Dr. Rico Simonini – A Modern Day Italian Version of Anton Chekhov

In Los Angeles, everyone leads a double life as an actor – or at least they call themselves one – policemen, firemen, even our own former governor. When I discovered that there was a cardiologist doubling as an actor, a Beverly Hills cardiologist for that matter, I must confess, I had my preconceptions.  But, all my life I’ve had a soft spot for those charming Italians and New Yorkers, the authentic ones who don’t sell out to La La Land, so I arranged a meeting with Dr. Simonini, a cardiologist at Cedars-Sinai Hospital. I wanted to know who this cardiologist really was and what kind of actor he claimed himself to be, and selfishly speaking, I was hoping to squeeze in one or two medical questions about my own heart.

From the moment Dr. Simonini greeted me with his Italian mannerisms, laced with his thick Brooklyn accent, I knew that this man was the real deal.  His presence was commanding with his tall stature and off-beat good looks, and he most definitely looked like a ‘leading man’ as he walked through the foyer with a gait not driven by ego, but rather, concern for making me wait.  About one year ago, I had seen him on stage in a fabulous play called, Brooklyn USA, where he played the lead, Smiley Manone, a gangster. (a role he gets typecast as) Simonini played a convincing gangster. I’ve seen a lot of bad theatre in this town, but that play had such a high production value that given a stronger publicist, Brooklyn USA could have been a major contender and gone through the New York circuit.

While Dr. Simonini realized I was interested in learning how he could be both a cardiologist and actor, what he didn’t realize was that the theme from the Godfather began to play in my head as I listened to him speak. While he was too young to play Don Corleone, I envisioned him saying, “You spend time with your family? Good.  Because a man who doesn’t spend time with his family could never be a real man.”  We crossed the street to a nearby café, where a jovial man that closely resembled Paul Sorvino, smoked a cigar, and greeted the doctor in that ol' style New York Way. As I was introduced, the image of Good Fellas played in my mind, when Paul Sorvino’s character, Paul Cicero, is eating with his buddies at a barbecue and they run a close-up on Paul, looking tough, eating a sandwich. No sooner had we walked into the café, when another Italian man greeted the doctor. This time, I introduced myself. As the man looked at Dr. Simonini, my imagination was so far into the world of Italian gangsters, that I over interpreted his glance and wondered is this the moment where the journalist gets bumped off for asking too many questions.

As soon as I pressed play on my recorder, the noise of the bean grinder brought me back to the reality of the interview.  We were not in a New York City neighborhood, nor in any Coppola or Scorcese movie, but rather, a yuppie café on the west side. Dr. Simonini said in a self-deprecating manner, “you have to fight with the bean grinder.” 

Ironically, that statement was a metaphor for Dr. Simonini’s life.  Contrary to the belief that most doctors have been handed the silver spoon in life, Simonini was the Brooklyn poster child for the ‘underdog’ – the ‘little engine that could’ – a kid who had to fight his way to the top. It’s the making of a great Hollywood movie. At only six years old, he knew he wanted to be a doctor – more specifically – a cardiologist. He had gotten hold of a cartoon book, called, Your Heart and How it Works – which illustrated a man with a heart in his chest and his arteries reaching from him to the moon and back. Simonini liked the idea of going to the moon and back and thought learning about the heart would be ‘cool.’  He became a science nerd. In one science fair, he brought in different hearts from various animals from the butcher, trying to demonstrate the heart, but it didn’t go over so well. Have you ever smelled a chicken’s heart? Another time, he figured he should do animal experiments, so he investigated vitamin deficiencies with mice.

While Simonini’s mind was rich with innovation, his economic reality was not. Grades weren’t a challenge for this smart kid, but life was. His family had no money to buy the mice, let alone a pair of new shoes, but that didn’t stop him. He recruited kids in class who were flunking and happened to have parents with money.  He charmed their mothers into buying the mice so their sons wouldn’t flunk class.  Yes, the Italian charisma was learned at an early age as a means of survival.  Simonini’s story reminded me of the young, impressionable boy in A Bronx Tale. At thirteen, he worked nights in a pizzeria in downtown Brooklyn and helped his mother around the house. Just ask Dr. Simonini how to make a pizza and this Napolitano will tell you.

While he was convinced he was going to be a cardiologist, he also fell in love with the arts and was the lead in his school plays. Anton Chekhov became his role model: A physician and a playwright. (In Simonini’s case, a physician, actor and playwright) Acting, however, would never supersede his medical ambitions.

His tenacity earned him a scholarship to NYU where he scored top honors, worked his way through med school, and did his residency at Bellevue Hospital, which taught him the ‘art of medicine.’ “Those three years were the best memories of my medical training. Everyone should train at a city hospital, because you get all walks of life.”

Simonini did his fellowship in Ann Arbor, Michigan for three years, while also doing improv in a theatre space where he fought the ‘bean grinder,’ and then accepted an offer to come to Cedars-Sinai in Beverly Hills, where he’s built long-lasting relationships with the community.  “What’s more personal than getting to know someone by taking care of their heart? I’m the guy you have a relationship with for your whole life.  It’s about connecting with people, trying to find out who they are, what they’re afraid of, and how to alleviate their fears. Some people call it bedside manner. I call it ‘human nature’.”

Simonini treats people with cardiovascular disease. His first goal with patients is prevention. “There is primary prevention, secondary prevention and then treating them when something happens.” His sub-specialty is heart failure and transplants – taking care of people waiting for a transplant.

When he’s not in the hospital, reviewing cases for litigation, serving as a medical expert, or teaching – he’s on the stage. He’s performed in the Theatre Palisades: A Few Good Men, Heaven Can Wait and One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. His film resume is just as impressive.  Ironically, he rarely gets cast as a doctor. He’s always told that he doesn’t look like one. Ask him what his dream role is and the kid in him will tell you, ‘a superhero.’

As the interview was coming to a close, I snuck in a question. I gravely asked him, “What are your views on a broken heart, Dr. Simonini?” He wasn’t expecting that one, but I knew this sharp Brooklynite would find his footing soon enough.  He paused and answered very carefully as though he was drawing from his own life. “Never underestimate the power of a broken heart. It’s loss, in a very profound manner –  you don’t need to be married sixty years for that type of loss - it’s stress – and yes, it affects the heart.” 

And at that moment that darn coffee grinder went at it again, reminding the both of us that we needed to leave. 
“Dr. Simonini?”
“Yeah?” He asked, as he was packing up his belongings.
“I have a part for you in my television pilot. And, it’s no gangster.  It’s a doctor, not a compassionate doctor,” I said apologetically, “but a doctor.”
He smiled and as he walked about the door, it was very clear to me that this man was more than just a cardiologist, more than just an actor, more than just a playwright – he was a man with a great heart, he was, indeed, a modern day Italian version of Anton Chekhov.