January / february 2006:

The doctor has left the building
Fifteen years ago, Dr. Neil Shulman was famous. Now he's a 60-year-old man with a top hat and pink hair. Inside the wacky world of the guy who inspired Doc Hollywood.

Profile by Benyamin Cohen | Photograph by Alex Martinez


Dr. Neil Shulman is perhaps the oddest person you'll ever meet. Not odd in the Ripley's Believe It Or Not genre, but odd in the I'm-a-60-year-old-doctor-who-enjoys-dressing-up-in-clown-noses way.

He looks like Groucho Marx mated with ... Groucho Marx. He shows up shabbily dressed in black pants, a blue Oxford shirt, multi-colored vest, red bowtie, and a slightly disheveled top hat with his wild spindly hair (today, oddly painted pink) to our three hour visit. And if you've bumped into him at synagogue or the supermarket, he'd be wearing a similar outfit. He claims the outlandish style "makes it easy to connect with people."

Shulman, who's lived in Atlanta since 1967, gained national notoriety in 1991 when his semi-autobiographical memoir was turned into the Michael J. Fox romantic comedy Doc Hollywood. ("The good part was me," he says. "The bad part was fiction.") He has since parlayed the film's success into C-list fame and a quirky string of career opportunities.

Shulman, a graduate of Emory Medical School, is anything but your average doctor. For starters, he doesn't practice. Instead, he spends much of his time dressing up in a life-size otoscope costume, acting goofy, and teaching five-year-olds not to be scared of doctors. He speaks at elementary schools, summer camps, and even did a lecture on a college campus alongside the "real" Patch Adams.

The always smiling, close-talking Shulman has dedicated the last three years to making a movie called Who Nose?, the story of a man — unlucky in love — who tries to commit suicide but fails. When I ask him if there are any parallels between fact and fiction, he laughs. "Perhaps," he says smiling.

One thing that is true is that Shulman is no longer lonely hearted. He's spent the last five years dating a decades' younger girlfriend named Zoe who co-stars in the film with him. "She's creative and caring," he gushes. "She's grounded me more."

Unlike most famous wannabes, Shulman knows his place in the celebrity ether. He name drops random people like Dick Cheney's niece, Jimmy Carter's grandson, and Miss America 2002 as if they will attest to his street cred. And then there's Jane Fonda. "We did comedy together for eating disorders," he says in reference to a fundraiser five years ago at which he performed.

Ask him how he pays the rent and he's slightly evasive. Besides his speaking engagements around the southeast (many of which he does at no charge), he mentions a half a dozen Web sites he owns (dochollywoodday.com, whatsinadoctorsbag.com, redlightwarningsignals.com, wanderingwitchdoctor.com ... you get the gist), but none seem to be real money-making ventures. He does, however, mention selling a "few thousand dollars" worth of child's doctor's bags during a recent four-minute segment on the QVC shopping network.

He's a regular P.T. Barnum, hawking his wares wherever he goes and chatting about his grandiose plans for the future which includes putting scientific resources on cell phones and taking on Barney. Yes, that Barney. With his "Doc Neil, the Banana Peel" television spots already airing on some public television stations, he hopes to demystify medical myths for children. "The aim is to have goof," he says, "but goof that's focused on teaching health, medicine, and safety."

He opens his wallet and pulls out a folded flyer promoting something else he's selling. He says he's also working on a novel about the Middle East conflict in which anyone who discriminates is turned into their enemy. "The CDC thinks it's a pandemic," Shulman explains of the fantasy world, "and Ireland thinks it's headed towards them."

Shulman's innate, even comical, desire to make people happy stems from a childhood of dark memories. "I was a real klutz growing up," he recalls. "People would laugh at me all the time. When I realized I was making them happy, I didn't care if they laughed at me or with me." He pauses. "You can exploit your disabilities."

He and Zoe hop into a rented black Chevy Cobalt and start the engine. The backseat is overflowing with props and paraphernalia. They're on their way to Bradenton, Florida to perform in front of 2,000 homeless children.

"My life is a dash between two numbers on a tombstone," he says, as he backs out of the driveway. "And everybody should enjoy that dash."



If you'd like to comment on this article, email us a Letter to the Editor.