Dear Friends of Jim McLean,
We were all saddened by the news of the passing of our friend, Dr. Jim McLean, this January. As Jimmy would have done, we are looking to turn a negative into a positive with the Dr. Jim McLean Scholarship Fund.
I am very proud to tell you that a committee of Jim's family and friends have started this scholarship fund in Jim's name to continue his legacy of accomplishing great things and helping others. You can go to http://www.mcleanscholarship.org/ to learn more about the scholarship but the main goals of the scholarship will be as follows:
1. The scholarship will be given to a graduating senior from Jefferson Twp. High School (Jim's alma mater) who lettered in a varsity sport at Jefferson. While Jim's primary sports were wrestling and football, the scholarship team welcomes applications from all Jefferson athletes.
2. We are looking for a candidate who is attending a four year college the following year and who has a balance of strong academic and athletic accomplishments. This scholarship will be given this June and, hopefully, it can help hard-working kids for years to come.
We will be launching several fundraising efforts in the years to come but the first is via email. We are asking Jim's friends, family and colleagues to make donations at your convenience to get the fundraising off the ground.
Feel free to make donations to: Dr. Jim McLean Scholarship Fund
Send checks to:Justin McLean 38 Cambridge Road Bedminster, NJ 07921
The scholarship team consists of: Justin, McLean, Marlena McLean, Shane Force, Brian Costello, Tim Hennessey, Mike Naklicki and Mike Marchiano. Feel free to email me or committee@mcleanscholarship.org if you have any questions.
I encourage you to forward this email to any friends of Jim's or anyone that might have been in contact with him during his amazing life. Anyone who went to high school, college or med school with Jim should have the opportunity to donate to this fund.
Thanks for your support.
Sincerely,
Shane Force
I am engaged to Jim's cousin, Bill Newman from Bangor. Jimmy had happily agreed to be part of our wedding this coming September, along with his brother, Justin. Words cannot express our sadness that Jim will not be there in body, but we know that his spirit will be with us.We appreciate having the site to learn more about Jim's life as a doctor, colleague and friend to so many.I have included an article that I came across on a New Jersey sports site while reading so many articles and comments posted by Jimmy's many friends. I don't know the author personally, and I hope he doesn't mind my sharing it with you. But I thought it was another wonderful tribute to Jim that others might enjoy reading.
Take care,
Vivian
* * * * * * * *February 15, 2008
The following essay on former Rutgers University wrestler Jim McLean, a college teammate of South Plainfield coach Kevin McCann, was submitted by James Zinsmeister of South Brunswick.Current Rutgers University coach Scott Goodale has hung this essay up in the Scarlet Knights’ locker room.James’ essay is eloquent, poignant and beautifully written. The Home News Tribune is elated that James shared it with us and now we’d like to share it with our readers.Whether you knew Jim McLean or not, this essay is worth reading!
IN APPRECIATION: JAMES P. McLEAN, M.D. (1974-2008)It’s been posited by psychologists and other students of the mind that we humans can’t conceive of three non-linear points in space without imagining a triangle. I usually remember this theory when someone significant in my life passes away. What we call “a life” is, in one sense, really a concatenation of moments—of points in time; and when someone dies there is a tendency, if only for practical reasons, to reduce one’s memory of the deceased to a relatively small number of moments shared. We become attached to these and, when we’re inclined to, use them as prompts to help us recollect more completely the life of the one we miss.
In late January, I once again had occasion to ponder this sad geometry. While scanning the state’s largest daily newspaper, I happened upon a small photograph, bordered in black, of a familiar smiling face accompanied by the expected surname.It suddenly occurred to me that the news I was about to read was not necessarily good. In fact, it was devastating. After the headline confirmed my worst fears, I spent many long moments recalling my acquaintance with an extraordinary person known professionally as “Dr. James P. McLean,” but as ”Jimmy” or “Jim” to his seemingly innumerable friends.Long before I met Jim, I’d heard quite a bit about him. As an ardent follower of New Jersey’s scholastic wrestling scene, it would have been difficult not to have. In the early 1990’s, the team Jim competed for, the mighty Falcons of Jefferson High School in Oak Ridge, had finished not only first in the state rankings, but atop the national public high school rankings as well. As a junior, Jim had established himself as amongst the state’s best by winning a Region I championship at 145 lbs. up at unforgiving Wallkill Valley, before reaching the semi-finals of the N.J.S.I.A.A. tournament—a feat that he duplicated at 160 lbs. in his senior year. After graduating in 1994 as Boys’ Scholar-Athlete for Morris-Sussex, Jim characteristically set his sights on other, loftier academic and athletic goals.Jim continued his wrestling career at Rutgers University where, as a captain and winner of four varsity letters (1994-1998), he won accolades as a fierce but well-respected competitor. His 87 career wins place him amongst the school’s elite, tied for 14th place of the hundreds of grapplers who have taken the mat for Rutgers since the program’s inception.In both high school and college Jim was renowned for his masterful employment of the front headlock. To acknowledge, first and foremost, his considerable strength is not to ignore his other attributes. To achieve success at any level—but certainly at the N.C.A.A. Division I level—a wrestler needs superior technique, speed of reflex, kinesthetic awareness, prescience, confidence, endurance and cunning, in addition to strength. Jim possessed all of these and supplemented them with grit and heart. Whether he won or lost, he always had the appearance and demeanor of a champion.
I saw Jim wrestle many times at the College Avenue Gymnasium—and a few times elsewhere—but the very first time was particularly memorable. The match occurred during a midseason dual meet, but it had both the ferocity and excitement of a championship bout. It was back and forth from start to finish, but in the end it was the young man in scarlet and black whose hand was raised—and who’d won my admiration for as long as he chose to wear a Rutgers singlet. It now seems safe to say that he’d won it forever, even if I didn’t know it at the time.After a dual meet late in Jim’s career, I stayed after to congratulate him and some of the other wrestlers. As I approached him, I was shocked to discover that one of his knees was a grotesquely swollen mass of black and blue and green; and I could scarcely believe that he had just wrestledon it. When I questioned him about it, he replied, matter-of-factly and without a trace of bravado, that he was “OK,” that the knee was prone to “a little swelling,” and that, in any event, he’d be ready to wrestle again by week’s end. And not surprisingly he was.In his first season at Rutgers, Jim received the team’s Wilfred-Cann Award, bestowed annually upon its “Most Inspirational Athlete.” As a sophomore, he was recognized for his academic achievements as the recipient of the team’s “Scholar-Athlete Award.” Despite the rigors of high-level intercollegiate competition, Jim graduated from Rutgers in 1998 with a degree in Mechanical Engineering.Jim’s years beyond Rutgers were a veritable blur of transitions and achievements. As his brother Justin—who was also his teammate at Jefferson—said succinctly, even perfectly, “If (Jim) wanted to do something in life, he did it.” After completing his residency at the University of Medicine and Dentistry of New Jersey, Jim accepted a fellowship to the Rehabilitation Institute of Chicago in preparation for work as a physiatrist—a specialist in sports medicine and rehabilitation.Jim’s desire to heal people took him not only to a number of locales across the country, but even to South America—to Ecuador—where as a volunteer he provided medical care to the inhabitants of impoverished villages.
In the final year of his short, eventful life, Jim was employed as both a staff physician at the University of Kansas Medical Center and an assistant professor at the University of Kansas School of Medicine. He had only recently been chosen to direct the hospital’s newly-established Spine Center, which was expected to become an internationally renownedfacility under his leadership.To keep himself not merely physically fit but utterly challenged, after retiring from wrestling Jim played rugby, ran marathons, and trainedfor and completed an Ironman Triathlon. He also, fatefully, took up snowboarding.The second-to-last time I saw Jim was some years ago, after late morning mass at Saint Peter the Apostle Church in New Brunswick. He hadregularly attended this service while at Rutgers and I sometimes saw him in one of the back pews, a little banged up after having wrestled the night before. He had just begun his studies at UMDNJ and, feeling as if I owed him a debt of gratitude for the inspiration he’d given me during his wrestling days, I’d gotten him a gift—a belated graduation present, actually. It was a copy of one of my favorite books, Alfred Lansing’s Endurance, the classic story of Sir Ernest Shackleton’s spectacularly unsuccessful attempt to traverse Antarctica several years after the Amundsen and Scott expeditions had deprived him of the glory of reaching the South Pole first. It’s a story that played out under unimaginably harsh conditions over 30 months—and which will fascinate and encourage adventurers and strivers forever. When I presented the book, inscribed with some sentiments, to Jim, I explained to him that I thought the book very appropriate for someone as familiar as he with the quality of endurance. Of course, Jim was not merely familiar with the quality: throughout his athletic and academic lives he had exemplified it. Indeed, he had embodied it.Although I think it would be presumptuous of me to consider myself amongst Jim’s friends—I simply didn’t know him well enough for long enough—I can say with confidence that, based on our sporadic meetings and conversations, Jim was as intelligent and decent and magnanimous as he was durable. Whether I saw him just after a match, in church, or on the streets of New Brunswick, he was always ready with a smile, a good word and an ear.
My brother was a young psychologist and educator, as well as an excellent athlete, when he, too, died tragically some years ago. Jim was one of the many kind people who condoled with me at that time. It was on some or another Sunday in the dead of winter. Jim’s sympathy was genuine and, since it came from someone I greatly admired, especially meaningful. In retrospect, it seems both strange and poignant that it was the last time that Jim and I would ever speak—in fact, the last time I would ever see him alive.Of all the expressions that have come down to us from the ancient Romans, perhaps my favorite is “Audere est Facere,” which is usually translated, “To Dare is to Do.” This could well have been Jim’s motto.In a world of trepidation and talk, here was a person of courage and energy and initiative. Many of us shuffle through life. Jim had focusand resolve. He dared and did.It wasn’t so long ago that Jim competed as a Falcon for Jefferson High School; and, not unlike a falcon’s, his movement through this world was swift and true. He was, indeed, a rara avis. And he will certainly be missed.
I worked briefly with Jim at Kessler. He was a new resident and I was in my first job out of graduate school. We socialized at work and presented together to clients in the Kessler brain injury program. Yesterday I looked him up on google because I haven't talked to him since my days at Kessler and I wanted to say hello and see where he had ended up working to find out about his untimely death. I no longer live in NJ and haven't worked at Kessler for so long that I hadn't heard. I am absolutely shocked and saddened.
Jim came over for dinner one night and had jogged all the way to my place in Cedar Grove from his place and was soaking wet for our dinner date, it was rather amusing. I also remember he was ALWAYS at Kessler and I would see him often after his cat naps and tease him. Jim was so dedicated to physiatry and learning everything he could. Jim was so full of energy it was unbelievable. He was kindhearted, tender, and an overall wonderful person. Like his old coach said he is exactly what you hope your son grows up to be. He will be missed by every person that ever knew him.
-Jamie Pierce
Hey Coz [Brian Costello],
One final Jim story- right now I am packing for my trip to NJ for Jim's funeral, and it reminds me of a few things.First, I woke up at 4am to make sure I had time to get everything done. This is atypical for me, but it's very much the kind of thing Jim would do. When I spoke to him a week ago, he mentioned that he was getting up at 4:30 so that he would be able to the gym before work.Second, Jim and I roomed on the road quite often, so I was more familiar with his packing habits than I probably should be. Jim HATED with a passion to check baggage. So even if we were going to a conference for a week, he would manage to get everything he needed into an overhead bag.I was the opposite- I tended to push the 100# limit with my bags. Somehow Jim would manage to squeeze in his suits for presentations, shirts, gym clothes, computer, etc into just 1 bag.Here is the funny part though- his other obsession was Clif Bars. In all of the stories about Jim, everyone talks about his boundless energy, and perhaps wonder what his secret was. The answer was Clif Bars. Jim always had a stash with him. I'm not talking about 1-2 bars. He bought a bike messenger bag that he would bring to work with him everyday. This was so he would always have a copy of Preston and Shapiro (and EMG book he had memorized) and about 20 Clif Bars with him. Jim was rarely late for meetings, but there were a few occasions we would have to stop at the local Walgreens so that he could resupply himself with Clif Bars. My apartment in Chicago had a more secure mail delivery than his apartment, so periodically I would receive packages for Jim to restock his Clif Bar inventory.Anyway, I am thinking of Jim now as I pack, because I am struggling to get all my stuff together for the funeral into a small overnight bag. Somehow, Jim was able to pack for a week at a time, and still have room in his luggage for about 50 Clif Bars. Jim's favorite meeting was American College of Sports Medicine meeting. If you asked him, he would say it was because of the quality of the speakers or that it's the first place he met Joel Press. On some level, though, I think it was because it was the only meeting that was sponsored by power bar suppliers, so that he was able to restock himself mid-trip.
Gary
Jim McLean tribute
by Gary P. Chimes
“I found out that Jim McLean passed away yesterday. I have been struggling to understand how to come to terms with his death. Losing any one important in your life is devastating. With Jim, though, it was as if I lost several people. Jim has been my closest friend over the past 5 years. He was also my athletic training partner, as we trained together for an Ironman triathlon, amongst other things. He has also been my closest colleague, as we have trained together both through residency and fellowship, and were starting our life as faculty in parallel positions. He was also my partner academically, as we shared so many academic projects together that I lost count. He was also my clinical companion, as we learned how to manage patients in parallel. Losing a friend is tough. Losing someone who was essentially 5 of your closest friends at the same time has just been heartbreaking.
I think one of the reasons I’ve struggled so much to write about Jim is that I’ve been unable to separate the different facets of our interactions from one another. This is my third attempt at eulogizing Jim. Each time I start, it descends into an incoherent mess. So I will have to break it down, into a systematic structure to organize my thoughts. You know, the way Jim would have.
Jim the friend.
If I had to describe Jim to someone who has never met him before, probably the best analogy I could make is that Jim was like the world’s friendliest pitbull. He had a transcendent tenderness to him, but he was also the most intense person I ever met. He never did anything half-assed. One of our buddies from residency called him “110%”, which as apt a nickname as one could give someone.
A few anecdotes that highlight Jim: The first bonding experience the residents at Kessler had together was a company picnic a few months into our training together. We decided to have a spontaneous game of football. Jim didn’t have a change of clothes, so he played in his work clothes. By the end of the game, we had to stop because of inclement weather, but a part of it was that everyone’s muscles were exhausted. Except for Jim- while his clothes were tattered and muddy, Jim was fine. He also had an intense linebacker stare that would have put Mike Singletary to shame.
Another favorite Jim story of mine- playing poker. As residents, we had a semi-regular poker game. The first time we played, Jim was painfully awful. I remember him trying to bluff an opponent who was showing a straight flush (and who, in fact, did have a straight flush). Needless to say, he got cleaned out. The next time I went to Jim’s apartment a few weeks later, I noticed on his bookshelf a copy of “Poker for Dummies.” The pages were dog-eared, he had post-it notes sticking out, and words were underlined. The next time we played, he either won or came in second place (I think he actually came in second place. He would have won, but Adam Schindelheim had recently learned how to mind-control Mike Mehnert, which was too big of advantage for Jim to overcome).
Another favorite Jim story- Halloween. We were going into the city for a Halloween party in 2005. Neither Jim nor I had costumes, so we needed to make a last minute run for costumes. We decided to go the Sports Authority- somehow it made sense at the time.
We decided to go as recreational games, so I was a tetherball pole, and Jim went as a dartboard. We wanted to be functional games, so I rigged a mechanism for people to play tetherball on me without strangling myself. Jim, on the other hand, was simpler about things. He wore the dart-board like a necklace, wore a pair of goggles, and that was it. He invited (insisted really) that people use him as a dart board, with real darts with metal tips. His friend Brad and I warned him repeatedly that this was probably not the smartest thing for someone to do, but Jim insisted. By the end of the night, he had multiple welts and puncture injuries from what was a pretty fun night.
That was the fun part of Jim. There was also the supportive aspect to Jim. I know that many of his friends have dealt with some pretty tragic situations, and to say that Jim was supportive is an understatement. Other people say they will do anything to help a friend, but Jim, as he did with everything in his life, took it to another level.
Probably the best example that sticks out for me is a relatively recent one. Last May, Jim and I were rooming together for the American College of Sports Medicine meeting. This was an extremely busy meeting for both Jim and I, but especially Jim. We were getting ready to speak in front of a national audience for the first time, and we needed to do a lot of preparatory work. In addition, Jim was in the process of trying to close the deal on a house he was purchasing in Kansas. He was doing the kind of work that would overwhelm several people, let alone one.
While this was going on, I was starting to have misgivings about my upcoming wedding. I was scheduled to get married 6 weeks after the meeting, but I was concerned that even though my fiancée Danielle and I very much loved one another, we were having difficulty communicating. I had not discussed my misgivings with anyone before, and the thought of calling things off so close the actual wedding terrified me, but I knew that I needed to speak to someone.
Amongst Jim’s many strengths, he was one of the most emotionally intelligent people I’ve ever known. Despite not having time for even a 5 minute conversation, he listened to me talk for several hours, into the wee hours of the morning. When I was done pouring my heart out, he had very simple advice- “talk to some of your other friends. Let them know what you are thinking and feeling. By the time you finish talking to them, you will know what to do. You don’t need to do this alone.” It was classic Jim. Later, he confided he had some reservations about whether I was going to be fulfilled in my marriage, but he gave me the tools to discover what I needed on my own.
Up until 24 hours ago, the decision to call of my marriage to Danielle was the most emotionally wrenching experience I’ve ever had. Jim, probably more than anyone else, helped me get through what a very tough experience. I know his other friends have similar experiences, many more important in the big scheme of things.
As an aside, he kicked ass on his presentations later that week.
Jim the training partner.
As mentioned above, one of the first bonding experiences we had as residents was playing football together at a Kessler picnic. After we finished playing, we sat around, gorging on copious amounts of grilled meats and Italian ices. I brought up the idea of doing a triathlon together. It was a throw-away comment- while I sincerely wanted to do a triathlon with some of the guys, I wasn’t planning on making too much of an ordeal about it. This was my first experience encountering what I would call the “McLean treatment.” Over the next few weeks, Jim had formulated a plan for the two of us and our friend Casey to do a team Ironman (Casey swimming, me biking, and Jim running) as a fund-raiser for the local hospital for children with disabilities. Anyone who has ever interacted with Jim knows that “over-the-top” is not sufficient for describing how much Jim dedicates to a project when he commits to something. He had a 3 ring binder that mapped out our training program for the next 6 months, down to the minute. He also built a giant cardboard thermometer to show how we were progressing on the fundraiser. The triathlon also highlighted Jim’s toughness. Jim had struggled for years with pretty severe patellofemoral syndrome. Jim’s a muscular guy, but he had a notable lack of bulk along his right VMO muscle. His knee began to act up midway through his training, and he wasn’t sure that he was going to make it. He eventually developed a system of taping his knee that allowed his knee to track properly, and the triathlon team figured out a way to make sure he had spare tape available to make it through the race.
I am attaching a few pics from that race. The first is of Casey, Jim and I, in our official “Lucky Chick” race gear (we needed long sleeve shirts for the race, and Walmart was selling women’s sweatshirts in the $3 bin). The second is of Jim taping his knee mid-run. The third picture is Casey, Jim, and I celebrating at the finish line. The last picture is probably the most classic of Jim- during the last 10 miles of the race, he made friends with a guy he never met before on the course, and the two of them motivated each other to make it through the marathon. Jim finished the last mile ahead of him (also, classic Jim, he had another gear kicking to the finish), but he tracked this guy down for a photo because he wanted to share the experience with him. Classic Jim.
There are so many similar stories that pop into mind. One that stands out for me was the Philadelphia triathlon a few years later. Jim had not registered in time (another trait that, to be fair, was also classic Jim. He actually did have a few flaws. Not many, but a few), but I was racing, as was my older brother Mike and our friend from residency Kyle. Jim was on call at Kessler (which is in the northern part of NJ) the night before, but he drove down post-call to cheer Kyle, Mike, and I. The race was a really fun one, but I am not a runner. By the time I had finished the bike, the temperature was already well into 90s, with Philadelphia humidity. I was exhausted, and was starting to walk. That was until I saw that Jim had made the 2 hour drive down just to cheer us on. The picture below is me getting a second wind after seeing Jim. It may be hard to see, but there is a little thought bubble over the head of the guy I am passing that says “where the hell did that fat guy come from?”
One final Jim training story. When we were fellows together at RIC in Chicago, the staff at RIC had a competition using pedometers. The staff was split into teams of 4, and the goal was to see which team would walk the most steps. Within a few weeks, it became apparent that Jim’s team was unbeatable. While a typical person might walk 5000 steps, and a motivated person might walk 10,000 steps, Jim was regularly clocking in over 30,000 steps. Jim walked constantly. We were reviewing MRIs, and Jim would walk and look at the MRIs overhead. We were observing injections, and Jim would walk in place in the fluoro suite. We would go to grab a bit for dinner, and Jim would eat while walking. He was far and away the most productive stepper, even more than a few of our colleagues who were training for the Chicago marathon. Even on the day of the marathon itself, while Jim didn’t have the most steps, it was close. You never wanted to compete with Jim if willpower was a limiting factor.
“It’s difficult to choose which memory best captures Jim. I have so many, ranging from Jim teaching me the proper method to test for shoulder impingement to Jim gushing to me about his new girlfriend, Jen, when we accidentally bumped into each other at the MCA last winter. But there is one memory in particular that I would like to share about Jim that I believe encompasses the incredible person that he was and will be remembered as.
“I'm sitting in the Northwestern Memorial Hospital anesthesia pain clinic, where the news of Jim's death was just today announced to the residents and staff here. Jim spent only a limited amount of time here in this clinic during his fellowship last year, but he clearly had an impact on all that came in contact with him. The anesthesia resident working in clinic today gushes about how much time he spent teaching her a comprehensive physical examination, which she continues to put into practice. People here still talk about his EMG lectures, one year later. His knowledge and enthusiasm were obvious to all. Probably my fondest, and most representative, memories of Jim were his ability to remain calm and laid-back, and take all the time in the world for clinical teaching on a day he was supposed to give a lecture that was only half-finished. I never figured out how, but he always got it all done, the lecture went great... and he maintained his even, smiling disposition the entire time. Somehow, he was the perfect mix of intensity and relaxation all in one.”
Oscar Wille, MD
former RIC resident,
and current pain fellow
"I just returned after attending Jim's.funeral .It was a sad farewell ,at the same time a tribute to a remarkable life. It was attended by people from all over U.S.A.; people who's lives were touched by Jim one way or other. His father offered the euology which was emotional and fitting tribute to a wonderful young man.
"I appreciate how many residents have related how they have been taught by Jim over these past few years. I think I speak for many when I say he also taught those who were suppose to be teaching him. One day during his fellowship last year at RIC, when he was probably suppose to be doing ten other things, I casually commented to Jim how I would like to learn more about ultrasound imaging of the hip and thigh. The next thing I knew, Jim was face down on a table in the ultrasound room wearing a skimpy pair of running shorts (one's he probably ran ten miles in earlier that morning) with his face planted in a Netter anatomy textbook. Over the next hour and a half, Jim guided me and the ultrasound probe around his muscular tree-trunk of a leg so that I could get a better handle on how to do this crazy thing. When we were done, Jim had ultrasound gel dripping from his infamous gluteus maximus muscle literally down to his ankles. I th ought to myself "Boy this guy really has a passion for learning." But I also thought (as I'm sure he did as well) that he and I would really have alot of explaining to do if anyone (especially his girlfriend or my wife) walked in the room at that moment and turned the lights on. When we were done, Jim jumped up, put his pants on (I think without even wiping all the gel off) and asked "COULD I TEACH HIM ANYTHING ELSE?" No -- thanks for teaching ME my friend Jim and thanks for making me laugh when we were together.My heart-felt prayers and deepest sympathies for you and your loving friends and family."
Peace,
Paul [Paul Lento MD, Spine and Sports Rehabilitation Center]
"I sit here stunned days after finding out that the world lost Jim McLean. It's hard to come to terms with untimely death, even as a physician. I have always found expression through music when I cannot find the words myself. As bad as we all feel about Jim's passing, I for one, am grateful for having known him (even if just for one year) and for the lessons he taught me about physiatry and life. There are few people who leave so abruptly and with such a profound impact.
"The Dance" by Garth Brooks
Looking back on the memory of
The dance we shared 'neath the stars above
For a moment all the world was right
How could I have known that you'd ever say goodbye
And now I'm glad I didn't know
The way it all would end the way it all would go
Our lives are better left to chance I could have missed the pain
But I'd have had to miss the dance
Learning from you, meant everything [Changed from: Holding you I held everything]
For a moment wasn't I a king
But if I'd only known how the king would fall
Hey who's to say you know I might have changed it all
And now I'm glad I didn't know
The way it all would end the way it all would go
Our lives are better left to chance
I could have missed the pain
But I'd have had to miss the dance
Yes my life is better left to chance
I could have missed the pain but I'd have had to miss the dance
Thanks for the dance Jim. You will always be in my thoughts."
Mike Tracy, DO
PGY 4, RIC
"It was with profound sadness that I learned at 1 am on January 21, 2008 about Jim’s tragic death. Since we met in med school I’ve never known anyone to be as humanistic or caring for others as Jim. He had a way of caring for each and every patient which was the embodiment of his own philosophy. He held true and actually did the things he believed in. He was beloved by those he worked with including me. I worked with Jim on various research and teaching projects, and really I would work on anything to spend more time with the person with more drive and energy than anyone else I knew. He was almost super-human in the way he could accomplish things once he decided he was going to do something. He was focused beyond what most people are capable of. In fact when I took over running the EMG course in ‘06, he handed me a 97 page syllabus that he had been working on, and I knew I was in for it. The year after Jim graduated residency it took 9 residents and an attending to reproduce the EMG course that Jim put on himself.
It is almost incomprehensible how dedicated he was to any task at hand. Those that knew him well know just how much of his personal life he sacrificed for other people. I found out almost a year after he gave me that syllabus that he had given up an entire weekend of his own vacation and cancelled a trip to stay home and work on organizing that material for me. He was the first recipient of the Kessler Resident Teaching Residents Award – the following year the award was named after him. Who has an award named after them while they are alive? Jim. That’s the kind of impact he had.
He gave everything he had to help me at any time. I first met Jim at New Jersey Med School when he was the captain of the rugby team. I really got to know him on a rotation at children’s specialized hospital, he had just started his residency at Kessler and I was a 4th year student. What struck me right away was his interest in teaching me. I had just arrived at the hospital and he handed me two sheets of paper covered in fill-in-the-blanks. He said to me “this is what we’ll be using to learn anatomy”. He systematically went through the entire body over the course of 2 weeks – I would fill in what little I knew and he would teach me every muscle of the upper and lower limbs, their innervations, and mechanism of action. He spent hours of his own time going over and over it with me until I had it down pat. In that way Jim sparked my early interest in musculoskeletal medicine, and my respect for excellent and effective teaching in physiatry. I use the same anatomy sheets to teach students now.
Two years later Jim expressed some interest to me in learning how to juggle. Since I juggle a lot I have had plenty of opportunities to teach people how, probably in the hundreds. As a testament to Jim’s physical prowess, he learned simple and advanced techniques in one sitting faster than anyone I have ever seen. It literally took him about 2 minutes of intense focus to learn to juggle clubs, most people would take weeks or never. A minute later he was juggling advanced passing patterns, one that took me over a year of juggling to learn.
During residency Jim was instrumental in teaching and building my interest in all things related to musculoskeletal medicine. I realized then how much I admired Jim, but it isn’t until looking back that it’s possible to see the overarching influence he had on my life. He would tell me about moments he spent with Scott Nadler and demonstrate approaches he had learned. He brought me in early on research he was doing and got me involved to stimulate my own interest. He recounted what a profound impact his trip to Ecuador had on shaping him. He demonstrated by example how to be a caring physician and an effective leader. He let me in professionally and personally. He was probably the most important mentor in my life to date.
A world without Jim is one that is a little frightening to me. I saw us developing our professional careers together and him making breakthroughs for our field and patients. It is incredibly painful to accept that he will not be around. But he had already succeeded for those patients he touched and those students he influenced. I miss Jim dearly already and wish I could talk to him. I wish I could tell him that in losing him I feel like I’ve lost a part of myself."
Chris Visco, MD
Kessler Resident
”Jim was one of the most enthusiatic and motivated professional collegues whom I have ever met. He was a kindhearted person who exuded good values and a unique spirit. I will always remember Jim in my professional and personal life. His smile and zeal for teaching will be deeply missed. His passing is a tremendous loss.”
Ariz Mehta, MD
Kessler Grad
"The news of Jim’s death caught me completely off guard. Jim was larger than life and for those who knew him his absence is incomprehensible. My heart goes to his family and friends and all of those who knew and loved him. Jim lives through all of us, always…"
Mila Mogilevsky, DO
RIC, PGY4
"I remember the excitement and enthusiasm of the Dean of University Kansas School of Medicine, the Department of Orthopedics and Neurosurgery, the hospital administration, the chairman Dr. Varghese, our faculty and residents expressed in welcoming Jim to develop and lead the Spine Center Program.
