Portal de Periódicos da CAPES

Multiple Metaphors for Mentoring

2011; Elsevier BV; Volume: 131; Issue: 11 Linguagem: Inglês

10.1038/jid.2011.286

1523-1747

Thomas B. Fitzpatrick, Lowell A. Goldsmith,

Mentoring and Academic Development

The substance (the “what”) of the life and accomplishments of Thomas B. Fitzpatrick, familiarly known as TBF, has been extensively recorded, including laudatory and commemorative essays in the February 2004 issue of JID (volume 122, pages vii–xli). The “why” of his drive is best left to those who delve into the nature of creativity. The “where” for TBF was Harvard and Massachusetts General Hospital; those twin galaxies attracted raw youth from academia, individuals who wanted to plot their own paths in the dermatological universe. This editorial contribution concentrates on the “how” of my experience as a small planet orbiting in an irregular path around and bathed by TBF’s illumination. Like the sun, he could attract and maintain diverse planets, sustaining them by his gravity, illuminating some with warmth and maintaining others in more distant orbits. Some he attracted briefly, but tightly, as they passed through his solar system and on to distant celestial paths. TBF had his own clear, self-designated path through the scientific heavens. He set future directions by keeping a certain course and avoiding diversions. Like Odysseus, he tried to stuff our ears with wax so we could avoid the Siren calls that were growing in academia and stay on course. He always demanded the best, but he knew and accepted human frailties. Like a master gardener, he established microenvironments, allowing exotic people to flower, pollinate, and develop. We may have competed with TBF, but he minimized ignoble and nonproductive squabbles with our peers. For many, he was Obi-Wan Kenobi before the era of Star Wars, always making us better. Maintaining the constantly changing village of our peers may have been an important part of the magic of his success. Those developing on the TBF Mount Olympus could see the shortcomings and quirks of the Master and would go on to populate their own worlds and solar systems without destroying him. We often incorporated the best of his spiritual DNA into our own approach to careers. Many of us have our own collection of sayings—maybe not within a book with a silver chain, but somewhere in our study or on our laptop—continuing his tradition of looking for pithy inspirations and analyses. For some of us, TBF was a father figure, an uncle, an older brother. He was always a model, but not an idol—his great traits were recognized, his shortcomings acknowledged—and his mentees strove to improve on his model, recognizing that it was no small task. We honored TBF in many ways. He was awarded an honorary doctor of science degree from the University of Rochester when I was inaugurated as the dean of the School of Medicine and Dentistry. His face expressed pure happiness on this auspicious occasion for both of us. He knew that he had fulfilled one of his goals for dermatology through my achieving my own.