I took a bittersweet Baby Boomer trip back in time recently, when friends convinced me to attend a Doo Wop concert. No doubt, you know what I'm talking about; maybe you've attended such an event already because, if there's one thing promoters have learned it's this: When it comes to Boomer Nation, nostalgia sells. Big time.

The memory of the Doo Wop concert is still as fresh in my mind as the ringing in my ears; unfortunately, some parts of the experience I would rather forget. As I was herded into the auditorium with a couple thousand of my fellow boomers, I thought of how the whole thing had the feel of a 1950s high school sock hop. The music was loud and the darkness was intermittently shattered by the bright lights from the stage. The aisles were jammed with people-mostly ladies-groovin' to the beat. The guys mostly smiled and tried to clap in rhythm to the music of their favorite artists.

Oh, and what a line up of performers, including the Flamingos, the Drifters, Barbara Mason and so many others, all performing the songs forever burned into our brains and linking us to our past. You know-the ones we only hear on satellite radio or in the nursing home.

I soon realized that I enjoyed the concert more if I closed my eyes. Not because I was somehow mystically returned to my youth, but because it meant I didn't have to look at the old geezers on stage. General assessment: time has not been kind to the icons of Rock 'n Roll. I guess the stories of life on the road were true. One performer after another, it was like Dorian Gray in reverse: my music idols aged ungracefully while in my attic, their pictures on musty old album covers remain young and vibrant.

That's not to say that we in the audience have fared much better. After about the third standing ovation, my knees gave out and I decided to stay sitting and just wave. A number of people around me punctuated their attempts to sing along with coughing and wheezing fits. And the lines in the men's room were longer all night than at half time of a Steelers' game.

It was while standing in one of those lines that it hit me. Ever the entrepreneur, I began to see the potential opportunity these Doo Wop concerts offered the healthcare industry, especially that segment interested in geriatric medicine.

Okay, maybe offering prostate exams in the men's room is "over the top"-but why not have chiropractors and orthopedic specialists, appropriately dressed like Elvis or Chubby checker, in the aisles to provide emergency treatment to boomers who throw their backs out during a Beach Boys medley?

Can't you just see the health screening booths lining the lobby, like the health fairs in the local mall, offering free screenings and giveaway items like ear plugs, Dr. Scholl's arch supports, or Viagra pills. (Okay, we can dream, can't we?)

Another corner of the lobby can be lined with oxygen machines and cots for a quick nap during intermission … maybe even a few psychiatrists' couches to help those members of the psychedelic generation whose trip down memory lane threatens to become a little too permanent.

The possibilities, as they say, are endless. Rock 'n Roll will never die. Later, dude. Peace out. I'm feelin' groovy …

… That's me, lost in the '60s again (both the decade and my age!)

Harvey Kart

P.S. I would be remiss if in this issue saluting nurses I didn't give a tip of the cap to all the hardworking, dedicated nurses out there who serve faithfully every day. You've taken my temperature, given me shots in various parts of my body without snickering, and, in one very particular case, even agreed to sleep with me regularly for the past 35 years. (Love ya, Bernie!)

To nurses everywhere: Thank you and God bless!