- Email: [email protected]
Our History Matters
BRUCE J. HILLMAN, MD
EDITORIAL
Our History Matters If you are not the hero of your own story, then you’re missing the whole point of your humanity. —Steven Maraboli Don McLean’s 1971 hit song “American Pie” mourns the deaths of Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and J. P. Richardson (aka the Big Bopper) in the crash of their small chartered plane. After their performance in Clear Lake, Iowa, they were trying to get to their next gig, in Moorhead, Minnesota, part of a 24-stop tour billed as the Winter Dance Party. It was February 3, 1959, “the day the music died.” The song is brilliantly written and sung with a pathos that truly honors the contributions of the deceased performers to the development of rock ‘n’ roll. Although I hadn’t heard “American Pie” in years, I found that when I played the video on YouTube, I still remembered more than half the lyrics (of the long version, no less). That’s great writing. If only someone had the talent and skill to commemorate the history of radiology in a way that would capture the imagination so lastingly as McLean’s song does for the downed musicians. In my experience, most American radiologists are oblivious of the giants on whose shoulders they unknowingly ride. Few radiologists are conversant with the names of the men and women who have contributed importantly over the past 100-plus years to the development of our specialty. This is a perilous state for a profession. The
history of “a people” is an important part of what binds individuals together, what gives them pride, what helps them differentiate the concerns of the moment from lastingly important goals. In rebuttal, some might bring up the name of Wilhelm Conrad Roentgen. Roentgen who? Well, perhaps that’s going overboard; I expect that at least half of American radiologists have heard of Roentgen and his November 8, 1895, discovery that founded our specialty. Beyond Roentgen? Not so much. Lately, I’ve spent my spare time writing a creative nonfiction book with the working title The Man Who Stalked Einstein: How Nazi Scientist Philip Lenard Changed History. It’s intended for a general audience, but to amuse myself, I’ve been asking radiologists I meet whether they have ever heard of Lenard. My sample must be up to an n of 30 or so without a positive response. Although he was a crucial figure in the earliest history of radiology, and later Adolf Hitler’s chief scientist, a man who had much to do with how and by whom science was conducted in Germany leading up to World War II, not a soul I’ve asked has heard of him. What currently inspires my no doubt futile efforts to heighten radiologists’ interest in our collective history is the death of a true titan of our specialty. Harvey Neiman died in June 2014 of complications of bladder cancer. I mourn the loss of my friend not
just because he was my good friend but because he was a good friend to all radiologists, whether you knew him or not. For more than 10 years, Harvey was the CEO of the ACR. By dint of effort and will, he took a middling professional organization to heights far above what even he might have expected were possible when he accepted the appointment. And he did so with such élan and grace that he won the admiration of even radiology’s staunchest opponents. From one perspective or another, I have been involved in radiology training, practice, administration, research, and editing for exactly 40 years now. That’s a long time. Having such a long perspective has afforded me the opportunity to look on as the great ones have risen, done the work that has enhanced our specialty, and moved on to well-earned retirements. Our memories of their contributions have been short lived. Our gratitude for what they did on our behalf rarely lingers for more than a few years. Out of sight, out of mind, our mantra. It’s unfortunate in the short term and debilitating for the specialty in the long term. Everyone is pressed for time. We all have much to do. One of those things should be acquiring some level of understanding of our collective history. BTW. That Philipp Lenard fellow? He claimed to be the real ‘Mother of the X-Ray,’ (Roentgen was merely the ‘mid-wife’) and later became Hitler’s chief science advisor.
Bruce J. Hillman, MD, 13129 Adona Lane, Wake Forest, NC 27587; e-mail: [email protected]. Harvey Neiman, his wife Ellie, and his daughters Jennifer and Hillary have established a fund at the ACR in Harvey’s memory. Please join me in contributing to the Harvey L. Neiman Molecular Imaging Fund at http://www.acr.org/About-Us/ ACR-Foundation/Neiman-Fund.
ª 2014 American College of Radiology 1546-1440/14/$36.00 http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.jacr.2014.07.011
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EDITORIAL
Our History Matters If you are not the hero of your own story, then you’re missing the whole point of your humanity. —Steven Maraboli Don McLean’s 1971 hit song “American Pie” mourns the deaths of Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and J. P. Richardson (aka the Big Bopper) in the crash of their small chartered plane. After their performance in Clear Lake, Iowa, they were trying to get to their next gig, in Moorhead, Minnesota, part of a 24-stop tour billed as the Winter Dance Party. It was February 3, 1959, “the day the music died.” The song is brilliantly written and sung with a pathos that truly honors the contributions of the deceased performers to the development of rock ‘n’ roll. Although I hadn’t heard “American Pie” in years, I found that when I played the video on YouTube, I still remembered more than half the lyrics (of the long version, no less). That’s great writing. If only someone had the talent and skill to commemorate the history of radiology in a way that would capture the imagination so lastingly as McLean’s song does for the downed musicians. In my experience, most American radiologists are oblivious of the giants on whose shoulders they unknowingly ride. Few radiologists are conversant with the names of the men and women who have contributed importantly over the past 100-plus years to the development of our specialty. This is a perilous state for a profession. The
history of “a people” is an important part of what binds individuals together, what gives them pride, what helps them differentiate the concerns of the moment from lastingly important goals. In rebuttal, some might bring up the name of Wilhelm Conrad Roentgen. Roentgen who? Well, perhaps that’s going overboard; I expect that at least half of American radiologists have heard of Roentgen and his November 8, 1895, discovery that founded our specialty. Beyond Roentgen? Not so much. Lately, I’ve spent my spare time writing a creative nonfiction book with the working title The Man Who Stalked Einstein: How Nazi Scientist Philip Lenard Changed History. It’s intended for a general audience, but to amuse myself, I’ve been asking radiologists I meet whether they have ever heard of Lenard. My sample must be up to an n of 30 or so without a positive response. Although he was a crucial figure in the earliest history of radiology, and later Adolf Hitler’s chief scientist, a man who had much to do with how and by whom science was conducted in Germany leading up to World War II, not a soul I’ve asked has heard of him. What currently inspires my no doubt futile efforts to heighten radiologists’ interest in our collective history is the death of a true titan of our specialty. Harvey Neiman died in June 2014 of complications of bladder cancer. I mourn the loss of my friend not
just because he was my good friend but because he was a good friend to all radiologists, whether you knew him or not. For more than 10 years, Harvey was the CEO of the ACR. By dint of effort and will, he took a middling professional organization to heights far above what even he might have expected were possible when he accepted the appointment. And he did so with such élan and grace that he won the admiration of even radiology’s staunchest opponents. From one perspective or another, I have been involved in radiology training, practice, administration, research, and editing for exactly 40 years now. That’s a long time. Having such a long perspective has afforded me the opportunity to look on as the great ones have risen, done the work that has enhanced our specialty, and moved on to well-earned retirements. Our memories of their contributions have been short lived. Our gratitude for what they did on our behalf rarely lingers for more than a few years. Out of sight, out of mind, our mantra. It’s unfortunate in the short term and debilitating for the specialty in the long term. Everyone is pressed for time. We all have much to do. One of those things should be acquiring some level of understanding of our collective history. BTW. That Philipp Lenard fellow? He claimed to be the real ‘Mother of the X-Ray,’ (Roentgen was merely the ‘mid-wife’) and later became Hitler’s chief science advisor.
Bruce J. Hillman, MD, 13129 Adona Lane, Wake Forest, NC 27587; e-mail: [email protected]. Harvey Neiman, his wife Ellie, and his daughters Jennifer and Hillary have established a fund at the ACR in Harvey’s memory. Please join me in contributing to the Harvey L. Neiman Molecular Imaging Fund at http://www.acr.org/About-Us/ ACR-Foundation/Neiman-Fund.
ª 2014 American College of Radiology 1546-1440/14/$36.00 http://dx.doi.org/10.1016/j.jacr.2014.07.011
839