A Fable For Our Time

Once upon a time in a small but contented chicken Ranch somewhere in Northern California, everything was going well. The hens laid their eggs and clucked contentedly- Egg production was top-notch. And the baby chicks that were hatched grew up to be excellent egg-layers, just like their mothers who brooded and cared for them solicitously. Each and every day the hens and chickens received a steady supply of grain from the rancher who was as proud as could be of every banty in the barn.

One would think that it would be impossible for a discordant cackle to arise from the midst of such an avian paradise, but unfortunately such was not the case. The four cocks who lived with the hens and chickens were not content with this set of conditions. They had loftier aspirations. Felt that they deserved a great deal more respect than they could muster in a barn where it was obvious to all that not they but the beneficent rancher was the provider of the all-sustaining grain.

The cocks caucused and came up with a plan of action. First they went to the rancher with the following proposal:

"Sir, " said the head cock, "We understand that you are content with the state of affairs that presently exists in the barn, and indeed we agree that it’s not all that bad. However, we have a plan that we feel can increase egg production and lower your grain cost."

The rancher felt a little foolish speaking to four roosters. But being a good businessman he felt obliged to at least listen to their proposal, if it meant saving some money. So with a motion of his hand, he bade them to speak further on this.

"All you have to do is allow us to distribute the grain in the way that we see fit," the head cock continued. "On our part we can promise you an immediate 20 percent decrease in grain consumption. Plus with the authority that we will have by virtue of controlling grain distribution, we can assure you that we will, by various measures, encourage more efficient egg production."

"But how will you get the hens and chickens to agree to this?" the rancher asked.

"Leave that up to us!" the cocks answered.

It seemed too good to be true. Casting a quick look about him (for he still felt a little uneasy doing business with roosters), the rancher gave his agreement to the proposal. And hand and wing, they shook on it.

The first part of the plan accomplished, the cocks went back to the barn and called all the hens and chickens together for an important announcement:

"A wonderful thing has just happened," they crowed. "At last we have been able to obtain direct control of the grain. This is a great day for the whole barn. Power to the poultry!"

This was pretty heady stuff and it caused quite a stir in the barn. However, one or two chickens were heard to protest that the present system seemed to be working pretty well. But this dissent was soon drowned out by the excited and approving cackling that ensued when the cocks explained the virtues of "poultry power," including how democratic the system would be.

"We are proposing no less than a FOUNDATION GRAIN MAINTENANCE PLAN (FGMP) to manage the grain distribution," intoned the head, cock. "We cocks have accepted, with due humility, the positions of directors of the Foundation. But the FGMP will have provision for ALL the hens and chickens to have important input into the decision-making process."

What an excited flapping of wings, clucking, and cackling there now was! It was difficult to restore order amidst such jubilance.

"Please, let me continue. There is morel" The head cock crowed. We are all very fortunate that the cocks acted when we did and put this plan into action. The rancher was considering filing for Chapter 11, and we have been able to avert this. Of course, we will have to accept some cutbacks in the amount of grain. This is unavoidable. In addition we will have to reserve a further l5 percent of the grain in case of a rainy day. But this is a small price to pay for the freedom, independence, and yes, DIGNITY that we achieve by instituting this plan. Power to the Poultry!"

"Power to the Poultry!" echoed the excited bantys. "Hooray for the cocks! Long live the FGMP!"

And so the FGMP began amidst nearly revolutionary fervor. Each hen dedicated herself to more and more egg production, and this despite the curtailed rations of grain. It was pride that drove them on to such exertion with such steadfastness and determination. The world would see what "poultry power" was capable of! And what a reassurance it would be now that grain distribution was controlled by a foundation that was "FOR the chickens, BY the chickens, and OF the chickens!"

As time passed and some of the initial enthusiasm died away, some of the chickens began to have some serious doubts about the FGMP. True, egg production may have increased, but what with the spartan rations, egg SIZE and QUALITY may have decreased. At one time, grain distribution actually stopped COMPLETELY causing great hardship in the barn. "A computer problem," explained the cocks. "There is no cause for alarm. The Foundation is still solvent and grain will soon be distributed again."

Some of "the chickens muttered that there seemed to be little way that the rank and file could participate in the democratic Foundation in that no meetings were ever held. But what really caused a flap in the barn was when the Foundation (i.e., the cocks) announced the formation of a new corporate entity for grain distribution: Poultricare, a for-profit publicly owned stock company.

The Foundation, of course, was a "not-for-profit" entity, and this was becoming a bit of an embarrassment. In fact, some of the chickens had noticed that in the cocks’ corner of the barn a rather large stockpile of grain had been accumulating—more than could be explained by the daily 15 percent "withhold for a rainy day." It was a veritable MOUNTAIN of grain, and it represented a serious inconsistency with the frugal statements that the cocks continued to promulgate. The solution to this embarrassment was both novel and brilliant.

"We propose to give this mountain of grain away to some needy barnyard somewhere else—a charitable donation of which all you hens and chickens can take great pride," decreed the cocks. "We thereupon will form ‘Poultricare,’ and by selling you shares in the company, make you chicken capitalists. Yes, today is even a greater day than when the Foundation itself was formed!"

"Power to the Poultry!" the cocks shouted, expecting the usual echo. However this time there was far from unanimity amongst the hens and chickens concerning the wonderfulness of this new plan. There were rumors that the cocks had given themselves substantial stock options in the new corporation, and that again, whether for-profit or not-for-profit, the rank and file would have little say in the decision-making process. But nonetheless there were a surprising number of hens and chickens that applauded the new scheme and looked forward to the idea of becoming "chicken capitalists." Which all goes to show, I suppose, that whereas you can always find suckers amongst hens and chickens, it’s only rarely that you find a real rooster sucker.

By E. SOPS, M.D.

Call me Ishmael - or rather Ishmael Mobius, M.D., author of a one-time best-selling textbook on Obstetrics, read and revered by thousands of Ob/Gyn residents. But to be truthful I am not really Dr. Mobius, but rather his book, perhaps the only remaining copy.. I am his legacy, his intellectual thought preserved, for he himself has passed on. Even today, glued to a shelf just above one of the dining cubicles in the Casa Maria restaurant, I believe I stand out from the other books next to me, all of us here doomed to provide a veneer of "class" in hopes of making the cuisine more appealing. For I am "Great White Book," thicker and taller than my shelfmates - and a very: stunning pure white color. I am in fact none other than "Moby Book," as I was affectionately dubbed by countless residents - the name resulting from a contraction of "Mobius OB Textbook."

I importune you with the tale of my voyage, not for my own sake, and not out of any sense of braggadocio, but rather I tell you this for your sake, as did that other tattered Ishmael, grabbing at the sleeves of people passing by on the quay of New Bedford, for an ill-boding change has occurred for books, libraries and the people that use them.

I have not always been so immobile and during the happiest part of my life I circulated amongst some of the finest Obstetricians in Sacramento. For many year and with pride I called the Sacramento-El Dorado Medical Society library my home. That was before one year ago, when with little fanfare and even less appreciation, I was disposed of as being unnecessary and superfluous. True, there was at the time an announcement that members of the society could take me, as it were, "free to a good home", as if I was some unwanted or unruly dog. But only a handful of books were so rescued when the library closed its doors. And I perhaps should not complain about my lot, for the majority of my colleagues have probably ended up in landfills.

I do not discount the importance of the Internet as a wonderful, very accessible source of medical information, but yet there is nothing quite like the touch and feel-and yes even the smell of a good book! We have a wonderful tangibility that connects the reader immediately and very personally, not only with the information we contain but also with all the other scholars that have used us before and those who will use us subsequently. I am a repository of knowledge, not a relic, and even as I age, as we all must, what I contain will wax in historical value though it might wane in modernity — and I am not available on the Internet.

I must tell you that we books are all interconnected by an ethereal knowledge (for it is this that fills the interstices of the Universe) and so I can speak to you of what is happening around the country and more particularly in Sacramento. Medical libraries are closing, in hospitals and in medical societies. Librarian positions have been cut. New acquisitions have decreased to a trickle, and number and years of subscription journals slashed. Public access to medical libraries has been severely limited, and all this justified because of the "Internet."

I purport that the real reason for this calamitous change is actually a "false economy," for book-based or print-based knowledge is complementary and not in opposition to Net based knowledge. Countless times physicians have come to medical libraries to access my colleagues and me in order to obtain solutions to immediately pending clinical problems. Not only have I been a comfort to them, I have been able to provide basic background and review that has in many clinical situations, sometimes linked and sometimes unlinked with current clinical advances, helped to further patient care undoubtedly decrease total medical cost.

We books are presented in a very special format. We are easier on the eyes, much more so than E-text. We provide in many ways, once the reader selects us, easier and quicker access to our knowledge- Have you ever tried to quickly thumb through pr scan E-text? Do you really think that jumping from one "Hypertext" selection to another on the Net provides you the same sense of depth and control that you could have with a book in hand? We are expensive, but I think we're worth it.

Perhaps two recent episodes in my life will explain my sense of loss. Recently a party of four sat just below me in my dining cubicle at the restaurant. I recognized one of them just before he recognized me, We W been together years ago when he was still a resident in Obstetrics at U.C. Davis. "There's the 'Great White Book," he cried out to his astonished physician colleagues while pointing to me on the shelf across the table from him. With a smile spreading over his face in recognition of a long-lost friend, he futilely tried to hold me in his hand as he had done so many times before. "It's glued to the shelf!" he said in dismay. "They've glued 'Moby Book' to the shelf!"

On another occasion, equally sad, a mother was sitting with her young son when he noticed me, pointed and said, "Mommy what's that big white thing, there?" "That's a book, dear," she answered. People used to have them in their homes before the Internet."

The barbarians are at the gate and they disguise themselves as "E-scholars."

As told to John E. Hendry, MD