Graves - a hyperthyroid antic!

               Dr Graves of international fame as the discoverer of thyrotoxicosis, also known as Grave's Disease was a great hero to all of the students, faculty and staff of the Mead Hospital, Dublin.  (Estab 1753) where I was a student.   A bust of the Great Man decorated the main atrium of the Hospital where he had trained, atop a broad flight of concrete steps.  

              Dean Eleftry, was an older medical student from Vancouver, BC, who had come to Dublin to study medicine.  He was a nice guy, who everyone liked to poke a little fun at, because he was considerably older than the rest of students and also because he spent a lot of time polishing his little old Ford convertible.

             That night, a motley crew of students were heading back to the hospital after a good night at the local pub.  All three sheets to the wind, the older ones handling their booze a little better than the younger.

            "Let's do something with old Eleftry's car," Tom Snowdon said, in a loud self-assured English accent. (he was actually South African!)  "I'm so fed up watching him polishing and nursing it, I think it's time we taught him a lesson."

            "Yes, lets let the air out of his tires," Pete Sangster responded.

            "For God's sake, Sangster, can't you think of anything more original than that," Snowdon responded scornfully."

            The rest of the noisy group suddenly quietened down, wondering where this was going next.

            "Why don't we carry his stupid little car up the steps and deposit it in the main lobby of the hospital.  That would certainly create a little pandemonium in the morning." Snowdon said.

            Hoots of drunken approval emanated from the group.

            "We'll get into terrible trouble if we're caught,"I said.

            "Don’t be such a funk," Sangster said contemptuously.

            The herd mentality was kindled and there was no stopping now.                                          
            " Do You think we can lift it?" Sangster asked.

            "Let's give it a try," an anonymous voice suggested.

            Many pairs of hands squeezed around the little car tried to get a good grip on some lifting point and heaved.

            "It's as light as a feather," another responded.

            Twenty or so, able -bodied students lifted the car and slowly carried it up the twenty - eight concrete steps that opened onto the main lobby of the hospital.   Others held the hospital's large twin doors open, while the car was quietly placed in the centre of the lobby.

            "It looks wonderful there, but it would look much better if we put that bust of Robert Graves behind the steering wheel," drawled Tom Snowdon, pointing to a bust of the greatly revered physician.

            "Christ,"said I, "all hell will break loose."

            A contemptuous glance from Snowdon, while  a couple of his followers struggled to get the bust propped up in the front seat behind the steering wheel.

            "Let's put a scarf around his neck and a cap on his head, just to complete the picture," Snowdon added.

            One of the more fashionable members of the group volunteered his scarf and rather racy cap which he carefully arranged to give the long deceased Graves a decidedly sporty appearance.   Even I had to admit that the effect was dramatic.  We stealthily withdrew to the students residence before releasing whoops of apprehensive delight at the daring act.

           I awoke in the morning slightly hung-over and reflected on the previous night's action.  I got up as quickly as I could, anxious to see the damage.  I walked out into the courtyard.  About twenty maintenance workers were laying wooden planks in parallel tracks down the concrete steps.  The car, with Dean Eleftry sitting behind the wheel was purring gently, having just been driven through the twin doors and was now being secured by ropes attached to the axle so that it could be lowered slowly down the parallel planks to street level.  A large crowd stood in small groups at various vantage points around the courtyard.  Some laughing, some talking in hushed tones.  Dean was now anxiously supervising the manoeuvrings to make sure his beloved car wasn't damaged.

            The next morning  there was a line-up that the students and interns were ordered to attend, and the perpetrators were exhorted to turn themselves in so that the entire class wouldn't suffer the consequences for the desecration of the venerable and internationally respected [except by us!] Robert Graves.  Of course knowing that there's safety in numbers, no-one claimed responsibility and no-one remembered there being any consequences.