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Harold G. Jacobson has passed away [1, 2].
Harold G. Jacobson of the Bronx was a character, unique in many ways, and unlikely to be replicated any time soon. Harold dedicated his life to radiology—worked hard, meant well, and did good for himself and those around him.
Harold was a teacher, mentor, and long-time chairman of radiology at Montefiore Hospital in the Bronx, an affiliate of the Albert Einstein School of Medicine, where he trained or mentored many of today's and yesterday's prominent radiologists: Stanley Siegelman, Walter Berdon, Murray Dalinka, Thomas Naidich, Norman Leeds, Robert D. Zimmerman, Neil Messenger, Ruth Rosenblatt, Bertha Rubinstein, Alfred Kurtz, Arnold Freidman, Eric Russell, Sandra Fernbach, Matthew Rifkin, Jerome Shapiro, Kakarla Subbarao, Frieda Feldman, and the late Tom Beneventano, to name but a few.
At one time or another, Harold held leadership positions in many major radiologic societies. He was president of the Radiological Society of North America (RSNA) in 1967, president of the American Board of Radiology from 1980 to 1982, and president of the Society of Chairmen of Academic Radiology Departments from 1973 to 1974. He also served as chairman of the Residency Review Committee for Radiology from 1980 to 1982.
Harold was a renowned skeletal radiologist. He founded the International Skeletal Society (ISS) and its journal, Skeletal Radiology, with Jack Edeiken, then of Philadelphia, and Ronald Murray of England in 1974. Harold was the first president of the ISS, serving from 1974 to 1976. He wrote a major text on the radiology of skeletal disease, Radiology of Skeletal Disorders: Exercise in Diagnosis, with Ronald Murray. He also coauthored several other texts and monographs devoted to neuroradiology, gastrointestinal radiology, and cardiac radiology.
Harold had a penchant for great cases—particularly oddball, rare diseases. He loved to participate in film panels and be shown unknown cases in conferences, which brought to the fore his encyclopedic knowledge of the radiologic manifestations of disease in almost any organ system as well as his natural showmanship. He loved to hit "home runs," getting even the most obscure diagnoses correct and thereby amazing and amusing the assembled throng. On the other hand, Harold hated to be wrong and had a difficult time accepting it on those rare occasions when he might have been.
Dr. Jacobson was a short man with a booming voice. He was the moderator when I gave my first paper at an RSNA annual meeting. As I recall, mine was the only paper in the session not from New York City. Coming, as I did then, from San Antonio, I was nervous. I had practiced to make certain that I would not run over my allotted time and the talk seemed to be going all right when, toward the end of my presentation, Harold's voice boomed out, "One minute to go!" I didn't recall that he had said that to anybody else and it flustered me. I speeded up and finished about 20 seconds later. I then asked, speaking away form the microphone, "Dr. Jacobson, did I finish on time?" He retorted loudly for all to hear, "Why? Did you have something else you wanted to say?" I slinked meekly off the podium and was so belittled that I feared I might get lost in the nap of the rug.
Yes, Harold could get to you. I'm certain he didn't mean it; he did it unknowingly. For instance, Harold was an enthusiastic examiner for the oral examinations of the American Board of Radiology—in neuroradiology, of all things. He was taken by the idea that an examination would be fairer for the examinee if the examiner were not an expert in the area up for examination. It was my first time as an examiner and I had been assigned, along the same line of reasoning, to examine in neuroradiology. I was asked to observe Harold examine to see how it was done. It was an interesting experience. The candidate had done fine on the first two or three cases. Harold was his usual ebullient, jocular self. As he handed the next set films to the candidate, Dr. Jacobson proclaimed loudly, "Your neurosurgeon says if you don't get this case right, he's going to have you fired!" Wow! I thought we had lost the candidate right there, but the candidate somehow managed to recover from this blast and limped, nervously, through the rest of the examination. He needn't have worried. Dr. Jacobson was a pussycat and always gave high scores, higher than almost all other examiners. He just talked tough.
The combination of short stature, bald head, raspy voice, and eyeglasses gave Harold the look of Mr. Magoo, not that anyone would voice that opinion out loud, and certainly not to Harold. He also had the same impish quality as Magoo: Harold could be a lot of fun. He had a lot of friends and admirers. Harold was a most memorable person.
There is a tendency to mourn the passing of great men, as most certainly was Harold G. Jacobson. But better that we should celebrate our good fortune that they have been with us. Harold gave flavor to his time, and it was a piquant sauce, full of character and life. Indeed, with Harold's death, a significant portion of "the old order passeth."
Harold G. Jacobson of the Bronx was a good man and gave radiology all he had. And we are better for it.
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