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Jed Rowe |
| Email your comments First impressions are important. As I drove nervously from Glasgow, on a grey Tuesday morning in September 1982, to my interview for the West Midlands Geriatrics Training Scheme, I still remember my sight of the large gasometers by Junction 9 on the M6. I almost did a U-turn back to Glasgow. Still I got the job and on New Year’s day 1984, arrived in my VW Golf to a new town (Walsall), a hospital flat, a new specialty and with a newish (and heavily pregnant) wife. At that time, as now, there was a regular meeting of registrars (or rather senior registrars) and at one of those early meetings I first met Jed and first impressions stuck: large, loud, enthusiastic, opinionated, untidy; and if till then I had doubts about switching specialties (from Guts to Geriatrics) they were quickly dispelled. A few conversations with Jed (and one or two of his instant lectures) were all that it took to become infected with his enthusiasm. It wasn’t until I joined the University Department as Professor Bernard Isaacs’ Senior Lecturer (a rather obscenely short 16 months later), that I discovered why Jed was the way he was. At that time he was Bernard’s clinical lecturer, and what I observed was a willing slave to the charisma, inspiration (and frequent absence) of his boss – always available when Bernard failed to turn up for a ward round and he was always (often at half an hour’s notice) required to be a master of the instant lecture. That skill stuck. Technology has changed and Jed has graduated from dog-eared OHP acetates through floppy disks to the pendant memory stick. As the ever popular centrepoint in our departmental meetings, he has always stood up when lesser mortals fail with an apparently fresh, well-informed and researched ‘instant’ talk, laced with humour and incisive wit. Rated at one time as one of the most popular lecturers in the Medical School, he has the trick (like his mentor, Bernard Isaacs) of turning the most unlikely topics (such as dementia or incontinence) into a fascinating exposition. Therein lies his skill in seducing young doctors into our specialty. Another interesting role Jed had was that of substitute geriatrician to the Jewish Community in Birmingham. Only once did I find what that was like; after Jed left to go to Liverpool, I was expected to follow on as the Isaacs slave (though I resisted). However, on one occasion, at 48 hours’ notice, I was asked to fill in to provide the keynote speech at the Triennial Conference of the then League of Jewish Women. I was so scared, I can’t remember what I talked about but they were very kind to me! Again, through Bernard’s influence, Jed was introduced to the fascinating sub-specialty of Falls, slaving away for hours in the Hayward Building’s Gait Laboratory, whose watchword (inspired by Henry Ford) was: “You can do any research project you like as long as it’s about Falls”. Jed’s contribution to Falls research and clinical practice is the basis of his national reputation. But what about Jed the friend; again, first impressions; shortly after our arrival in Birmingham, and knowing no-one, I remember well the invitation which cemented what has become over twenty years of close friendship with Jed and Teresa. At their terraced house in Hallam Street in West Bromwich, Jill and I first experienced Jed’s considerable culinary skills, met Teresa, his larger than life wife (acquired as a doctor-nurse Mills and Boon thing at Sandwell Hospital) and enjoyed excellent and imaginative food washed down with vodka (which refused to freeze at minus 18 degrees). I also remember marvelling at how they had managed to get a huge cast iron bath up the narrow staircase of their house. After that, close friends, with family holidays and frequent exchanges of evening entertainment. Jed even lived with us for a few months near the end of his strange safari to Liverpool for his first consultant job – never mind – we got him back to become the King of Moseley Hall – the only one of our group to make the community hospitals his HQ, with a busy in-patient service, charismatic team leadership and establishment of a Falls clinic which attracts visitors from all over. Jed is still the large, loud, enthusiastic, opinionated man I first met 20 odd years ago and just as untidy: ”Did you ever meet anyone in a suit who was any good?”. His career may have been cut slightly short by motor-neurone disease, but he has contributed more than most do in three life-times. He inspired me as well as many others. It has been a privilege being a close colleague and it continues to be a joy to be one of his closest friends. During early April this year, the weather got better and better, culminating in a gloriously warm April 15th. From all round the country Jed's friends and colleagues gathered at my house near Bromsgrove. Teresa was dreading the occasion, while Jed and the rest of us were nervous. It took only 30 seconds after his arrival (me driving his beloved Austin 10), a few hugs and, yes, a few tears shed amongst friends, to dispel our anxieties. Somehow the weather conspired to ensure the success of the occasion. As we gathered round the table on my back patio, glorious sunshine greeted the moving presentation by Peter Crome of the BGS President's Medal to Jed “for outstanding service to the Society”. I can't remember exactly what Jed said in response, but there was hardly a dry eye as he eloquently reminded us of Jed the Wordsmith, of the inspirations in his life and the warmth of friends helping Teresa and him through difficult times. After the formal proceedings, all tension disappeared and we enjoyed a lovely party, excellent food from a local pub, table tennis on the lawn and tractor rides for the kids (and David Barer). We need not have been concerned about Jed's stamina. He outlasted most of the guests and it was such a pleasure to observe his greatest skill, the enthusiastic use of the spoken word as he moved easily amongst his friends and colleagues. Alistair Main |