Local folks would try to convince you that Pasadena Texas in 1984 was the tourist Mecca for the whole state. After all, Pasadena was home of the infamous Gilley’s, the nationally known Strawberry Festival and oddly enough it could tout that NASA was located within its city limits. The truth was tourism couldn’t compare to oil and gas, Pasadena’s true glory. Thousands of people made their living at the petroleum plants that lined the Houston Ship Channel. Folks from outside the city limits seemed put off by the sometimes suspect quality of the air, even describing it as being a bit chewy. But the locals knew differently, that strange odor in the air was “the smell of money,” or so they said.
"Good ol’ boys" wasn’t just a working term, it was a way of life.
At that time, Gilley’s was the largest country and western dance hall in the entire nation, made even more famous as the film site for the movie Urban Cowboy. Pick-up trucks, cowboy hats and boot scooting were regular sights at the 15,000 sq. ft.-pieced together-barn-of-a-place. But its main attraction was the mechanical bull which landed some hapless want-to-be cowboy in the emergency room at least once a week. I never acquired a taste for C&W, but as the Public Relations Director for Bayshore Hospital I spent plenty of time enduring it. I experienced pure torture every time I had to host an out-of-town group to yet another evening at Gilley’s.
Promoting new physicians was one of my better duties, especially when it came to Dixie. She hadn’t been on staff for very long before I was called upstairs for the official “administrative” meeting.
Dixie was every PR person’s dream, a physician who was truly marketable. She was one of the few female general surgeons at that time and her passion for her work was obvious. Plus, she was pushing a new service that no other hospital was offering, at least not in our community.
“You cannot x-ray breasts with the same machine that’s used to x-ray a broken arm.” She argued with the hospital administrator during that first meeting when I got to observe her in action. “You have to have a dedicated mammography unit.” She had taken the Director of Radiology in tow and they were making a pretty convincing case to the administrator.
They pointed out that interest in women’s health was on the rise and that by providing more services to women the public's interest in the hospital would increase. The administrator was listening.
Dixie – even then - pressed on pricing.
“Charging $160 for a mammogram is too much money,” Dixie fumed. “Make it a reasonable amount and I’ll go out and give talks to the community. I’ll promote it to the hilt and I promise you I’ll get the women in here.”
“What’s reasonable?” the administrator asked.
He shouldn’t have done that. One should never ask Dixie what’s reasonable especially when it comes to what to charge a woman for screening. She wanted it to be $50, he choked on $100 but finally they agreed at $80.
So the deal was struck, the machine ordered and the marketing plan created. The city’s first dedicated breast imaging center opened and Dixie began her speaking circuit.
During the next 2 years, we gave over 300 community education presentations to anyone who would listen. I’d make the arrangements and do the driving. Dixie would do the talking. Civic groups, church groups, garden clubs, women’s groups, chemical plant employees, Rotarians and Rotary Anns, no one was turned down. Most were small groups, 20 or 30 people. Dixie once gave a talk that had only two people show up, and one was the other speaker.
A better evangelist for breast cancer screening has yet to be found. Dixie’s name and Breast Cancer became synonymous throughout the community. Women insisted on seeing her for breast exams or surgery.
Those 300+ presentations did their job. Women were becoming aware. But those drives were also giving us time together … to dream.
This memory is the first in a series of 25 short stories written by Dorothy Gibbons, the Co-founder and CEO of The Rose, a nonprofit breast cancer organization. She and Dr. Dixie Melillo received the 501C3 documents for The Rose in 1986. A memory will be shared daily, culminating with number 25 on the day The Rose celebrates its 25th anniversary November 10.
© 2011 Dorothy Gibbons. All rights reserved.
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