RIP Dr. Sherwood H. Lawrence 1917 - 2004
Apr. 20th, 2004 11:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
holzman_tweedThe following is excerpted from his obituary in the New York Times:
My father worked with him for several decades, and I have this information from him as well:
I didn't know any of that until tonight. I think that's all amazing, and if I can achieve a twentieth of what he did I'll count my life successful. I don't think I can envision how many people are alive because of his work. I suspect everyone with access to modern medicine owes him a debt of gratitude for personally extending their life expectancy.
But that's not the Dr. Lawrence I remember.
I remember Dr. Lawrence through the eyes of a five-year-old. I remember Dad bringing me into Bellevue when I was young and he wanted me to see where he worked. Dr. Lawrence was the old man that Dad respected. He was the man who invited me to play in his office while he worked. At the risk of understatement, I was an active and talkative child. Dr. Lawrence didn't mind. He didn't mind me bouncing off the walls of his office. (Someone not familiar with me is probably taking the last sentence figuratively.) He didn't mind me asking every question that I could think of. He didn't mind answering them, either. If doing so broke his stride while he was busy creating large swaths of modern medicine, he never once let on. I don't recall every seeing him unhappy. He had a way of making it clear that he was a happy man to start with, but he was even more happy that I was around. Getting to see Dr. Lawrence quickly became part of what made me look forward to going to visit Dad at work.
He and his wife gave me my copy of Goodnight, Moon. Rather, they gave it to my mother, who had not yet come home from the hospital. At the time I'd have probably wondered a) if it tasted good; b) if it bounced. I still have it.
After Star Wars came out, someone gave him a photo of Obi-Wan Kenobi for his desk, because of his resemblance to Sir Alec Guiness. He also had a toy light saber in his corner office, because folks played that up.
In later years, I was slightly less thrilled to go to Bellevue because he was so busy that I never saw him in his office. But seeing the photo and being able to pick up the light sabre and think about him made it more OK.
The world is poorer for his being gone. It's tempting to say they don't make 'em like that any more, but it wouldn't be true. Worse, it would do him an injustice. He spent most of his life making 'em like that. The folks he made like that have spent decades making 'em like that. (I may be biased, but I'm convinced my father is among those ranks.) The folks they made like that are trying now to make 'em like that.
Hail and Fare Well, Dr. Lawrence.
Dr. Lawrence was a graduate of New York University and NYU School of Medicine, and he completed his residency at Bellevue Hospital. He also was a decorated veteran of WWII having served as a lieutenant in the Medical Corps during the invasions of Normandy, Okinawa, and Southern France. Dr. Lawrence was a pioneering figure in the field of cellular immunology and conducted some of the earliest research on mechanisms of tissue damage and homograft rejection in humans.
My father worked with him for several decades, and I have this information from him as well:
- He was the Co-Director of Medicine and Head of Infectious Disease for Bellevue Hospital for decades.
- He developed the first understanding the mechanisms of transplant rejection that made it treatable.
- He filmed cellular activity proving the Clonal Theory of Immunology
- He trained damn near everyone who founded the field of Cellular Immunology.
- He was Editor of the first journal of cellular immunology for 20 years.
- An excellent theoretician, he came up with and gave away theories upon which experimental collaboratos founded entire fields of medicine.
- He worked until age 83, at which time he retired from his final positions as Professor of Medicine and Co-Director of NYU Medical Services.
- Given all that, he considered his most important duty selecting Bellevue's Interns.
I didn't know any of that until tonight. I think that's all amazing, and if I can achieve a twentieth of what he did I'll count my life successful. I don't think I can envision how many people are alive because of his work. I suspect everyone with access to modern medicine owes him a debt of gratitude for personally extending their life expectancy.
But that's not the Dr. Lawrence I remember.
I remember Dr. Lawrence through the eyes of a five-year-old. I remember Dad bringing me into Bellevue when I was young and he wanted me to see where he worked. Dr. Lawrence was the old man that Dad respected. He was the man who invited me to play in his office while he worked. At the risk of understatement, I was an active and talkative child. Dr. Lawrence didn't mind. He didn't mind me bouncing off the walls of his office. (Someone not familiar with me is probably taking the last sentence figuratively.) He didn't mind me asking every question that I could think of. He didn't mind answering them, either. If doing so broke his stride while he was busy creating large swaths of modern medicine, he never once let on. I don't recall every seeing him unhappy. He had a way of making it clear that he was a happy man to start with, but he was even more happy that I was around. Getting to see Dr. Lawrence quickly became part of what made me look forward to going to visit Dad at work.
He and his wife gave me my copy of Goodnight, Moon. Rather, they gave it to my mother, who had not yet come home from the hospital. At the time I'd have probably wondered a) if it tasted good; b) if it bounced. I still have it.
After Star Wars came out, someone gave him a photo of Obi-Wan Kenobi for his desk, because of his resemblance to Sir Alec Guiness. He also had a toy light saber in his corner office, because folks played that up.
In later years, I was slightly less thrilled to go to Bellevue because he was so busy that I never saw him in his office. But seeing the photo and being able to pick up the light sabre and think about him made it more OK.
The world is poorer for his being gone. It's tempting to say they don't make 'em like that any more, but it wouldn't be true. Worse, it would do him an injustice. He spent most of his life making 'em like that. The folks he made like that have spent decades making 'em like that. (I may be biased, but I'm convinced my father is among those ranks.) The folks they made like that are trying now to make 'em like that.
Hail and Fare Well, Dr. Lawrence.