I remember Josh editing some papers with me

As I start writing this, I get a remembrance of Josh editing some papers with me. We worked on a couple of publications and his revisions were always so elegantly crafted. He was a very good scientific writer. Of course, this was just a manifestation of his special mental capacity for parsing out problems, details, and information in scientifically meaningful ways. Clearly he possessed special talents that benefited his work and career.

I walked into Josh’s 7th floor lab in 1979. He gave me my first job out of college. He had just secured a large research grant and I was one of his first research assistants. It quickly became evident that one doesn’t work for Josh, one works with Josh. He had an irresistibly collaborative nature and treated almost everyone as a colleague. This brought many researchers into the Lab from all over the world for either casual visits or special projects.

The Lab that Josh nurtured brought to life many of the things he believed in: fairness, excellence, devotion, community, and joy.

Actually, he also made it a full life for many of us. What a fun place it was, and sometimes 24/7. The place was always active with several lines of oculomotor and accommodation research, grad students, and visitors. Often we would congregate around the table and make exotic lunches or dinners with delicacies that Josh brought from some gourmet shop he happened to have been passing by. (If not that, then we would wind up at some off the beaten path restaurant, or at his Brewster place.)  I can still see him entering the Lab in the morning - plop goes the briefcase full of articles, a quickly brewed a pot of Bustelo coffee, then straight to briefing us on his latest experiment ideas.

Josh, I think, never liked parting with people. After six years at the Lab, I sought opportunities in industry. Research work is never really done, and I think I let him down. I don’t know if he ever forgave me, but we would catch up every now and then and he was, as usual, very warm and receptive. Truth is, Josh was a very significant part of my life. I always hope that some of the skill and acumen that he shared with me has stayed with me. To this day, he remains the most intelligent and interesting individual I have had the pleasure to work with. Goodbye Josh and thank you.

Jose Velez

Boston, MA

March 29, 2012

A true inspiration

I’m one of Josh’s graduate students. Perhaps the most I have learnt from Josh in the past was not during our discussion on scientific journal articles or writing paper, but the way he lived.

He lived an example of what a scholar should be. He was always reading, whether it was New York Times, or Nature. You seldom saw him eating by himself without grabbing something to read. The diverse collections of literatures he had on the bookshelf can prove it. He was always curious. He attended to seminars whether they were relevant to his work or not. Once he told me that he even went to a discussion group about UFO by himself in his neighborhood in Brewster. He was so amazed at how people thought they really saw UFO. He liked me to argue with him when we discussed science. In my early days in the lab, he liked to keep me staying late until I figured out what he wanted me to learn. Sometimes, he just sneaked out without saying goodbye so that I would keep working on those things.

He was the kind of mentor who doesn’t like to tell you what you should do but to locate the resources that you would figure it out on your own. He inspired me to question the assumptions surrounding us whether it was a common view in history, science, politics or daily lives.

"The good teacher explains. The superior teacher demonstrates. The great teacher inspires. " ~ William Arthur Ward

Josh, you have been and you will always be an inspiration to me.

Caren Sheng

Lines for Josh, for Valerie

No more eggshells, you said,

as if anyone would understand.

There was no time to ask, but Harold thinks you meant

the separation that was there all along,

possibly your scientist’s way of describing

the outer limits of the self,

the shell we are all born with

though we emerge from eggs--

not exactly a wall, more like a membrane or a skin

or the invisible force that holds us each in solitude

despite the longing to be close,

perhaps something that was meant all along

to be broken,

hard as it was, resistant

and in its own way beautiful to behold--

that outer edge, delicate and strong;

and perhaps what you meant was that you

had felt that shell give way,

the lines between self and other finally blurring,

allowing in love, allowing you out.

Magda Bogin

(Read at Josh's memorial service at the Harvard Club)

I knew Josh over many years

I knew Josh over many years at ARVO, especially when we were both on the AP Program committee; Josh was Anatomy Chair and I was Pathology Chair.  I always loved our discussions. He was warm and witty, and so bright.

My deep and sincere condolences to his family. He will be sorely missed by all.

Kathy Pokorny

Josh loved the whole world that food implied

Josh didn't just love to eat, he loved the whole world that food implied, which meant at once a scientific, anthropological and hedonistic exploration of the pleasures of what ingredients could do in ways both expected and surprising. He loved to return to the familiar, so long as it was wonderful, but I think he probably loved most to experience the unfamiliar, especially if it challenged "normal" expectations of what people ate.  

Josh making tamales in Mexico, 2004

When I started Cocinar Mexicano, a cooking program in the village of Tepoztlán, he came to the first session, avid to sample every possible chile, raw and cooked, to get a sense of its exact potential used singly or in combination.  He was thrilled that we put chapulines on the menu---the sautéed grasshoppers that are a crunchy staple of the pre-Hispanic diet and continue to add spice to the Mexican table.  

One of the last things I was able to make for him was agua de jamaica jello, a jelled version of the classic drink made from hibiscus petals, when he could barely eat  and even liquids were difficult.  Yet what a smile he managed, and a thumbs up I will never forget when I told him what it was.  He had a tiny sliver, just to taste it.

In this shot from 2004, he's making tamales and clearly in his element, with corn flour up to his elbows.

Magda Bogin

I first met Josh when I was a post-doc

I first met Josh when I was a post-doc and was honored that when I joined CUNY he asked me to participate in his legendary Neurophysiology Course which I have done so for the past decade. All though we were separated by many years in age we shared the same name and the same high school which led to some joshing, he was always Josh the Wiser and I, Josh the louder. I was always impressed by his knowledge which in neuroscience was encyclopedic and his ability and willingness to take the time to make sure every student understood the point he was making was a trait I tried hard to emulate.

Josh Brumberg

Josh invited me to his lab at City College

 Josh invited me and Ute, my later wife, in December 1986 to visit his laboratory at City College in NY. At the time, we were working in Howard Howland's lab at Cornell University in Ithaca, NY, and since we were supposed to be in Josh's lab in the morning, we flew out of Ithaca very early (still deep night). We made it to his lab at about 8:00 a.m. But there was not really much happening and so we waited. The whole day was then a mix of some discussions with Josh and his lab people (I still have tons of notes in my old lab notebook), inter-rupted by waiting cycles were it was not clear what we should do. Towards the evening, everybody became hungry, but Josh could not make up his mind when and where to go. Somehow, it remained diffuse to us whether we would ever leave or not. Fortunately, David Troilo proposed to take a train to a restaurant a bit more far outside Manhattan. We were no sure why so far, but we found out that there was some interest in the lady behind the bar - which turned out to become David's later wife Susan. We had alcoholic beverages and managed to leave so late that we missed the train. It was freezingly cold outside and we liked the idea of returning to the bar so this was next. Later in the night we were kindly hosted by David. The mixture of the day of discussions about the work, waiting for what would happen if Josh finally wants to go for dinner, freezingly cold winds around the blocks, and the demanding drinks at the end, was something that we never forget.

Sigrid Diether showing Josh her OKN device in 1999

Eight weeks later, Josh came to Cornell. Invited by Howie, he gave a talk entitled "Does retinal activity control eye development and myopia?"  At that time, the topic seemed a wild idea and I was not sure. Howie, Adrian Glasser and me rather believed that, in fact, accommodation somehow fine-tunes axial eye growth, and we did some experiments in chickens wearing spectacle lenses which seemed to support our idea. But Josh did not trust our measurements, may be, and invited me to come to New York with our spectacle lens-treated chickens so that he could check them himself. I got a big box, filled with it about 15 chickens that had worn spectacles before, and went on a greyhound bus. In NY, I somehow I got lost in Harlem and had to walk a long way through the area, with the big box filled with chickens under my arm. I guess this had some protective effect since people were amused and nobody cornered me. In Josh's lab, the previously myopic chicks were suddenly no longer so myopic and I clearly remember the quality of feeling that I had when Josh did not trust my measurements. Fortunately, at least the hyperopic chicks that we measured showed some effect and I felt a bit rehabilitated.

This started a 25 year long always dynamic collaboration. Dynamic, because our ideas often were similar, and several times we did almost the same experiments (without knowing). However, this turned out extremely fruitful, because the experiments either confirmed each other or not, and if not, the reason was even more interesting. Despite some never-ending small competition, Josh was always helpful and provided the details about his experiments. However, he also helped me and our laboratory so many times in more fundamental ways, like as a referee for some German Award, by giving an invited talks at strategically important occasions (that did not return so much to him but much me), or to write recommendations for job applications, by introducing us to people who were just nice, and also later important for us, or by inviting members of our lab to his lab in New York. He also started several lines of our own research just based on a single comment in some discussion at a meeting. 

Josh with with Xiangtian Zhou and Sally McFadden
Wenzhou March 2006

A major driving force in Josh's science was fundamental curiosity, basic and not driven by any political and grant-related issues . Such curiosity was also there outside science, if I think about the various excursions. But his curiosity was particularly obvious when it came to food. I remember going out for a lunch with Josh in 2002 at the myopia conference in Guangzhou. We ended up in a market that was im the basement of some older building, not well illuminated and a lot of especially interesting looking kinds of food on display. Josh went through the place and tasted and tested almost everything that people reached him. I, not seeing much in the dim light and not as open-minded, came from this lunch tour rather hungry.

He also seemed to have never any stomach problems, unclear to me how such a stable system can fail at the end.  We will all miss him very much, and will have a problem to make ARVO be similar as before.

Frank Schaeffel

Tübingen

I met Josh when he served as professor for our first year graduate neuroscience course. Then I took the course as an elective through another degree program. The class was fascinating and Josh demonstrated the patience to indulge our many questions, however naive, with honesty and fairness. I did not do well on one of the early tests and asked what I did wrong. He responded, "you need to learn this material like a neuroscientist." That made me realize that I should be focusing on this subject I realized I found so interesting. I ended up transferring into the neuroscience PhD program. Though I had the good fortune to attend Josh's lectures in many other courses he also served as a sort of unofficial mentor - someone to turn to for an honest answer or novel perspective when not sure who to ask. 8 years later after that first course I am still enjoying a career learning about the infinite mysteries of the brain. Josh was iconic and a bastion of integrity. He was one of those personalities you carry with you in your heart in hopes you can in some humble way attempt to resemble them.

Thomas Radman

A friends reflection on Josh's death

These are the remarks that I delivered at Josh's memorial gathering at the New York Harvard Club on March 9th, 2012.

Harold Garrett-Goodyear



It’s been a week, or almost a week, since Josh died; and during that week, images and stories, sent in individual e-mails, told in conversation, or included in the blog Phil so generously—and wisely—created for Josh’s friends, have both fed our sorrow and measured the great loss we suffered. Odd, isn’t it, that the words and images which describe the extent of our loss also enable us to fortify ourselves against the loss and strengthen us to bear sorrow: each story gives another reason for grief, but each becomes a memory barricading us against the awareness of his absence.

What  these stories and images underscore is how multifaceted, how complex, and how impossible to describe simply and directly was this friend of ours.  The stories I hear or read, the stories I told myself as I prepared for today, bring some heart ease; but they also drive home the impossibility of my goal, to pay just tribute to this man  who was so large a part of my life, for so very long—although today, even half a century  seems a painfully short duration for our friendship.  He deserved a longer life, and I want more time to finish our conversations.

Josh, to be sure, disliked conventional categories, and he was impatient with conventional explanations of people’s actions, and certainly impatient with the easy judgments so many of us make about the people around us.  He seldom relied on obvious categories, he rarely relied on obvious explanations, and I am pretty sure he would experience delight,  that I find myself so frustrated when I attempt to capture and present what his death, or more critically, his life, meant and means to me. My hunch is that Josh would be enormously pleased that so many of his friends were together, to enjoy each other, but also bemused that we worked so hard to find words for what words cannot accomplish.

Reflecting on the many stories and memories in which Josh is a central actor, I find it hard to exaggerate the breadth and depth of friendship Josh forged over a lifetime, hard to miss the complexity and glory of the network of friends he wove together over the years. Our stories and images remind us how extraordinarily broad were Josh’s tastes and interests, in food, in books, in ideas, and in people. But—and there a lot of “buts” when we talk about Josh—but they also remind us how many images of Josh compete now to pin him down, to explain him, or really, to explain why we liked him so much, and why we are so miserably sad that he lives no longer. Our mere presence here testifies to what Josh accomplished, increasing a web of friends so wonderfully diverse. Yet I can’t get around the knowledge that I am relying on these stories as a substitute for his presence, hoping they will distract me from the irreversible fact of his death.

I knew the imminence of his death, yet when the news came, I found the decorum of grief in this modern age ridiculously sober, absurdly “nice.”  I wanted to pummel the heavens, I wanted to cry out my fury that Josh had, after suffering the indignities of wasted body and waning appetite—the waning of so great an appetite for food and for life—finally abandoned the friends he had so long cared for and enriched. I didn’t, of course, make a spectacle of my grief. Surely his death warranted something spectacular; but neither Josh nor I took the heavens all that seriously, and dramatic gestures seemed silly and pointless.

So I am still struggling how to accept the end of  a 50 year friendship, even to find useful words to describe this friendship that began in college,  continued and deepened when he introduced me to Joan in 1964 and then remained  a principal witness to the  courtship and marriage that launched Joan and me on a splendid journey that would, from 1977, include our daughter Cordelia, who, to my infinite gratitude,  today grieves with me Josh’s death.  He was still there, friend and witness, when Joan died in 1992.  Our friendship included  some pretty rough moments, but it was a friendship that remained oh so rewarding and enjoyable and delightful, even at the end when conversation had become so laborious for Josh, when we could no longer, moreover, have a conversation over food, so often the accompaniment to serious or not so serious talk for him. I can, of course, remind myself how incredibly fortunate I and we are, to have had his company at all, to have the friendships and bonds this gathering demonstrates. In our own living and loving, we can celebrate the rich and full life he created for himself and us.

But let’s also remind ourselves that, natural as Josh’s generosity and creativity, not least in making and keeping friends, his enjoyment of life was not always easy or straightforward.  In celebrating the qualities that made us love Josh, that make his death so cataclysmic an event for many of us,  we risk obscuring how hard he sometimes had to work, to enjoy the life now ended. We risk, that is, forgetting or minimizing the bouts of loneliness and depression, occasionally close to paralysis of spirit and will, that Josh from time to time suffered, and we will underestimate the effort he made to create a network of people who could play or work or simply be together, a web of love and caring he created for himself, but also us, a web that is his most generous legacy to us here.  Josh’s friendship was not easy or somehow “natural”; it cost him struggle and required a large expenditure of spirit, and we should hail the achievement, as well as celebrate his outcome of his struggle and expenditure.

Let’s be clear: no one could, on most occasions, see more clearly or perceptively the person he embraced as friend, no one had sharper faculties for finding the point of connection, the quality that enabled a relationship and fostered growth and creativity and fruitful connection. But Josh  could also be insufferable in his teasing, and I found myself on occasion enraged by his presumption  in thinking he knew better than I how I might best lead my life. There were times, several times, when I furiously rejected his attempts to  impose on me  his agenda, his needs, his wishes not at all so sure as was he that he knew what was good for me.

Still, for the most part, he got “it” right, about people, friends, and friendship;; and on two occasions I want to remember now, he got it famously and wonderfully right. One, to which I earlier alluded, was his decision to introduce me and Joan; and I want to borrow his own words about Joan, and that decision, which says as much about Josh as about her—and identifies some of the qualities I so admired and loved in Josh, as in Joan:

“As I was driving up here this morning, I wondered  what it was that I saw in Joan that prompted me to  introduce her to Harold 29 years ago. I am not yet sure, but I think it was her ability to concentrate herself entirely on a single thing. For instance, we used to cook a lot, and while I would be flailing about trying to do many things at once, Joan would be only tasting the sauce, as though in a restaurant.  I think I saw something like that in Harold, although at the time I thought he was just fussy.”

I won’t explore Josh’s remark about my fussiness, except to cite  it as an example of his readiness,  even at Joan’s memorial,  to gently nudge me away from habits and behavior he thought limiting. But Josh, despite the contrast he drew with his own flailing about, was very much like Joan, not only in their appreciation of good food and willingness to invest much attention and energy into preparing it, but in the capacity to be present in the moment, to fully savor the delights of the present, without fretting a lot about the future and what pains it might bring. And he brought that focused attention to each of his friends, prizing in each of them what was to be prized, without invidious comparisons or rankings, finding the point of connection unique to each relationship, and enjoying so fully what was to be enjoyed without anxiety over what he “should” like or dislike.

And the other moment, I can best explain by a story, the story of my penultimate conversation with him, on the Sunday before he died.  He acknowledged the pain, even horror of his weakened body; he was unblinking, as he noted the inexorable progress of his illness.  But he wanted also to talk about the beauty he had experienced, and continued to find, in his awareness of the remarkable community at which he found himself the center, and his wish that it would survive—and he talked about the beauty he found in the intimacy he and Valerie had achieved, an intimacy of trust and unqualified reciprocity that he explained through the imagery of egg shells.

Now, let me say that in the wake of that conversation, I have thought a lot about the imagery he used, and I am acutely aware that, between his weakness and my own dismay over that weakness, I did not press him when I  missed part of what he was saying, especially when, even as I tried to understand the significance of the imagery, I was distracted from his narrative and explanation. I can’t be sure whether he indeed meant egg shells, or eggs with intact shells, or eggs emptied of content, like those with which Joan, Cori and I decorated our Christmas trees.  But his principal point, I am pretty sure, was that most, maybe all, couples, including and maybe most especially loving couples, are both connected and separated by egg shells, egg shells whose integrity each is trying to preserve; the bonds of love may be strong, but full union remains elusive, as a couple dances, or negotiates, around what can be so easily smashed or lost. They lead to difficulty and awkwardness on occasion, these points of fragility, delicacy and danger that the eggshells represent in the relationship, but few relationships are free of precisely such points where care is necessary, and anxiety likely. Josh laboriously but determinedly laid out this image of relationships, in order to tell me that he had found, in the hard weeks of diminishing strength he had just endured, that he and Valerie no longer had to think about egg shells. He had found with her what had previously eluded him, despite his sometimes furious search, for so many years, to find utter openness to another, and a sense of completeness and full integrity with that other. For all his gifts in creating and nurturing deep and powerful friendships, for all the intensity and rewards of his past relationships, only in the last weeks of his life did he enjoy the full intimacy and closeness  and unqualified trust that released him from all constraints on love and unity with another.

A few days after that conversation, Josh married Valerie; and a few days later, Josh died. It seems terribly sad, that he discovered something sought throughout his life, only then to lose life itself. But in my final and very brief conversation with him, not many hours before he died, I was convinced that he saw himself as having brought off a successful coup, eluding his illness and arriving at the home he had worked so hard to make. I know that I may now be guilty of what Josh usually  avoided, of romanticizing and sentimentalizing life and relationships; but I am absolutely sure that  joy in his union with Valerie triumphed, howbeit for a fleeting moment, over pain and the knowledge of oblivion as death approached.

20 years ago this very spring, Josh walked and talked with me on Mount Tom, away from the preparations for Joan’s memorial service, and we tried to make some sense out of her death. We didn’t succeed, of course; but his company helped make the inexplicable and absurd more bearable. Now, once again, I want desperately such company, to help ease me and Cori through another loss that sears the heart and numbs the mind—and I meet only absence. But if Josh’s death is inescapable and irreversible, so also, our friendship, his death cannot erase. The person I am now is a person his so gracious , and wise, and generous, and irritating, and vexing companionship did much to shape. We shall celebrate his life now ended and our own still in progress, with good food and fine wine, with  some laughter and many tears, with lively conversation and pained silence, with teasing words and words of comfort;  and eventually, our lives will return to something akin to normal and ordinary, and our grief will become, not smaller, but more bearable, more easily managed.

But damn it, Josh will not be there, this time  to accompany me towards acceptance and renewed engagement in life. I must grieve this loss, this loss that feels so monstrous, without the comfort and nurturance of his friendship, and gratitude for the friendship now ended must substitute for the warmth of his company. Josh’s capacious heart is stopped, his fertile mind silenced.  It’s a small but very real comfort to me, to say in the company of his friends that he lived his life well, and that his company gave us cause and guidance to live our own lives well and fully. It’s a small, but very real comfort also, that I say this in a room so full of people who will share with me the overwhelming sadness that we must now live our lives without his company.

Harold Garrett-Goodyear
March 9, 2012

Breakfasts with Josh

This photo was taken six or seven years ago.

The Cheyenne Diner no longer exists. It served solid

 if unimaginative food. The best thing were the acoustics: 

no matter how crowded it got you could always 

hear yourself think, and talk.

Josh was my friend of many years.

We had dinners, yes, and other contacts, often including my wife Pam and daughter Cassandra.

But frequently my meetings with Josh were for breakfast, fresh with the inspiration of morning. The places we chose were fairly limited in number and frequently repeated but otherwise the normal standards applied:   the chats with the waitresses, the willingness to try, and to get me to try, [so that in turn he could try], various items I would otherwise have passed by, such as Cuban rolls infused with lard. At one point Josh suggested going to a place called ‘The Pink Teacup,’ nearby up Bleeker. Aptly named. It had frilly pink curtains in the windows, pink lace tablecloths, pink lampshades, napkins, the works. As we sat there in the overwhelmingly pink glow of morning, Josh’s answer to the question of how come we were there, even as he speared a piece of my home made pork sausage, was that it was difficult to find a place where they made soft scambled eggs with just the right touch of softness, and that the ladies who owned The Pink Teacup knew the secret.

I thought at the time how Josh paid attention to and enjoyed so many things in life, including the small things like soft scrambled eggs or the health of his succulent plants in Brewster. Reflecting now, I know that had I walked past a place with pink curtains I would have kept going, probably with increased speed. Josh’s reactions were different, because he started with a ‘what if,’ and always seemed to have the drive to pursue the answer.

I do not remember a moment of silence. The breakfasts were a never-ending conversation, sometimes personal, sometimes abstractly serious, often fantastical. Josh had the most wonderful ability to take a well-worn topic and, with only one sentence, to set it askew, so that new ideas could build and vector through the crack into a suddenly-fresh reality.

 I will miss Josh for many, many reasons. But I do not think I diminish the others by saying I will miss the banter. When you think about it, banter is not so simple. It requires inventiveness, the ability to take as good as you give [the little sarcastic swipes], and in a very strange way, noncompetitiveness.  Josh had all those qualities, and more. He delighted at any sign of life from others, and, as the most important quality for bantering, he lived for playfulness.

George T. Bujarski

Josh and Valerie's wedding

As most of you know, Josh and Valerie were married on March 2nd, just before his death on the 3rd.  This is their wedding photo taken in his apartment.  Valerie provided it to me and has allowed me to post it.  I think it's a warm and tender photo.  Josh conducted his life with typical grace right up to its end.

Phil Bredesen

Josh at 40

The blog has a lot of photos of Josh in recent years, and some as a youth.  I thought you might enjoy this one of  him reading to our son Ben here in Nashville.  Josh would be 39 or 40 years old in this photo.  I'd almost forgotten what he looked like with the dark black hair and beard.

 Ben loved interacting with him, and now has a daughter of his own who likes to be read to.  Sorry it's not Josh again.

Phil Bredesen

Josh loved Dogs!

June, 2011 - left to right: Myself (James), Josh, Donut & Mark

Another quick share: on March 3, 2011, my dog Pretzel was struck and killed by a car. Nobody understood better than Josh what a devastating impact this had on me. I recall sitting in his office (he was undergoing chemotherapy and radiation treatments at the time) as he explained that he was still saddened by the loss of a dog (belonging to a friend) he dearly loved, that had passed away a decade past.

Perhaps 6 weeks later, I told Josh that my wife and I were planning on adopting a new puppy, and that further, little Donut would be spending her days with us in the lab for a few months. Josh took a shine to her immediately, calling her simply "little dog." He was always happy to introduce our new mascot, never taking issue even when she had accidents on the small rug at the main lab-entrance.

I remember clearly going over some data with Josh as he played with Donut; he was letting her nibble on his hand a bit, and he said to me: "I hope I'm not going against any attempts at training by letting her chew on my hand." I replied that this was no problem what-so-ever, and indeed it is not. There are, however, few things that Donut now enjoys quite so much as the taste of my fingers.

Thanks so much to Ruth Schippert for sending me this photo.

For Josh Wallman

This is the remembrance of Josh that I presented at the gathering on March 9th at the Harvard Club:

This story like most NY stories starts out simply but doesn’t end that way.  On February 2, 1994 I met a chick and fell in love.  As a part of a City College research career scholarship, I was asked to work in a biomedical science laboratory.  I was directed to Josh Wallman’s lab as a possibility, and Josh proceeded to introduce me, an avid animal lover, to chick #2396.  While I was falling deep, stroking the chick’s down and watching it fall asleep in my palm, I can vaguely recall Josh in the background explaining something about myopia and lenses and using big words like “emmetropization”.  Emmetropi-what?  I remember that he was so clearly excited about the topic and that I was so clearly excited about chick 2396 wondering how I was going to be able to put it in my pocket and take it home.  A prior Russian language and Soviet studies major, I thought that this research thing maybe wasn’t half bad if I could work with the chicks and possibly learn a thing or two about science.  This was the grossest underestimation of what was to be.  What I gained from my experience from Josh’s lab and from Josh was so much more. 

As I reflect on my almost 20 years of friendship with Josh, two important lessons of many stand out.  The first is that science is a gift that allows us to communicate our thoughts and ideas and that also provides a space for nurturing others both personally and professionally.  Josh was a brilliant scientist and strove for great science with creativity, love, passion and exacting standards. He also easily recognized talent and cultivated it with the same creativity, love and passion.  The second lesson, perhaps of even greater importance, is that it is the unlikely relationship that yields unusual learning and growth.  An individual can have an unbelievable impact on your life, completely altering its trajectory.  It might be that one would reach the same endpoint but the quality and breadth of that experience makes an indelible mark on both people.  Sometimes that individual is exactly who you need at that particular moment in time. Josh was who I needed when I was at City College as I was redefining my career and life goals. 

My mother preached that academics was the key to success.  For me, Josh provided the door.  When I got into medical school, we celebrated.  When our paper was published, we found and ate the most expensive hamburger in the city of New York.  When I published my first paper in a cardiovascular journal, my first phone call was to Josh and when I got my first NIH grant, Josh was as happy as I was.  We both knew that my successes, past, present and future belong to not only me but to him as well.

I was blessed that our relationship was never stagnant, evolving from mentor/mentee to colleague and friend.  I was blessed that I could provide in at least a small measure some degree of knowledge, understanding and comfort to him in the latter years when he had provided me with so much more along our journey. And blessed to see him in love.

Sadness fills me when I think of his passing yet never overwhelms me because it is so difficult to think of Josh without a smile coming to my face. And I know that you know what I mean.  My memories: Rushing by cab down to the only post office open until midnight so that we could get a submission out on time, nearly missing almost every train that I have ever taken with him, my trying to convince him to go into real estate with me or his trying to convince me to eat something that God never intended for anyone to eat.  And most notably, Kim and I trying to teach him how to do the electric slide during our wedding reception.  I wish that I had had a videographer. 

 I loved this man.  Truly, deeply, honestly and fiercely.  He was my friend.  He was my family.  And I like everyone here will miss him greatly.

Rhondalyn McLean, M.D.

I worked in Josh's lab in the late 90s

I was lucky enough to have spent a few years working in Josh’s lab in the late 90’s.

For me it was rich and rewarding experience, full of great memories with Josh, the semi-wild man from the south Jim Mertz, the ever suave Jonathan Winawer, the diligent Chea-su Kee and all the other terrific people who frequented the lab.

I will always remember the day Josh bought an espresso maker.  We all had a go making espressos for everyone else so we could work out the best way to use it.  After 5 or

6 espresso shots within about 10 minutes I went to measure a few chicken and experienced an anxiety attack.  While I was quietly melting down not really knowing what was happening (I was not a coffee devotee at this point) Josh came flying by, unable to stand still, sweating and said “wow I’m really flying after all those coffees”.  I still smile when I think of it and it seems like it was yesterday, perhaps my coffee induced panic burnt it into long term memory.

I learnt many things from Josh, like a love for fine and unusual food, but it wasn’t until years later I realised what the most profound lesson was.  Josh’s integrity, openness and deep passion for the work he loved seeped into my sole and inspires me for the better every day.  It will be to my lasting regret that I never thanked Josh for the lasting and positive influence he had on me, both as a person and a scientist. I just hope that ‘satisfaction for a job well done’ was behind at least part of Josh’s smile whenever we met in later years.

Josh, it is a testimony to your character that you left so many loving friends behind.  I will miss you and the world is a much less interesting place without you.

Until we meet again, perhaps in the restaurant at the end of the universe where I’m sure you’ll have built your new lab.

Marcus Howlett.

Amsterdam

Wonderful memories of Josh's life

I regret not being able to make it to the memorial- I was presenting a paper at a professional meeting and I know Josh would want me to honor this commitment. I am extremely sad about Josh's stuggle but I have wonderful memories about his life. My childhood memories of Josh include his close alliance with my father Lou, his uncle, and the laughter they shared. I remember seeing my dad and Josh sitting on crates outside the First Avenue store watching the world go by and talking about the issues of the day.  I also remember my uncle Frank's pride about his son' successes and Frank's deep love for both of his boys.  My memories of Josh as an adult, like most of the other posts, include lots of intense talk, food, and laughter.  Josh enjoyed life and was always so open about finding time to share with his circle of friends and family.  When my three sons were adolescents Josh always opened his home to them for their trips to the big city and each of them came back with an appreciation of his openness  and intelligence.  Josh was a joy to be around and I especially cherish the time I spent with him when I was on sabbatical in NYC during the winter of 2000. He came to one of my talks at Columbia Presbyterian and I remember his thoughtful comments. It was very special to have a cousin with intersecting interests.

Fondly,  

Suzanne McDermott

Some memories from Brazil

My husband and I were introduced to Josh by Beate, his friend. That was a long time ago. We became friends and every time we would visit NY, Josh was on our priority list.

After the 9/11 disaster, I remember trying to contact Josh, once I saw on TV that NY was closed from 14th St. down. What an agony not to be able to reach our NY friends those days!

After a healing recess of 5 years, we resumed our trips to NY and were once more welcomed by Josh and his willingness to please his friends from abroad. As we were (I am still!) very fond of good food, our preferred meetings would be around a good restaurant table and a variety of delícias! We always left the choice up to him, and he never disappointed us.

Two remarkable moments: we dined together on the last Presidential Election Day. After the meal in the Village, we went to an Irish pub and celebrated together the announcement of Obama’s victory. When we left the pub, Josh commented how people were happy in the streets, greeting one another almost as if we were in Brazil on a Final World Cup’s Day…

And one funny memory from São Paulo: once he came to a Conference and the first 2 days he was received by the people of the Conference. Then he moved to our home and we took him to a nice restaurant. Out of pure gentileza, only when we left the place he told us that his previous hosts had taken him to the very same restaurant (and this in a city known for the huge amount of choice in terms of food!). We laughed about that for the next many years.
We miss him very much and it’s a part of our past that has died with him.

Josh, enjoy your time wherever you are. When we arrive there, we’ll resume our encounters, OK?

Sonia Labate

This is the poem that I read at Josh's memorial on March 9

FOR JOSH

At day’s end, without conscious effort, sometimes

suddenly we know the day was somehow very special.

The unexpected play of sunlight through clouds lighting

a pedestrian street?  Perhaps.  The sumptuous laugh

of a surly neighbor, not one to laugh?  The apology

for an anonymous poke from a faceless commuter?  Who knows,

or cares, why that specialness occurs.  For our kind,

however, we try to understand why, at the end of day,

some few among us are chosen exemplars for many.

Josh was a core friend, always ready to continue

a conversation paused or interrupted months before.

In his presence food had more savor; jokes were funnier;

remembrances more poignant; edgy observations edgier.

He was deeply connected to the spirit that animates us all.

Whether he knew it or not, mostly I think not,

And he’d certainly deny it, if posited hypothetically,

Josh took root on a bank of the river of life.

Okay “took root” is stretching it.  His nest was a quirk

of urban housing law: a squalid sprawl of beds and bedding;

of books, and recipes, unwashed dishes; and students

of diverse disciplines, domestic and international;

transients and intransigents; colleagues, friends and lovers.

Unique among those who shared your roost for significant

duration was a lovebird who’d lost her mate and flew into

your apartment to find another lovebird that also

had lost its mate.  The revelation that speaks to your special

connection to the world at large is this happened twice!

Josh, the palpable presence of your absence is, and will be,

keenly felt by Valerie, your friends (close and casual),

by neighbors, collaborators, birds of many feathers,

far longer and more deeply than you could ever imagine.

Steven Somkin, March 4, 2012

The first incident with the lovebirds occurred several decades ago; the second incident is, of course, metaphorical.  

I've known Josh for many years

I have known Josh for many years. I enjoyed going out to dinner with him when I was in NY. He always enjoyed the maple syrup I made and gave to him. He was an interesting guy . He will be missed.

Byron Peck

what i learned from josh

what i learned from josh:

that life is too short- and less meaningful-  if you don't stay connected

that if you are going to stay connected and well liked, you have to have something consistently good to bring to the table or no one will want to hang out with you year after year

josh brought lots to the table- literally for me- because it’s where i met him the most - either in my restaurant- that i’m proud to say he loved and “got” or at beate & michael’s (who also know that good food and conversation are a great pairing), or in chinatown, or at a great new place (that he always new about first), or at his beautiful home in brewster that was beautiful because he was

he consistently brought smarts, warmth, inquisitiveness... to every get together. i always left him with the same thought- i need to be more social, i need to engage more of the world around me, that the reason josh did it so consistently well is that he’s “the real thing” - a title i’ve bestowed on others only several times in my life, and the reason i don’t engage enough- i’m scared

he reminded, and will remind me daily, that as the boy scouts taught me many years ago- “you leave a place better than you found it”

josh left his mark every place he went and with everyone he touched- all those places and all those people are better off for knowing him

it’s a lesson i’m still learning

thanks josh- i’ll do my best

stuart tarabour

Story behind the picture of Josh's prize-winning Bronx HS project

Daniel Gardner posted the school newspaper photo of Josh with the exhibit he took to the Westinghouse Finalists meeting in Washington - A very small part of my relationship with Josh, which began 53 years ago at Bronx Science, was photographing Josh with the exhibit late in the evening before his early morning departure to Washington.  Reading some of the posts, I thought others might enjoy seeing how the complex of qualities for which Josh was loved were already quite well established before he won the prize which compelled his Harvard college admission and launched him on the figurative and physical world-wide road where most of the other memorial blog  contributors felt so privileged to encounter him.

The story of the photo foreshadows the dinners not pre-cooked, the recipes not followed, the involvement of friends, losing the wedding rings, BUT in the end, through great wit, engaging banter coming up with an extraordinary result and everyone  involved sharing - feeling part of - his joy and success and laughing about it all.

----The story of the picture begins with my difficulty in pinning down a day when I could do the school newspaper photo- He kept making excuses for not doing it despite knowing we had  a printers deadline to meet... When I pressed him, he finally admitted that the exhibit "wasn't finished" –

Apart from the photo requirement, talking to each other for 1/2 to 2 or more hours almost every evening, despite the dismay it caused and complaints of our respective mothers,  had long been an important ritual and mechanism for mutual  reflection and in some respects emotional survival for each of us.

After failing to agree to any other time, Josh suggested I come for the photo-op on the last evening before departure when he  would pose with the exhibit. --That gave me barely enough time to get the photo engraving completed and added to the already done lead type-set layout being held back because of Josh at the printers shop on Bleecker Street   The blog readers who knew Josh, have now already anticipated the next part of the story - To my great surprise - at the time - when I arrived and walked into his room in the home on 69th street,  I didn't see the exhibit -- "Where is it? I need to set up the lights for the photo..." Josh showed me the BLANK Story boards and ran off to the darkroom!!!

I followed -- He was just printing and reprinting the bird photos that are visible behind Josh's back on the left edge of the picture. Like helping cook the meal or not eating, I found myself helping put together the exhibit material. My contribution was immaterial in a fundamental sense - but necessary for him to make a showing the next day in D.C. –

Much later that evening we finally set up the exhibit - the 1961 photo technology now scanned from the old glossy newspaper doesn't show either the sweat dripping down Josh's brow or his perspiration soaked shirt when we finally shot the photo.  

No photo could ever show the effort I put in to get my little print  photo "credit" on the lower right photo corner - a credit which now is the tiniest part of the memorial to my departed close  high school friend.

But there is more to the story -- Finding my name at the lower right corner isn't important -- but looking carefully at the rest of the picture might lead the reader into the funniest part of the story -- the part that says this only could have happened to and because of Josh –

How many readers can identify what is remarkable about the exhibit pictured?? The eminent panel of Scientists hired by Westinghouse to judge in person the 40 Finalists Exhibits in  Washington either missed it --- or more likely we hypothesized afterwards.......never had a chance to find it because Josh engaged each of them verbally and so completely involved them in the artful rigor of his experiments and reporting that they were powerless to notice - like a waiter or a new friend who's complete attention Josh could completely absorb and command in just a moment.

After that issue of Science Survey was distributed one classmate found the Goof Josh (and I ) made that night –

So.....who among the readers here noticed that we had misspelled EsophAgus ! When she saw the printed newspaper, long after Josh returned as the triumphant National Winner, Josh's high school girlfriend, Ginny Jordan, immediately pointed out the error -- No one else had.

Had the panel of eminent (but not infallible) scientists focused  on the goof and (stupidly) let it detract from their CORRECT  assessment of Josh's talents and potential, Josh's path might have been quite different and many whose lives he enriched as  amply documented in this memorial might have suffered a loss greater than they would ever know.

Goodbye to my friend with whom I shared so much  difficulty and happiness. Thank You.

Leslie Levy, M.D., J.D

(Science '61 )  

A post from the CUNY Biology Ph.D. program

The Biology Ph.D. Program at the City University of New York is deeply saddened by the loss of our much-admired colleague, Professor Joshua Wallman.  Dr. Wallman had become something of a fixture in the Neuroscience subprogram – having taught Neuroscience I to our first-year neuroscience students for over two decades.  His love and enthusiasm for science was equaled only by his dedication to transferring that enthusiasm to students.   He has also given selflessly to the Neuroscience subprogram, in general, having often served on its advisory committee.  During the last several years, plans have been made to move toward a multi-disciplinary program in the neurosciences, and Professor Wallman’s wise counsel has been invaluable to those efforts.  All of his fellow doctoral faculty members, his students in the classroom, and his students in the laboratory have lost a treasured colleague/mentor, but all of us are enriched by what he provided to us while he was here.  

Laurel A. Eckhardt, Ph.D.
Executive Officer, CUNY Ph.D. Program in Biology
Hesselbach Professor, Dept. Biological Sciences, Hunter College
The City University of New York

A bright and lovely person

I know Josh for 12 years when Beate Echols introduced us. Josh was one of the most bright and lovely person I met. His passing is a huge loss and a teaching to size each moment of our lives. Josh, I am thankful for the wonderful moments we all had with you and I continue chanting for your eternal Happiness.

Liza Renia and Mourrice Papi

His friends were his family

Many people have said things about Josh that I would have said.  He was my very dear friend, always welcoming, always interested in how things were, always encouraging when occasionally things were tough, and full of stimulating conversation and ideas. I was so fortunate to have him as a friend.

So here are a few affectionate memories. I got to know Josh well during the year Fred & I spent in NY (1987/8).  Fred & Josh worked together at City College, and we would spend most weekends together at Brewster.  I remember the enjoyment he got from helping us find an apartment – we ended up just round the corner from Carmine on Bleeker between 6^th & 7th – as well as the delight he took showing us round the Village and eventually the amusement he derived from sending his friends round for our escorted tour of The East Village. 

We went, together with other friends, for two weeks to the Galapagos Islands. Being captive on board ship he was clearly anxious about food and arrived with several jars of hot sauce to liven up what he expected to be a very dull menu with no choices.  He was correct, of course, and we were all grateful both for the hot sauce and his amusing comments on the food. With the same group we later went on safari to Tanzania where he took the most beautiful photos of animals, birds and people.

Josh gave me a surprise subscription to “Saveur” Magazine. I knew it was from him when I read the address label, which read “Jefferson Miles”. The name evolved slowly.  First J’fer, then when Fred & I were spending time in Japan, it became J’fersan and, on our return to the States, it became Jefferson. Whenever I receive mail for “Jefferson Miles” I know its origin.  He would send amusing cards from restaurants to Jefferson Miles, & I particularly remember the one from The Kitchen Club: three nude ladies riding a pig! 

  

Last December, Susan & Albert Fuchs and Fred & I took a house for a long weekend at Chincoteague in Virginia and Josh & Valerie joined us for a couple of days. It was probably the last time Josh went bird watching. There were flocks of snow geese and white ibis & the usual water birds, all seen against a perfect blue sky and golden reeds. He & Valerie cooked duck & sausage gumbo, and it was almost like old times.  It was a joy to see the love that he & Valerie shared. 

Josh said often that his friends were his family, and he leaves a large family to remember him. As if we could forget………….

Jefferson (Jennifer) Miles

Nachana Haveli

Jaisalmer

Rajasthan

India

Josh, mon ami

Josh, mon ami.

Une fin d’après-midi d’août 1979 (c’était mon premier voyage aux US), Josh, (un ami de Keitha) m’attendait à Penn Station (ou à Gran Central je ne sais plus). Keitha m’avait dit : il est facile à reconnaître : chauve avec des lunettes, tu ne peux pas le rater. Quant à moi, je portais une robe jaune et un sac de voyage orange, j’étais visible de loin. A deux cents mètres de la gare (on voyait les lumières du quai), le train s’immobilisa, les lumières s’éteignirent. Nous restâmes ainsi bloqués pendant deux bonnes heures. En descendant du train, je pensais que Josh aurait perdu patience et serait parti. Hé bien non, le chauve à lunettes m’attendait sur le quai. Nous nous rendîmes à Carmine Street où il faisait une chaleur d’étuve et, une fois mon sac posé, Josh regarda sa montre : c’était l’heure de dîner. « Vous êtes à NY, au centre de toutes les cuisines du monde. Que voulez-vous manger ? » « Je veux manger Américain ». Il parut déçu, perplexe même, demeura silencieux un moment et brusquement, son visage s’illumina : il savait où nous allions dîner ! Nous atterrîmes ce soir là dans un restaurant de soul food : spare ribs, haricots noirs, délicieux !  La conversation cependant laissait à désirer, mon anglais scolaire manquait de vocabulaire, mais Josh, sans jamais me venir en aide, attendait patiemment que je trouve mes mots. C’était épuisant. Le lendemain, il m’emmena dans le bar que fréquentait jadis Dylan Thomas. Nous découvrîmes alors les vertus du bloody mary sur ma pratique de l’anglais. Josh quant à lui, découvrit ce jour là qu’il pouvait parfaitement  se faire comprendre en parlant anglais avec l’accent français. C’était hilarant ! La communication était établie.

Elle ne devait jamais s’interrompre. J’appris l’anglais grâce à Josh (pas assez cependant pour l’écrire correctement), mais lui n’apprit jamais le français. Qu’importe ! Nous pouvions rire, plaisanter, jouer avec les mots et les idées, aller au cinéma, voyager.

Josh était l’être le plus généreux que je connaisse : généreux de son temps, de son écoute, de son savoir, de son argent. Il m’a invitée dans les plus grands restaurants new yorkais et parisiens, nous avons cuisiné ensemble des plats exquis, jusqu’à la recette des cailles en sarcophage du Festin de Babette, le film de Gabriel Axel que nous avions aimé. Josh était l’unique scientifique que je connaissais dont la bibliothèque ne comptait que des romans. Un ami écrivain à qui je commentais la chose me dit : c’est donc un homme qui est passionné par la réalité. Oui, Josh était bien passionné par la réalité des êtres, des choses, de la nature, du monde, de la vie.

Il ne comprendrait pas un traitre mot de ce que je viens d’écrire, mais il comprenait si bien le langage du cœur que je ne m’inquiète pas outre mesure.

Ami, c’est certain, nous nous retrouverons un jour.

En attendant, tous tes amis sont mes amis.

Je t’embrasse. A bientôt.

Paule Darmon

pauledarmon@yahoo.fr

Josh and his Godson Tyler

This is Josh with his Godson Tyler in 2006.

Audrey Davidson