MaryBeth is a senior resident in urology at the Mayo Clinic. All my life I’ve heard about Mayo and knew it had to be impressive. The litotes of the day, impressive. The clinic is designed to wrap its patrons in an aura of “you are not sick; you are vacationing.” The buildings are gorgeous: blown glass chandeliers, Italian marble walls and floors, art everywhere.
The mammoth sculpture of this naked gentleman used to be on the outside of the building. When the foyer was extended and he found himself an indoor sculpture, he needed to be given a fig leaf. Because? The dictates of taste. I just really want to hear a justification of the parameters of statuary decorum.
Comfortable seating arrangements, spacious, large stylish modern cafeteria.
More Italian Marble and “we are successful” decor:
Don’t forget it’s a hospital:
Marybeth took us to the library (for doctors and staff only).
Yes, I could easily have moved into the library.
The original Mayo building has doors whose symbolism runs counter to the gates on the temple of Janus under Augustus. The doors are closed in times of mourning. They have been closed around 12 times since the inception of the building. The doors are magnificent.
The lobby is old world elegance:
The plaque with the Mayo Brothers:
The beams bear the names of notable contributors to medicine–including Asclepiades and Galen (that made me very happy).
A woman who had worked for thirty plus years as a researcher at Mayo before retiring and becoming a docent showed us the Mayo Museum, which preserved the offices of George and Will Mayo, sons of the founder of the clinic. Photographs, citations, and honorary degrees covered the walls. Exhibits of old doctor and nurse uniforms, honorary degree regalia, old medical instruments–the place was packed. And our docent clearly loved what she did. But no photos allowed.
But I could take a photo of my sisters and MB:
Later Ann and Helen went back to the consignment shop and Calli and I went to get the car serviced–after 5500 miles of driving. MaryBeth’s husband came down from Minneapolis and we all tried to find a place to eat dinner. Restaurants in Rochester are ridiculously crowded, it seems. We wound up seeking refuge in a rainstorm at an Irish pub with great Wednesday night drama. As we approached, a bartender was forcibly ejecting a drunk (who had a wrench in his back pocket). He had to propel him down the street and then hustle back and lock the door. Chris and MaryBeth ordered cheese curds (fried curds–they were good). A guy approached out table and handed us all bingo cards. He has called bingo at that bar every Tuesday and Wednesday for 30 years. It was great fun.