In the Beginning

 

By Dr. Arnold Klein
 
The story of how my practice started in Beverly Hills is a strange one (as all my tales tend to be). After serving as chief resident at UCLA in 1975, I decided to join a small practice in the San Fernando Valley. I continued to work part-time at UCLA, with my remaining hours spent in the valley, giving light treatments and picking pimples -- not exactly what I'd learned from Kligman at the University of Pennsylvania. When my grant money at UCLA ran out, I decided to escape the monotony of the valley and venture into the jaws of Beverly Hills. 
 
Within two weeks, I took $18,000 and opened my own practice in an 800-square-foot office. No one believed a new doctor could succeed in Beverly Hills, nor did anyone really want me there. Right away, I knew the best way to bring in patients  was by meeting people and generating referrals. I knocked on the door of every physician's office in Beverly Hills, introducing myself and building relationships. Amazingly, within three months, I was treating a number of patients -- quite a few of whom were celebrities. Within a year, I opened a larger office, and I became so busy that I hired an associate.
 
It wasn’t long before a man named Merv Griffin came to my office and asked me to be a guest on his show. Having a very limited understanding about the world of television, I wasn’t aware of the repercussions. This was long before doctors were pushing creams on QVC or paying publicists to get them in Harper’s Bazaar. I went on the show with Durk Pearson (Life Extension), the diet guru who revolutionized low-fat diets. I told people, among many things, how to recognize a Melanoma. The next day, people were asking for my autograph, and soon thereafter, I received 10,000 letters—many of which came from folks who said I had saved their lives.
 
Once again, I was faced with needing a bigger office, and my suite in Beverly Hills quickly grew to 7,000 square feet. I did three more shows, and on the third, I mentioned a little thing I was playing with called Collagen. It was immediately embraced, and by 1981, 728 doctors had injected 5,009 patients with Collagen — 1,000 of those injections were administered by me.
 
I went on to be mentioned in movies, such as Postcards from the Edge — even creating a scene for First Wives Club — and I lectured all over the world. Then I developed the dilution and injection points used for the 2002 FDA approval of Botox for use in the glabellar lines, which gave me a place in cosmetic dermatology history.
 
Fame has had its benefits. I’ve been able to help raise more than $300 million for breast cancer research and HIV/AIDS research and care. A patient offered to name a building after me, but I thought a chair was more appropriate (a couch would’ve been preferred, but unfortunately, no one has that). I got the endowed chair at UCLA in 2004.
 
That sort of thing happens to people on the verge of retirement. But approaching my fourth decade in private practice, I’m still going as strong as ever. The FDA just appointed me as a consultant, which gives me an even bigger platform from which to advocate for the best values in medicine. So I say to the world of cosmetic dermatology, “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”