more active patients. Many of them came to him regularly, even often. Younger ones came much less. Sometimes just once every two or three years, for a physical.

His office hours were super-charged. He felt he was running from one patient to the other. He wanted to have a relationship with each of his patients, but in many cases impossible, despite his best efforts.  He was increasingly frustrated.

Medicare and the other government programs and private insurers were making more and more demands and requiring more forms to be filled out. He felt he was running a factory, though he never used that word. And he was making less money.

At one point, he said, “My wife is a dentist. And she makes more money than I do. And far fewer forms to process.”

I had checked some things.  Internists—primary care doctors–even those with the most difficult credentials to achieve, on average make less money than most specialists—cardiologists, radiologists, dermatologists, surgeons, and so on. Their practice is more of a rat race. And I believe that all this rankles.

What was he transitioning to? Concierge medical care.  He would have 250 patients, 350 tops. And they would pay a fee: $2,000 per year for one person, $3,500 for a couple..

He would give each patient all the time required. He would do a better job of handling the inevitable phone calls and emails. Even same-day appointments. And there would be more flexibility in the appointments.

His patients would sign a contract, but they could opt out at any time. They would sign up for a year at the stated price, and pay the annual fee in advance. II necessary he would accept semi-annual and quarterly payments. He said that he had not changed his prices since the start of his practice, and he did not anticipate he’d have to increase these annual fees.

He recognized that many of his patients would drop out. He didn’t say this, but of course they would have to. One of his goals was a much smaller practice. He had lined up another fine internist or two, younger of course, and they had agreed to take on the ones who left, if these agreed to these doctors, of course. Their records would be transferred for them.  One point he made was that older patients require more and more care. That seems natural. And he said he felt a moral obligation to serve his new “members” as long as necessary, always with the same high care.

Numerous questions were asked, and he answered them generously. He said he had had the idea a long time. He had worked under a doctor who was a pioneer in this concept at the very start of his practice.

He said that in the few days since his letter had gone out, his staff had signed up 50 patients. His letter said he had an Enrollment Coordinator. Dr. Rubinacci was confident that his starting goal of 250 would be met. And 350 definitely would be the max.

His letter made a strong point, “The first to respond will be the first to get in.” That sounded ominous. If anyone dilly-dallied, they might find themselves left out.

Afterward I did more research, all of it online, of course. I typed “concierge medicine” in Google’s search window and within a minute I got dozens of hits. Wow! There was plenty to read, plenty to think about.

I found that there are now lawyers who call themselves specialists in “boutique medicine law.” And I found that doctors thinking of this do need legal advice.

Medicare sets up rigid standards for what services can be charged for, and how. Every state has rules and regulations of its own. So does every insurance company.

No way can you charge more for “better quality service,” “better lab services or procedures.” And there are no-discrimination laws. And there’s the Hippocratic Oath—an oath that used to be usual for every new doctor but seems less so now. That oath mandates that the new doctor serve everybody who needs care, and care to the best of the doctor’s ability.

How do such traditional concepts fit in with these new concepts? Frankly, I’m not sure.

Some people find a selective practice like this repulsive. Unfair. They feel everybody is entitled to the same level of care. Others say, “More money can buy you a better car, education, house, retirement. Why not better medical care?”

To realists, this is the situation already, and has always been this way.

Dr. Rubinacci letter was a big surprise to me. I read it, then read it again. I knew immediately that Annabelle and I would be sitting in the front row at his introductory session. As it turned out, not necessary. We were just a small, friendly group. It was all quite relaxed. I sensed we were all there because first and foremost we esteemed Dr. Rubinacci. He was planning a series of these get-togethers.

Later I asked to see the contract we would be asked to sign, and he showed it without hesitation. I quickly noted that the contract was with both Dr. Rubinacci and Dr. Kraviska.  I picked up details. Besides husband and wife, he would include children—between the ages of 12 and 25—for an additional fee of $500 each per year.

People would pay up front. He listed several plastic cards. I paid attention to one stipulation that had not been mentioned: he retained the option of suspending any patient, even during the term of the contract.

If he did this, he would give a pro-rated rebate. He would have no need to explain his decision. I was sure he would not do this lightly. Nevertheless, it disturbed me. Some people might consider it “being dumped.”

And I added up the numbers.  The 50 patients already in hand would provide him nearly $100,000 in fees per year (remember, a spouse would pay $500 less). With his goal of 250, the fees would bring in close to $500,000. Nearly half a million!

Plus he would collect the customary Medicare and private insurance payments plus the co-pays and full fees of any patients without coverage.  And with his significantly reduced patient roll, his office overhead might be substantially cut. Maybe his insurance premiums cut also. On the other hand, for the same reason his various sources of insurance income would be diminished.

It would be interesting to find out how all this would balance out.

One new thought popped up.  Under his present set-up, if he takes a day off for any reason, he loses that day’s “take.” With his new set-up, the collected fees would eliminate this concern.  But if he and his partner, Dr. Anna Kraviska, cover for one another when one takes time off, this would not apply.  This is undoubtedly what they intend to do.

I know that when doctors and such retire, they often find another doctor to sell their practice to.  Dr. Rubinacci would be transferring hundreds of patients to one or more other doctors. Would he collect a fee for each? Nothing wrong with this, of course. But interesting to speculate about, don’t you think?

Of course, Dr. Kraviska will be doing the same thing. In fact, I believe she’s had a head start. So whatever I say here about Dr. Rubinacci applies to her also, it seems.

If Concierge Medicine can succeed anywhere, it’s right here. This is a very affluent community, by and large. One of the most affluent in the U.S. (Also one of the most Republican, not surprisingly.)

Many people here make tons of money. Many wealthy people retire here. Driving around and seeing some of the houses—thousands of them—many built high on the landscaped slopes with gorgeous views of the Pacific, can be a startling experience. Many are in gated communities—something in Connecticut that we are not really familiar with. Yet.

And there are numerous country and yacht clubs, so the concept of paying annual membership fees for such is well accepted. What’s one more membership? Especially one that will assure you more attention from your doctor!

I have seen a lot of changes in medicine over the years. When I was a little boy, I remember our family doctor making a house call to see my ailing grandpa. He walked into his bedroom with his scuffed black doctor’s bag. He had bandages and ointments and scissors in there. He took out a thermometer and a stethoscope. And those were the two high-tech instruments of those times! Oh, yes, I believe our little hospital did have an X-ray machine.

I was still in grammar school when I had to have an operation. A small one. I think it was to have my tonsils removed. I do have a bad memory of the doctor putting a paper cone over my nose and dripping ether onto it.  What a terrible experience! That awful smell. But I didn’t get to feel any pain. That was the height of anesthesiology back then.

Forty years ago I had to have my gall bladder removed. I was in the hospital more than a week. Good experience. No complaints. Today I’d be there two or three days, if that long.

A year ago I made a frantic visit to hospital emergency. I had called Dr. Rubinacci and he commanded me to do that. I had symptoms that made me think–and him!–of a possible heart attack. That’s when I encountered my first “hospitalist” ever.

Do you know what a hospitalist is? I didn’t. A hospitalist is an MD who is a credentialed primary care doctor who works in the hospital. Just the hospital. Your doctor orders you to the hospital, and at that point he the hospitalist (or again, maybe she) takes over. Makes all the decisions. Orders everything you need. Supervises every step. All while reporting back to your own doctor. When you leave the hospital, you return to your own doctor’s care.

That’s a new trend, too, far more advanced than that of concierge care, however. But like everything else, a trend that has plus and minus features.

I thought I had a good hospitalist.  But not many years ago, it’s Dr. Rubinacci who would be visiting me in the hospital, during rounds after his hours in the office. I remember when doctors made rounds twice a day. Sometimes seven days a week. That’s something that has just about totally disappeared.

Oh, my heart problem turned out to be a false alarm. My heart seems to be fine.

With the goings-on in Washington, plus new developments in the healthcare industry, we can expect many more changes, of various kinds, despite the loud protests of many groups. And now word is that our economy is improving. Wonderful. More people will have better incomes Maybe this Concierge Medicine will really catch on.

This is all encouraged by our American free-enterprise spirit. Some people get rewarded for being innovative and taking chances. And we admire that. But it hurts others, Can leave them behind. Squeeze them out.

I know you’re wondering, “What are Annabelle and you going to decide?”

All I can tell you right now is, “We’re still mulling this over. But for sure we would hate to lose Dr. Rubinacci?”

Strange the way ideas strike. I like to say that my best ideas strike me in the middle of the night. But I got this one in broad daylight–walking out of our magnificent Library of Congress in Washington last week. It struck me like a bolt of lightning.

Boom! And there it has been at the top of my mind. The idea has been percolating and percolating. I feel I must tell you about it. Yes, must.

Milady Annabelle and I were there on vacation. I own a time-share. What that means is that I own a deed to a fancy apartment in a resort hotel in Myrtle Beach, SC. I own that apartment one week a year. Yes, an actual deed. But I’ve never even seen the place. I can choose the week—so long as I get the jump on the 51 other owners who can claim it one week a year.

Like so many other time-share owners, I swap it. There are numberless other resorts and hotels in the system. It’s easy through a central set-up. I do it with a call or two to an 800 number, or even online. So we can go here and go there. But you must remember: just one week a year.

I must tell you in honesty that a time-share is a lousy financial investment. I wouldn’t buy into it again. But every time we use it, I feel good about it. So it was in Washington last week. A good time!

Actually we were staying in a brand-new city (?) a 30-minute drive from downtown. It’s called Harbor National. Seems to be only 10 years old or so and is still developing. Plunk on the Potomac in Maryland just south of D.C. A total resort community. Very nice hotels along a waterfront strip with all the usual restaurants and galleries and clubs and salons and souvenir shops and apparel boutiques and so on.

A 30-minute commute sounds difficult for me, living retired in small Deep River in this tranquil corner. But it’s considered an easy commute in Washington. We did it every day. It was complicated by construction work, thoughtless drivers, and the tension of driving encircled by cars “cruising” at 75 miles an hour and even higher. Wow!

This visit of ours confirms a long belief. Washington is one of the most attractive tourist cities in the world. I’ve traveled a bit so I feel I can say this. It is so rich wonderful, memorable possibilities.

It’s our national capital, of course, and how impressive it is. So many look-see buildings, from our Congress and Supreme Court and White House right on down to the endless line-up of federal agencies in white marble. So many statues. So many monuments. Parks. Squares. Malls. Circles. Shopping centers. A gamut of restaurants beyond number. So many embassies. So many universities and colleges. So many fabulous museums. Our extraordinary Smithsonian!

When I was a kid, it was customary for high school seniors to go to Washington for a few days as part of graduation. What a good idea. Is it still the custom? I’m not sure. I hope so. Sad to say, the private school that I went to didn’t do that.

But I did get to Washington as a kid. It was a wonderful week. It happened after my sophomore year at Assumption College in Worcester. My classmate and buddy John Tormey and I thumbed there and back! Notice my exclamation point. Today thumbing is a no, no. In fact, illegal in many places. Forbidden on our Interstates—they didn’t exist back then. We were 19. I don’t remember if it was his idea or mine. I suspect mine.

We thumbed for the best reason of all. We had just a few bucks. We made it there in a day—a long day. How lucky we got: one guy carried us for a couple of hundred miles—an entomologist. He had to explain he was a bug scientist. What impressed us is that besides his fascination with insects was that he drove at a steady, relentless 50 miles an hour. Hour after hour. Like a machine.

We rented a room at the YMCA. No hostels back then. Plain but okay. Every day we’d be up and out early. We’d hoof and ride the trolleys and buses. We knew little about the city. We were total strangers. It wasn’t easy finding our way around and getting to places. We saw a lot but too little. We weren’t savvy.

Another memory: On a newsstand I spotted a nudist magazine. “Sunshine & Health” I think it was called. I didn’t know such a magazine existed. Didn’t know some men and women liked to go nude at the beach, in the sun. That was long before Playboy. Lots of photos, but very tame by today’s standards.

Late one night at the Y John caught me with it in my hands. Talk about embarrassment. He has brought it up a couple of times. Just can’t resist. But I remember he grabbed it for himself the minute he could. (In time he was the best man at my wedding, and I at his.)

Just the standing and waiting by the highway and hoping to nab a ride was a worthwhile experience. So was learning how to start and hold a conversation with complete strangers. I look back on it all as a fine and grand adventure. We grew up a lot. I learned more than I ever did in any course.

I’ve been to Washington a few times over the years, and always tried to squeeze in as much sightseeing as possible. True for Annabelle also. Yet it’s surprising how little all that has amounted to.

This time we were so lucky in one way. One gorgeous Indian Summer day after another. Could not have been better.  Our first day was daunting. As every school kid learns, Washington was built as a city planned on paper by the French architect and civil engineer Pierre L’Enfant (what a strange name his: it translates to Peter the Child!)

That was an extraordinary event in the history of great cities. Most grow hap-hazardly.

(As I write this, I think of course of our Ivoryton next door to Deep River here. It, too, was planned on paper, every aspect of it—where the factory would be, where the executives would live, where the workers, where the churches would be, where the grocery store, where the library and social club, and so on.)

He would be astounded to see the result today. In a sense the city is a monster. It is so huge. It has so many buildings. And that’s all because we have so many federal agencies and institutions and services and everything else. And so many related private groups of all kinds, each with its headquarters.

The traffic paralysis! Because all of us insist on driving our own car. Which is wonderful. But also terrible. We found the downtown traffic horrendous. This despite the marvelous Metro and remarkable bus system. The parking inadequate.  You have to circle around and search and search for a spot.  There are parking garages, but there are long queues of cars getting in and coming out, especially at rush hours. And expensive!

A blessing was my handicap-parking permit. “What a sad day,” I said to myself when I got my permit from the Connecticut DMV. “It has come to this!” But how much I have gotten to appreciate that permit in these declining years. It was a godsend in Washington.

Our priority was the museums, and particularly the fabulous museums of the Smithsonian Institution, federally supported, as we know. They line both sides of a mall, one great museum after another. All four-star museums for sure. And all free, I believe, even in these days of strained budgets.

Despite our grand intentions, we got to visit only two. One was the History Museum. The other was the Natural History Museum. We went to each on two days. And we spent hours in each.  The exhibits were amazing. So interesting. So well done. So educational. So much fun.

Annabelle and I have similar interests and different ones. That’s natural, isn’t it? So we split up in these grand buildings now and then. I’d go off to one exhibit and she to another. This was to make the most of our time.  Yet both of us got to see only a small part of each museum’s offerings. Imagine that.

When we got tired, we drove around. So much to see. We found our way to this neighborhood and that one. Cruised by the great monuments, the Washington Monument, the Lincoln Memorial, and others.  Experienced Dupont Circle and upscale neighborhoods. We drove bumper to bumper through charming Georgetown. We poked into the sprawling black neighborhood that starts just to one side of Congress.

A must for us there was Howard University.  I believe it is our country’s premier black university, meaning the best-known one planned and built and promoted for blacks. I’ve heard and read about it many times. Who hasn’t? A much larger campus than I expected, with bigger buildings, too, most red brick. And lots of activity. Many students (more than 10,000). And a “Harvard Square” of restaurants and bookshops nearby. I was impressed.

On our drives we spotted the Supreme Court and the Library, of course. On one day we made an attempt at visiting both. No parking spots. We did research and found there was a BIG parking garage within striking distance. It’s on one side of Union Station. And we found there a Circulator bus that could carry us close to both institutions. The Court and the Library are located practically side by side.

It was a long wait getting into the garage at 8:30 a.m. And the only spot we found was on the top floor, which I believe is the top floor. Then a long walk out and through Union Station. But what a fortuitous sight that was. What a big and magnificent building. Worth a visit even if you have no need to catch a train. Recommended!

Then a long walk to the right stop for the Circulator. The Circulator is well named. It circulates through the city. Quite new. Fine buses. Inexpensive. The $1 ride is just 50 cents for a senior. (The garage cost us $22.)

Our first stop was the Library of Congress. We got off nearby. But the Library is three big buildings! We entered the closest one, the Madison, named for James Madison, our fourth president.

Surprise. We had to go through airport-like security to get in. Putting all our possessions into our tray. Everything except having to take off our shoes. We were spared that.

Surprise No. 2. I found the Madison to be just a very large but disappointingly plain everyday working library. A research library mostly—aides doing research for representatives and senators and other officials; men and women writing books.

Our time was limited. What I hoped to see was the Periodicals Room. “I’ll bet they’ll have every American newspaper and magazine in there,” I said to Annabelle. “And from other countries, too.”

We got to the Periodicals Room down a long hallway, then down another. But we weren’t allowed in. We needed a library card! That was Surprise No. 3. And only the highest officials can check out books from the Library of Congress—Surprise No. 4.

The other “secondary” library is the John Adams, named for our sixth president. We never made it to that.

Our priority was the main library, the first of the three, the Thomas Jefferson, honoring the drafter of the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution and other important documents, and our third president. In fact, it’s his personal library at his home Monticello that became the nucleus of the Library of Congress.

We got in, again after a security search. All Americans are welcomed in. The red carpet is out. Again, the security check.  Finally into that grand and monumental and magnificent building! Huge halls. Great columns. Marble aplenty. Paintings and statues and plaques. And so many visitors.

The Jefferson was designed to make a statement and it succeeds: that the Library of Congress is our national library, the repository of all our copyrighted works, the treasure house of our learning, the fount of our thinking, the finest library of the greatest democracy in the world.

We got started by joining one of the frequent tours, but hearing the leader was too difficult and quickly we set off on our own. Again the exhibits were spectacular.

There is a splendid replica of Jefferson’s library with thousands of his original books. Some were lost but there’s a huge effort to find replacements. I walked from one bookcase to another, scanning the titles.

Amazing the breadth and variety—he was interested in absolutely everything. He had books in many languages. Many in Latin (which I studied long ago). And so very many in French. This interested me. French was my first language, learned on the laps of my parents. I studied it many years, and I speak and write it.

Then the exhibits! Especially “The Founding of Our Nation.” The original documents, mind you. How impressive. I was surprised by the feelings of marvel and appreciation and  pride and gratitude that welled up in me.

We did our best to get a look at everything, but again, much too much. On to the Supreme Court down the street.

And it’s in walking out that I felt that flash of inspiration. My big idea! I’ll tell you about it in a minute. First, about the Supreme Court.

It, too, is a grand building, but on a much smaller scale. It is only 75 years old in its present building. It is so important to us because here, as we know, are pronounced the momentous decisions that at times preserve and protect our society and our lives but at other changes bring changes, some big. The Supreme Court’s decisions shape our nation.

We were directed into the great courtroom itself. At the front on the podium were the chairs for our nine justices, lined up behind the long table. We took seats. A young woman came forward, smiled, and gave us a talk about the court. She did it from memory, timed to an exact 30 minutes, but with enthusiasm and freshness. Very good. I enjoyed her.

We found our way to the cafeteria downstairs. On the way we passed corridors that were gated off. I peered down each one. Was this where Chief Justice Roberts’ office was? Justice Antonin Scalia’s? Ruth Ginsburg’s? No idea.

Nothing elaborate about this cafeteria. It was clear this is where the staff ate, too, not only the tourists. It was now close to the 4 p.m. closing time but we hadn’t had lunch and we made up for it. The food was good and the prices fair—those at the Smithsonian had been shockingly high, at least to my pocketbook. I suspected that the justices did not eat here. My bet was that they were served in their offices. And could order coq au vin or saumon aux champignons if that’s what they wanted.

Finally out we went, happy with our visits. And tired. Another Circulator back to the Union Station garage. Another long line of cars rolling out. Back to our National Harbor Hotel. Again a frustrating ride. So much traffic.

We checked out the next morning and made the long trip home to Deep River by dark.

I found our few days so interesting, so educational, so stimulating, and so important. Annabelle felt the same way. Our time in the capital made us appreciate all the more the grandeur and achievement and success of our country. That’s why that idea sprang to my mind.

I said to myself,  “Every young person should come here and experience this. They should do it as part of their college education. Not when they’re old like us. Such a visit would set them up for life.”

But how to do that?

We should develop a national program. We have thousands of them, it seems. Why not one more?

For the moment let’s call it Summer in Washington. Intended for college students, perhaps in the summer after their junior year. Not just a few days. That wouldn’t be enough. I thought, “Six weeks!”

It would be designed to cram in as much information as possible. About our history. Our democratic and federal form of government. Our guiding principles. The incredible range of our government activities and the ever-expanding role of government in our lives. The changing make-up of our country in numerous ways. Our increasing stature in world affairs. Would be designed to make clear and emphasize our national values. And our duties and responsibilities—and rights and entitlements—as Americans.

And it would have to be fun! That would be an absolute essential.

My son Mark’s summer experience in Europe in 2009 influenced me, I’m sure. He’s a professor at the University of Georgia. He took 24 students to four cities in Europe on a three-week educational tour: Frankfurt, Vienna, Bratislava, and Prague.

Each morning he gave his students a lecture on what they were going to see—a bank, a cathedral, a factory, a museum, whatever. But the emphasis was on business—all the students were business majors, as I recall it.  Then in came a guest lecturer from that city to further explain. Then off they went to look, understand, and appreciate. They also had plenty of fun. A great success.

“Summer in Washington” would be a significant summer. One that would affect the students in good ways for the rest of their lives.

They would room and board at area colleges in universities—just as in the way the wonderful Elderhostel Program started some 40 years ago. They have idle rooms and cafeteria space in the summer.

There would be a broad curriculum of lectures and tours. Every day they would visit a list of important places. The Congress, of course. The Library of Congress. The Pentagon. The National Post Office. The FBI. The Department of the Interior. The Peace Corps! On and on.

Also the Smithsonian museums and other important sites. The Washington Monument. The Lincoln Memorial. The new Martin Luther King Memorial. Arlington National Cemetery.  Ford’s Theatre, where Abraham Lincoln was assassinated.

Every morning a lecture would precede the tour. The goal would be to explain, explain, explain.  From Monday to Friday, they would listen to a good lecture about what they would soon visit. They would do that visiting in the afternoon. And on the way there and back they would visit important monuments and sites. There are so many of them.

On weekends they would explore the city. Check out various neighborhoods. Drive by the embassies. And so on. Sightsee as much as possible. Rest and relax. But the overall emphasis should be on having fun.  Enjoying the whole thing. Being tourists in the finest meaning of the word. Education is easy when it’s coated with fun.

One week would not do. Much too short.  I thought six weeks would be right. Then I thought that it should be five weeks—five because that way two groups could be scheduled back to back more easily in the summer out-of-school time. With two sessions, more students could come.

It would be expensive. But it would be so worthwhile as a primal educational experience that it would justify the expense. So many students borrow their way through college nowadays. Well, they could borrow a bit more.

And there could be government assistance. After all, this would make all the students better citizens, better Americans, better voters—this at a time when the percentage of active voters year after year is less and less.

And there could be merit scholarships and fellowships.

It would be designed to have a big impact. A mind-opening, life-broadening impact.

It should be developed and publicized as a “must” for every boy and girl who wants a fine education—a liberal education in the finest meaning of the word. Even if what they’re majoring in is scientific or technical.

What I see is not a program of a few hundred students. I’m thinking of thousands every summer. A big program that would have a national dimension, bringing in students from every state and from our big cities and little towns. Not just rich kids. For every promising kid!

Well, it’s a good idea, you will say, but just an idea.

But we are surrounded with great things that were once just ideas.

It’s true of every aspect of our government, of course—our Congress, our Supreme Court, our very United States of America. Our Smithsonian Museum. Just an idea. Just a vision.

Think of our great break-through decisions and programs. The right to vote for every adult American, regardless of income, ownership of property or not. Free public education for all. Our Land-Grant universities. Women’s Suffrage. Social Security. The GI Bill. Medicare. Our Flight to the Moon. Again the Peace Corps—50 years old this year!  On and on. So many. Just an idea. Just a vision.

Every one of our great businesses—Ford, General Electric, Boeing, NBC, Microsoft, Pfizer, Google, The New York Times, Coca-Cola, Walmart, McDonald’s, Amazon.com. On and on. They were just an idea. Just a vision.

Even our tiny businesses. These newspapers without trees, Valleynewsnow.com and lymeline.com and oldsaybrooknow.com. The corner grocery store. Joe’s Barber Shop. The Whistle Stop Restaurant. Just an idea. Just a vision.

So many of our good works. Our many hospitals and  private universities and research centers. The Red Cross. A.A. Goodwill. Seeing Eye Dog. AARP. Mystic Seaport. The Connecticut River Museum. Keyboard Park. On and on and on. Just an idea. Just a vision.

True all over the world.

All started with just an idea. A vague vision.

Will my idea take off? I wish I knew. It’s a raw idea. It needs refining. It needs PR. It needs lobbying. It needs money. It needs enormous leadership. But this is the kick-off. We’ll see.

I welcome your comments, your suggestions, and your criticisms. Send them to me: johnguylaplante@yahoo.com.

“Summer in Washington!” Don’t you wish you could be 20 years old and going to that for five weeks? Wouldn’t you be delighted to have your daughter go? Your grandson?

If you like my idea, you can do your bit right now: email it to all your friends. Ask them to do the same.