A gentle life

His life was gentle, and the elements So mixed in him that Nature might stand up And say to all the world, ‘This was a man!’ January is named after the ancient Roman mythological god Janus, he of the two heads looking in opposite directions, who could see both the future and the past. Thus the first month of the year is the portal at which we reflect on the past year and wonder what the coming year holds. While I cannot see into the future, lessons learned from four people who passed away in the past year will help shape the year to come, and indeed many years to come. My mother died peacefully in her sleep in January 2008, aged 77. Of the four individuals, she of course had the greatest influence on me. This is not a personal blog and I will not elaborate on all the things she taught me, except to say that she was the best mother a son could ask for. But readers of Liver International may learn some useful lessons from the lives of the three other persons who died in 2008: Bobby Fischer, Jean-Pierre Benhamou and Andy Blei. While the last two names are instantly recognizable in the liver world, many readers are probably mystified by what we can learn from a chessplayer. Keep reading …. Two days before my mother died, the legendary American grandmaster Bobby Fischer died in an Icelandic hospital, aged 64. Chess aficionados may have already suspected that I am a kindred spirit as the title of my first editorial ‘Gens Una Sumus’ (‘we are one people’) (1) is the official motto of FIDE (International Chess Federation). Fischer won the world championship in a dramatic match with Boris Spassky in 1972, and forfeited the title 3 years later when FIDE would not meet his demands about how the championship match would be conducted. So although he achieved his life ambition at age 29 at the peak of his chess career and ability, he never played another meaningful game. He was arguably the strongest player in history, and many experts believe that he could have reigned as world champion for 15–20 more years. During the second half of his life, he became increasingly more reclusive and bizarre. In this story of an unsurpassed talent and gift that was eventually wasted, tragically in its prime, we can learn lessons. Hubris and an inability to compromise were Fischer's downfall. Being surpassingly brilliant and gifted is not enough – one must also be willing to ‘play by the rules’. Or, as the character from the movie ‘Good Will Hunting’ says, ‘Use your gift!’ Jean-Pierre Benhamou, the dean of French hepatologists in the latter part of the 20th century, died last summer at the age of 81. His clinical acumen and ability were legendary. It was my great good fortune to be a research fellow in his Beaujon Hospital Liver Unit in the mid-1980s, and attending the 90-min weekly hepatology rounds on Fridays was one of the highlights of the week for me. The format of these rounds was that a clinical case, illustrative of various liver conditions, was presented by the internes (residents or house officers) and then Professor Benhamou would orchestrate the discussion. He would gently, and with good humour, elicit various comments from trainees or staff, of course expecting a more sophisticated level of commentary commensurate with the training/experience of the person being called upon. Two things about this process were remarkable. First, it eventually became clear by the line of questioning and comments that he had already figured out the diagnosis, often of some very obscure or rare condition, at a very early stage, usually within the first few minutes of the case presentation. Second, and even more amazing, was that his gentle good humour and friendly, unthreatening manner made even the most clueless trainee feel relaxed and unpressured, even when ‘put on the spot’ to make an insightful comment or answer a question. I can personally attest to this because occasionally that clueless trainee was me. Finally, probably everyone in the liver world is aware of the recent passing of Andy Blei, tragically prematurely just 3 weeks short of his 59th birthday. Among his many accomplishments was his term as editor-in-chief of Hepatology. Under his stewardship, the journal flourished and he introduced many innovative features. He was also a productive and successful researcher, academic, writer, teacher, clinician and administrator. He embodied the 21st-century international face of hepatology, fluently speaking five languages. For me, he was a generous and always-available unofficial mentor and advisor as I assumed the position of editor-in-chief of Liver International. A recurring comment by many who knew him well was: ‘I never heard him speak ill of anybody’. He was probably the most beloved individual in the liver world. So what lessons can we draw from the lives of these three persons? I think the key word is ‘gentle’. Benhamou and Blei were true ‘gentlemen’ to the core, and embodied the classical definition of that word. They took their gift and maximized it, by treating people with gentleness, i.e. with respect, courtesy and fairness. Sadly, although Bobby Fischer's talent allowed him to briefly reach the pinnacle, he subsequently squandered his gift by lack of gentility. For this year and beyond, Liver International will strive to treat readers and authors with gentility.

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