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[Mark Kohut]

‎John Blumenthal
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‎ *to* Author, Author!
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April 24
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How I got Thomas Pynchon’s Medical Records and Autograph.

Thomas Pynchon, acclaimed author of “Gravity’s Rainbow” among other novels,
is known to be a recluse. He eschews book tours, award ceremonies and never
signs autographs. He makes J.D. Salinger look like a party animal.

So it is particularly odd that I am in possession of his medical records
and his autograph.

In 1973, while employed by Esquire Magazine, I was also working on the
Great American Novel which never saw the light of day, because it was -- to
put it as delicately as possible -- a stinking pile of horse shit.

That same year, Pynchon’s novel “Gravity’s Rainbow” was published and
featured on the cover of “The New York Times Sunday Literary Section.”
Later, it received the National Book Award.

At the time, my father was an internist with a practice in my hometown,
Middletown, NY, a small burg which was well-known for nothing. One day, a
new patient came to my father’s office complaining of some minor but
annoying symptoms. (For privacy reasons, I won’t go into specifics.)

Before the examination, the patient was required to fill out a form, which
asked for his name, address, profession and previous illnesses. When he was
finished, my father sat him down in his office and went over the form.

“So you’re a writer?” my father asked. The patient nodded. My father
snickered. He was well aware that many people called themselves writers,
but had never had anything published. He had developed that opinion from
observing me and my numerous feeble attempts at writing fiction. “Never
heard of you,” my father said. His new patient merely shrugged.

My father ordered some tests and when they came back negative, he informed
Pynchon that it was nothing serious but asked him to return in a week to
see if his condition had improved.

A few days later, my father called me and asked if I had ever heard of a
writer named Thomas Pynchon. I said yes, informed him of Pynchon’s fame and
asked him why he wanted to know. “He’s one of my patients,” my father said
blandly.

I was thunderstruck. “Is he coming back to your office?” I asked
enthusiastically. “Yes,” my father said. “For a follow-up.” I gave it a
moment’s thought. If I could get an interview with Thomas Pynchon, my
publishing career would actually become a publishing career.

“Can you hide a tape recorder in your office when he comes back and ask him
some questions about his writing?” I inquired. My father’s reply was
immediate. “Absolutely not,” he said. “What goes on in a doctor’s office is
confidential. “

I felt deflated. “Can you at least get him to autograph a copy of his
book?” I asked. My father said he could do that.

After my father’s last meeting with Thomas Pynchon, I came to town to
visit. My father handed me the autographed copy of “Gravity’s Rainbow.” On
the title page, Pynchon had written “Dr. Blumenthal: 10 Pages q-i-d for
Mesopolitosis.” Signed, “Thomas Pynchon.” I have no idea what
“Mesopolitosis”is —perhaps a play on the word “Mesopelagic,” an
oceanography term.

As I was putting this rare autographed novel in my suitcase, a piece of
paper fell out—it was a form filled out by a radiologist and signed by my
father.

Having a book signed by Thomas Pynchon was rare enough. But to have his
medical records! Utterly priceless.

But my father still wasn’t that impressed. “He was an excellent patient,”
was all he said.