In Memoriam

&I. ENGELBERT DUNPHY died on Christmas day, I98 1, and the world of surgery lost one of its most loved and respected leaders. Born in Northampton, Massachusetts, his early years were in a warm and deeply religious Irish flsmily. In this family and in the cultural heritage of New E:ngland, one can find the roots of the profound humanism that characterized his life and much of his writings. After graduating from Holy Cross and Harvard Medical School, he plunged into the rugged discipline of the surgical t,:aining program at the Peter Bent Brigham Hospital under Eliot Cutler, and associated with Robert Zol- linger.

Bert married Nancy Stevenson in 1936, and theirs be- came a cherished home for four children, and a hospitality center for the world’s surgical notables who came t.o renew professional and personal camaraderie. This home was the source of his deepest satisfaction.

In World War II Bert joined the Fifth General Hospital surgical unit and served with distinction for 5 years. His career-long interest in factors influencing wound healing &veloped from this experience. On his return to Boston, he moved the center of his activity to the Boston City Hospital. In 1959 he accepted the chair of surgery at the IJniversity of Oregon, and in 1964 the chair of surgery at the Lrniversity of Calit’ornia, San Francisco, a post he held until his semiretirement in 1975.

Bert’s professional accolades include successive presi- dencies of the “big three” surgical organizations, the presidencv of the Board of Regents of the College and of the Ameiican Board of Surgery, and honorary awards around the world. He wrote an unending stream of scien- tif’ic papers, books, and book chapters. In later years, many of his written thoughts turned to the needs of humanism in the doctor’s approach to the care of his patients.

During his tenure at San Francisco, he brought what had always been a strong clinical department of surgery into a position of national and international prominence. His presence was a magnet for many of the most promising of the country’s young surgical aspirants. He demanded that his residents learn compassion for the sick and dignity for the dying, and he excelled at lighting the spark of academic inquiry in them.

Bert’s sphere of interest and influence encompassed the entire medical school. He was instrumental in attracting scientific leaders to many departments, basic science as

well as clinical. For a time he was acting chancellor to the campus, and in the view of many would have been perma- nent in that position had he not withdrawn his name. He was an activist in his pursuit of solutions to problems; it just wasn’t his style to hope that an untended one would dis- appear. His skill in penetrating to the heart of any problem had him in constant demand for consultation at other medical schools.

On a personal plane, Bert brought to us, and in so doing taught us, the joy of living. Recall his mischievous wit and explosive laughter, his consideration toward others, the bounce in his gait, his spontaneity, his love of life and those around him, his idealism, his family photograph displays, his interest in everything past and present, whether it be the lives of departed warriors or statesmen, wildlife, or music. Lest one dwell on that which his depart,ure has subtracted, rejoice on what he has added.

Edwin J. Wylie, MD

NELSON JACOB HOWARD was born on March 6,190O in Cuba, Kansas. Both his father and mother were physi- cians engaged in primary care and were dedicated to building the burgeoning West. In 1903 the family moved to Pocatello, Idaho, a larger and more promising Western community, and produced over the years three more sons, all of whom ultimately became physicians. Nelson was educated in Pocatello, learned to love the outdoors, and spent a great deal of his time as a boy hiking and hunting in the Idaho ranges. During World War I Nelson was a student at the University of Idaho. He was quick, hard- working, and energetic, and ran sprints and hurdles on the track team. He loved the West but sensed the need of being educated in the East. His academic record was excellent, and he gained admission to the Johns Hopkins University Medical School.

His performance at Johns Hopkins was outstanding and during his school years he became a member of the Path- otomy Club. He graduated from medical school in 1925, but by this time his quick and easy mind, his dexterity, his coordination, and his lively imagination were attracted to the great William Stewart Halsted; he decided to remain on at the Hopkins in graduate training in surgery. He came under the influence of the illustrious young Halstedian residents, particularly Reichert, Holman, Rienhoff, and Firor. When Emile Holman left Hopkins to come to San Francisco as professor and chairman of the Department

Volume 144,July 1982 163

In Memoriam

of Surgery at Stanford University School of Medicine, he brought young Nelson with him as chief surgical resident. Nelson Howard then shared in the conversion of Stanford Medical School and its department of surgery from an es- sentially clinical department into a university department of surgery. During those early years, however, the full-time teaching staff was small and the chief residents rarely did surgical procedures of great magnitude since the devel- oping frontiers in major surgery were professional territory. Nelson Howard remained a strong clinical supporter of the University, but went out into private practice in the highly competitive environment of San Francisco, where much of the general surgery was still the surgery of trauma and most of the major elective surgery was captured by senior clinical surgeons or consulting university professors.

Nelson Howard’s practice early on was in the areas of trauma, fractures, and serious infections of bones and soft tissues. He devoted a large portion of time to clinical teaching at Stanford University, worked at both the San Francisco General Hospital and the Stanford Hospital in the clinics, and became interested in industrial medicine at a time when its importance was poorly understood. His main contributions to surgery were in the area of trauma, and he was particularly skilled in the management of dif- ficult fracture cases and industrial injuries of the ex- tremities. He also helped in the organization of better in- dustrial medicine in California and nationally. In this area particularly many patients benefitted from his imaginative and creative care.

Nelson Howard retired from practice a number of years ago and after that stayed away from medical meetings. He continued to be interested in medicine, read a great deal of medical literature, and enjoyed history. He died on March 11, 1981 in San Francisco. Interment was in his boyhood hometown of Pocatello, Idaho.

Victor Richards, MD

SAMUEL LEE KOUNTZ died just before the Christmas holidays of 1981. His life in the field of surgery and his biographical data were well described in the Journal of Modern Medicine, August 6,1973, and in numerous other reports lauding this unusual man. None, however, really

described the essence of the man, and I would rather dwell on that aspect of his life rather than his scientific achievements.

I met Dr. Kountz when he applied for an internship at the San Francisco County Hospital, Stanford service, in 1958. Dr. Kountz was the sort of man whose high qualities came out only in an interview and would have not been revealed by the fact that he had graduated from medical school in 1952, after two attempts, or that he had an MS. from the University of Arkansas in 1956, or that he was able to get into the University of Arkansas School of Medicine after having been turned down by Howard University Medical School and Maherry Medical School. In my in- terview with this slender, handsome young black man, I was impressed by his ambition, which was projected in a courteous manner, and by his M.S. from Arkansas in bio- chemistry. With the agreement of Dr. Carlton Mathewson, since there were others who did not feel that a black man could function on our service, I appointed him as an in- tern.

As an intern he was hard working, knowledgeable, and well read, but most important, a thoughtful and com- passionate doctor. When our medical school moved to Palo Alto, I was pleased to have Dr. Kountz come along. His many contributions during that time have been listed by others.

As we worked together, Dr. Kountz became like a son to me. I was especially impressed with his serene attitude with regard to patient care, complications, inconvenience. He and his wife were religious people, and perhaps the inner peace his religious strength gave him was responsible for creating his serenity toward life.

In 1962 we went to London with the help of the Com- monwealth Foundation. At Hammersmith and St. Bar- tholomew’s Hospitals, Dr. Kountz was immediately ac- cepted and was made an associate with Dr. Dempster. During that time he went to Egypt to demonstrate renal transplantation, a task which he completed successfully. After 1 year in England, we returned to San Francisco and the renal transplant program was placed entirely in Dr. Kountz’s able hands. From Stanford, through the far- sightedness of Chairman J. E. Dunphy at the University of California in San Francisco, Dr. Kountz came up to San Francisco to work in the transplant patient area along with Dr. Folkert Beltzer.

1 saw Dr. Kountz frequently when he came down to talk about some of the local problems in San Francisco and when he was offered the chairmanship at Downstate. He had a clear insight into the difficulties that he had, but he was unusual in being able to handle the petty problems that can accompany success in the academic world and keep his eye on the important aspects of his work until this terrible tragedy overtook him in May 1977.

There are many anecdotes I could relate testifying to Dr. Kountz’s superiority as a man. He is a role model for ev- eryone, especially those who consider themselves to have some sort of handicap. Dr. Kountz used to tell me that his only talent was industry, a comment previously made by Osler. Like Osler, Kountz had a joyousness in his work which stimulated those who worked with him and the pa- tients he cared for. His life was a testimonial to intelligence and understanding in this world. As for me, I have lost one of the best friends and ablest men I ever knew.

Roy Cohn, MD

164 The American Journal of Surgery