Eulogy for Paul
given by Henry Falk
I speak
as a friend and colleague. Paul and I arrived in Atlanta at roughly the
same time—mid ‘70s—and it was inevitable that we would meet: we both came for 2
year fellowships at CDC (me in epidemiology and he in the laboratory), we had
both trained in pediatrics, we actually had both trained in Philadelphia at the
Children’s Hospital, we lived near each other, attended the same synagogue, our
wives had somewhat similar backgrounds eg as children of Holocaust survivors,
our kids were roughly the same age; we both never got to stand in the back row
when they took class pictures. Lots of similarities, and we spent a lot
of time together over the years
I’m not skilled at this. Unlike the Rabbis, I don’t do this very often. As a rule, I think it’s really hard to summarize or encapsulate someone’s life in a few minutes. Paul is different. Ask a thousand people and the details would differ but the essential outline of his life would be recognizable to all; to me it’s crystal clear in its key aspects.
First, as a physician, Paul’s was a life of remarkable achievement and success, and it didn’t happen casually or by accident; he worked very hard at it and he was very good at it. We all have our internal standards for how we evaluate a good doctor; I suspect that at the top of most lists is competence and caring. Ask any colleague who worked with him professionally about his abilities and skills, as a pediatrician, clinician, geneticist, and the responses would invariably be the same; he was very special. Ask anyone who dealt with him about what he was like to work with and how he treated everyone—patients, families, co-workers, colleagues—and the same words repeat over and over: dedicated, committed, devoted, caring, thoughtful, kind. There are no discordant notes. This is as much unanimity or consensus as you will ever see.
Paul knew all the quietest places in my house. What do I mean? We all spent much time in each other’s houses: Passover seders, Thanksgiving dinners, Shabbat meals, festive occasions, meetings of various kinds, perhaps hundreds of times. Paul often came late—he was always in the hospital, had a patient to see, etc—it really didn’t make a difference whether it was morning, noon or evening, there was always someone to take care of. Equally often, he left early, because he had to do a consult, review a case, see a patient, whatever. But when he came he often would take me aside and he would alert me that he would be called and would need a quiet place to talk; he would size up the action in the house, see where it was quiet; he logged lots of time in our utility room where he knew he wouldn’t be disturbed. His calls were often not short, not 30 seconds to call in a prescription or check on results of a test, his were often long talks with families or patients. So, very committed, dedicated, related well, very caring, thoughtful; in this technological age of sound bites, he took the time to talk and listen and relate.
Our professional paths diverged early on in Atlanta. I stayed at CDC, He did pediatric genetics at Emory. You have already heard about Paul’s accomplishments at Emory; I want to speak briefly about his ongoing relationship to CDC, and I am speaking for the CDC colleagues who are here this morning. Although Paul had moved to Emory, he never quite left CDC, and continued to work with colleagues there under both formal and informal arrangements.
Most of the people who initially come to CDC either go back into clinical medicine or stay in public health. The people who manage to do both skillfully are very special. Paul continued to work at CDC, on sabbatical, part-time, and in various ways over the years. He contributed to the birth defects monitoring programs—CDC supports programs in many states in the US as well as overseas to track trends in birth defects, highlight emerging problems, learn about causes of birth defects; Paul was a valuable colleague to them, both in working on specific problems like lysosomal storage diseases and phenylketonuria, but also generally as a great resource for the birth defects program. He also contributed greatly to the Newborn Screening Program. CDC provides the laboratory quality control for all the newborn heel stick testing done in the US and worldwide. It supports hundreds of labs. I was just in India 2 weeks ago and they are starting a program to test for congenital thyroid and adrenal diseases and they are working with the CDC lab on this. Paul advised on many aspects: which diseases to test for, how to go about the testing, how to work with physicians and hospitals to assure the testing would go smoothly, how to follow up on positive results of testing. He was really a great resource, because he had a foot in each world. He had the technical skills to be a great clinician, pediatrician, and he had the breadth of vision and insight to look broadly at how to implement state-wide, national and international programs for the betterment of all. That’s a very rare and prized combination.
CDC and Emory are full of world-class travelers. Paul as well. He was really valued as a teacher; an expert who could convey his points clearly, forthrightly, very directly. He ran training programs. He gave dozens of lectures a year, published widely, gave many presentations at major meetings. Personally, It was easy to learn from Paul, because the lesson was clear. And if I was wrong about something, he would smile, shake his head, tell me I was wrong so pleasantly that I actually enjoyed it. All of us who referred patients and people to him had the same experience: very competent, very appropriate, very appreciated by whoever we sent his way.
On a personal level, as a friend, the essential outline is equally clear: he was open, straightforward, transparent, humble, no pretensions, friendly, easy to be with; he had good judgment, common sense, a sound view of people; everyone would have been happy to claim him as a friend and take great pride in it. Our children had uncles, but they were a thousand miles away. So they had surrogates in Atlanta who watched them grow, filled in the parenting gaps for us. Paul was one such. It was fun to watch Paul with kids over the years. He enjoyed them, and they equally enjoyed him. They all remember his Thanksgiving turkeys and his barbecuing; my 2 year old granddaughter describes him as the man who grows hot dogs in his garden. He was easy to talk to, fun to be around, all good things. He could even chuckle at what to me were hair-raising events, he could take the long view when I was frustrated by the here and now, and he was invariably right. He had really good judgment about kids and they sensed that.
Paul also had a very charitable and generous nature. When Rabbi Ilan Feldman and a number of us started Torah Day School, that was very challenging, especially for me; fund-raising was tough and I wasn’t well suited for it. I could look at a large group like this and instantly recognize all of the many people who were so forthcoming in those early and difficult days. Paul was easy to remember. He would readily volunteer Debbie’s time for Boards and committee meetings, because he never had any to spare, but he was always supportive, generous, appreciative, willing to help a good cause, and he made some thankless tasks much easier to bear.
In this week’s issue of the Lancet, one of the major medical journals with a worldwide distribution, there is a book review of The Oxford Handbook of the History of Medicine. The title of the book review is “The Past is Never Dead”. Knowledge is built on what came before. Really great scientists often lay the basis for future discoveries, which couldn’t happen otherwise. With what happened yesterday, we can have better insights and vision and promise a better tomorrow. On a professional basis, this is very true for all that Paul accomplished. Programs will grow and expand and improve at Emory, at CDC, and elsewhere because of Paul’s work; patients and families will benefit for many years; what he has done will never die. On a personal level, that is also true, but I would phrase it differently. Paul’s legacy not only doesn’t die, but rather it still lives, within me and within many of us who knew him; it will continue to encourage us and motivate us and challenge us. His life of accomplishment will carry on within us. We will continue to learn and benefit from his life.
I’m not skilled at this. Unlike the Rabbis, I don’t do this very often. As a rule, I think it’s really hard to summarize or encapsulate someone’s life in a few minutes. Paul is different. Ask a thousand people and the details would differ but the essential outline of his life would be recognizable to all; to me it’s crystal clear in its key aspects.
First, as a physician, Paul’s was a life of remarkable achievement and success, and it didn’t happen casually or by accident; he worked very hard at it and he was very good at it. We all have our internal standards for how we evaluate a good doctor; I suspect that at the top of most lists is competence and caring. Ask any colleague who worked with him professionally about his abilities and skills, as a pediatrician, clinician, geneticist, and the responses would invariably be the same; he was very special. Ask anyone who dealt with him about what he was like to work with and how he treated everyone—patients, families, co-workers, colleagues—and the same words repeat over and over: dedicated, committed, devoted, caring, thoughtful, kind. There are no discordant notes. This is as much unanimity or consensus as you will ever see.
Paul knew all the quietest places in my house. What do I mean? We all spent much time in each other’s houses: Passover seders, Thanksgiving dinners, Shabbat meals, festive occasions, meetings of various kinds, perhaps hundreds of times. Paul often came late—he was always in the hospital, had a patient to see, etc—it really didn’t make a difference whether it was morning, noon or evening, there was always someone to take care of. Equally often, he left early, because he had to do a consult, review a case, see a patient, whatever. But when he came he often would take me aside and he would alert me that he would be called and would need a quiet place to talk; he would size up the action in the house, see where it was quiet; he logged lots of time in our utility room where he knew he wouldn’t be disturbed. His calls were often not short, not 30 seconds to call in a prescription or check on results of a test, his were often long talks with families or patients. So, very committed, dedicated, related well, very caring, thoughtful; in this technological age of sound bites, he took the time to talk and listen and relate.
Our professional paths diverged early on in Atlanta. I stayed at CDC, He did pediatric genetics at Emory. You have already heard about Paul’s accomplishments at Emory; I want to speak briefly about his ongoing relationship to CDC, and I am speaking for the CDC colleagues who are here this morning. Although Paul had moved to Emory, he never quite left CDC, and continued to work with colleagues there under both formal and informal arrangements.
Most of the people who initially come to CDC either go back into clinical medicine or stay in public health. The people who manage to do both skillfully are very special. Paul continued to work at CDC, on sabbatical, part-time, and in various ways over the years. He contributed to the birth defects monitoring programs—CDC supports programs in many states in the US as well as overseas to track trends in birth defects, highlight emerging problems, learn about causes of birth defects; Paul was a valuable colleague to them, both in working on specific problems like lysosomal storage diseases and phenylketonuria, but also generally as a great resource for the birth defects program. He also contributed greatly to the Newborn Screening Program. CDC provides the laboratory quality control for all the newborn heel stick testing done in the US and worldwide. It supports hundreds of labs. I was just in India 2 weeks ago and they are starting a program to test for congenital thyroid and adrenal diseases and they are working with the CDC lab on this. Paul advised on many aspects: which diseases to test for, how to go about the testing, how to work with physicians and hospitals to assure the testing would go smoothly, how to follow up on positive results of testing. He was really a great resource, because he had a foot in each world. He had the technical skills to be a great clinician, pediatrician, and he had the breadth of vision and insight to look broadly at how to implement state-wide, national and international programs for the betterment of all. That’s a very rare and prized combination.
CDC and Emory are full of world-class travelers. Paul as well. He was really valued as a teacher; an expert who could convey his points clearly, forthrightly, very directly. He ran training programs. He gave dozens of lectures a year, published widely, gave many presentations at major meetings. Personally, It was easy to learn from Paul, because the lesson was clear. And if I was wrong about something, he would smile, shake his head, tell me I was wrong so pleasantly that I actually enjoyed it. All of us who referred patients and people to him had the same experience: very competent, very appropriate, very appreciated by whoever we sent his way.
On a personal level, as a friend, the essential outline is equally clear: he was open, straightforward, transparent, humble, no pretensions, friendly, easy to be with; he had good judgment, common sense, a sound view of people; everyone would have been happy to claim him as a friend and take great pride in it. Our children had uncles, but they were a thousand miles away. So they had surrogates in Atlanta who watched them grow, filled in the parenting gaps for us. Paul was one such. It was fun to watch Paul with kids over the years. He enjoyed them, and they equally enjoyed him. They all remember his Thanksgiving turkeys and his barbecuing; my 2 year old granddaughter describes him as the man who grows hot dogs in his garden. He was easy to talk to, fun to be around, all good things. He could even chuckle at what to me were hair-raising events, he could take the long view when I was frustrated by the here and now, and he was invariably right. He had really good judgment about kids and they sensed that.
Paul also had a very charitable and generous nature. When Rabbi Ilan Feldman and a number of us started Torah Day School, that was very challenging, especially for me; fund-raising was tough and I wasn’t well suited for it. I could look at a large group like this and instantly recognize all of the many people who were so forthcoming in those early and difficult days. Paul was easy to remember. He would readily volunteer Debbie’s time for Boards and committee meetings, because he never had any to spare, but he was always supportive, generous, appreciative, willing to help a good cause, and he made some thankless tasks much easier to bear.
In this week’s issue of the Lancet, one of the major medical journals with a worldwide distribution, there is a book review of The Oxford Handbook of the History of Medicine. The title of the book review is “The Past is Never Dead”. Knowledge is built on what came before. Really great scientists often lay the basis for future discoveries, which couldn’t happen otherwise. With what happened yesterday, we can have better insights and vision and promise a better tomorrow. On a professional basis, this is very true for all that Paul accomplished. Programs will grow and expand and improve at Emory, at CDC, and elsewhere because of Paul’s work; patients and families will benefit for many years; what he has done will never die. On a personal level, that is also true, but I would phrase it differently. Paul’s legacy not only doesn’t die, but rather it still lives, within me and within many of us who knew him; it will continue to encourage us and motivate us and challenge us. His life of accomplishment will carry on within us. We will continue to learn and benefit from his life.
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