I attended a celebration this week in Baltimore. It was spurred by the death of the man who was my Dean of Students. Dr Henry Seidel was a first generation Jewish kid who went to Hopkins during a time of quotas, graduated in the class of 1946, trained as a pediatrician, and subsequently stayed on as a physician, role model, advisor, and dean for over 60 years. His style was one of listening to students with the same ear that he would listen to patients. When meeting he would always want to learn more about you as a person, and his advice would be tailored to that understanding. He subtly pushed at barriers. When he died this year, at age 88, there was no doubt that despite the sadness, a celebration of his life was in order.
Rachel was spending June in Baltimore, so the two of us drove her car down on Monday. It’s not often that you get one on one time with your young adult children, and I thoroughly enjoyed the conversations and insights. After getting her settled on Tuesday, I returned to the East Baltimore campus and sat in the same auditorium where I received my diploma and subsequently gave one of the presentations at our 25th reunion. Henry’s picture stood by the podium and pictures of the classes he counseled were flashed on the screen. The speakers reflected on his genuine nature and availability to them throughout their careers. The then Dean of the Med School acknowledged that Henry was the true dean. A fourth year student sang a soulful rendition of “Lean on Me.” Finally, his son closed with reflections on his life, including the story of Alfred Blalock and Vivien Thomas, who collaborated on the “Blue Baby” operation and quietly dealt with the issues of racism that surrounded them. Henry’s son also said how pleased his father would have been to see the diversity encompassed in the current student body.
After the reception, I walked in bright sunlight back to the famous dome and inside of it, the statue of Jesus with outstretched arms. Earlier, I alluded to the story of Blalock and Thomas, which was captured in the movie “Something the Lord Made.” The closing scenes take place in the dome.
Alfred Blalock was the chief of surgery, and was raised in Southern aristocracy. Vivien Thomas was a grandson of slaves with a superb intellect, who could not attend medical school, due to his race and the depression. They first met at Vanderbilt, when Thomas was working as a technician in Blalock’s lab. Blalock recognized Thomas’ skills and gave him increasing responsibilities for surgical procedures on animals. When Blalock was recruited to be Chief at Hopkins, he convinced the administration there to allow Thomas to join him, at a time when the only black employees were janitors. Together they designed an operation for pediatric congenital heart disease. Thomas performed the operation multiple times on dogs, and his skills were so great that Blalock viewed the results and commented that it looked like something the Lord had made. Blalock insisted that Thomas be to his right at every operation on children, to quietly advise the chief. Noone else could stand in that spot. Yet despite the great respect they had for each other, they could not be seen together socially. Blalock would ask Thomas to bartend at parties, both to allow him to be in his home as well as support him financially. The men would share a drink at the end of the day in Blalock’s office, but understood that in the 40’s, in Baltimore, they had certain mores that they must obey. Their quiet partnership endured, and after Blalock’s death, Thomas stayed on in the animal lab, supporting future generations of Hopkins surgeons. In 1976, he received an honorary Doctor of Laws degree. Portraits of Blalock and Thomas (images from the JHH archives) hang in the Hopkins Hospital. And the barriers began to soften -Dr. Vivien Thomas had a nephew, Dr. Katulle (Koco) K. Eaton, who graduated from Hopkins School of Medicine in 1987 and now practices as an Orthopaedic Surgeon.
In attending the memorial celebration, returning to the Dome, and again watching the movie, I was overwhelmed with emotion, awe, and gratitude. I cannot imagine the strength of character of both Blalock and Thomas; I am humbled by the stories of how Henry Seidel touched so many and stayed true to his values: I can only hope that I have been able to support in some small way those that I’ve had the chance to mentor and advise. But mostly, I was filled with a sense of energy and promise, recognizing that those who came before me laid the foundations for the successes of my generation, and that what we do every day in our own lives, even by quietly listening, will pave the road for those that follow.
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