It
didn't really hit me until the rabbi attached the black ribbon on
my shirt and then briskly tore it from the bottom into fragmented
halves. This ritual takes place privately before the Jewish funeral
service for the intimately bereaved. My brother and I had known
that this day would be coming, as my father had been gradually deteriorating
over the past many months. He had made little rallies along the
way – and like most medical victories that take place when
one is aged, there are not always logical reasons as to why such
things happen. Still, it had seemed very odd a few months back when
after he had lost the strength in his lower extremities to walk
down the hall to the bathroom, he regained overnight the power to
walk anew without the chair. He had been quite agitated the previous
night, so I gave him something to settle his nerves. Whether it
had been what I had given him or just being able to see me for the
first time in three months, he rallied. That was a happy memory
to take away.
My father was a court reporter, and two of his brothers shared the
same occupation. Their father had graduated from law school, but
it was a tough business setting oneself up as an attorney in New
York City before the Depression. So Grandpa became a business teacher
in the city and proficient at shorthand instruction, passing this
skill onto his children. Court stenography is challenging work,
demanding attention to every word in the court and an ability to
get those words recorded and eventually typed with 100% accuracy.
My dad's work started at the UN in its early days, when its inchoate
mission seemed uncertain. The Balkan Commission to explore Communism
in Eastern Europe was largely unsuccessful with one exception –
my father met a Bulgarian interpreter for whom he developed an immediately
liking, and a wedding followed within two weeks. Mom and Dad shared
nearly 50 years of marriage before she passed away prematurely from
cancer.
My dad's work at the courthouse gave me a little sense of the legal
system without studying law. Family get-togethers with his brothers
meant not only a nice dinner, but also a sharing of court trial
vignettes, which often meant very interesting stories – something
not gleaned by watching TV law dramas. It was a little odd, then,
when my uncle described a case he had been transcribing in federal
court in New York that very indirectly involved the Townsend
Letter. In the late 1980s, a controversy developed over a
scientific counter-movement to the HIV theory of AIDS. The protagonists
have argued that despite research relating the human immunodeficiency
virus to the development of AIDS, the theory remains unproven primarily
because virus is not cultured by standard methodologies. Those arguing
that AIDS has other causations, including immune system destruction
brought about by drug-related toxicity, have attempted to champion
their work in a variety of writings, including some that have appeared
in these pages. One of the authors of such theories was a Berkeley
professor named Peter Duesberg. Apparently, Duesberg's research
assistant helped Duesberg write a text about this counter-theory,
and later, the research assistant attempted to publish such work
under his own name alone. This led to a suit between Duesberg and
the research assistant over who had the rights to the work. Regrettably,
the judge determined the outcome without my uncle's involvement,
so I cannot share the outcome.
Dad was a camera-bug, and when I was growing up, he had his own
darkroom and spent many hours tweaking out black-and-white photos.
He took up 16-mm camera photography, and now my memories of childhood
are a blur between what I remember and what I remember watching
through his movie recording. He enjoyed playing Gershwin and classical
pieces on the piano – a hobby he only gave up when his eyesight
deteriorated some years ago. Readers of the Townsend Letter know
my father's work best from the cartoons he drew under his nickname,
"Rums." He originally did the work for the national stenographer
magazine. In what was perhaps his signature work, the claimant sitting
in the witness chair offers evidence that he was injured severely
in the motor vehicle accident: the elongated accordion-like tube
required to attach the head to the claimant's body.
My father will be remembered as a friend to everyone, and his children,
grandchildren, and family will miss him dearly. Goodbye, Dad!
Kerry Bone is a master herbalist who
has been writing for us for more than ten years. His review of herbal
experiments and literature has brought increasing respect to the
field of herbal science and its application in naturopathic medicine.
Unlike those who attempt to belittle herbal medicine by designing
simple experiments treating an herb as just another drug, Bone has
called for experiments that test herbs more broadly, considering
patient outcomes. Bone challenged the two-sentence conclusions that
reviewers made about herbs and often found data within the experiments
that supported and justified herbal use. His reports in the Townsend
Letter were clinically based.
In a column written August/September 1999, he developed a treatment
strategy for treating systemic lupus – a remarkable program
designing herbal combinations for supporting different aspects of
lupus.
Now, Bone has announced his retirement from writing for the Townsend
Letter. We wish him the very best.
Interested readers should consult the Townsend
Letter Author Index to view Bone's extensive work for us. Additionally,
please look for one of Bone's six books, including a revision of
his text, Principles and Practice
of Phytotherapy.
This issue of the Townsend
Letter takes up travel and outdoor
medicine. A number of years back, we wanted to review a book by
Kathleen Meyer called How to Shit
in the Woods. That was the inspiration
for this theme: Travel Health and Wilderness Medicine. In this issue,
naturopathic physician Steve Morris offers a look at the diversity
of botanical plants and medicine from the Amazon. Over the years,
he has had the pleasure of leading a group of students, professional
and non-professional, on a very reasonably priced trek in the central
Amazon, extending between Brazil, Ecuador, and Peru. Morris believes
that the experience of working with indigenous healers and seeing
them use plants in their own setting for healing is a remarkable
education for both doctors and lay persons. Morris has brought the
use of indigenous botanicals back to his practice in Edmonds, Washington
and has also taught about their application locally. This June,
Steve Morris is once again leading a group into the tropics and
invites interested readers to consider participation in the years
ahead.
Jonathan Collin, MD
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