Goodbye, Bob
I could never really understand how people could publicly grieve for a celebrity or hero they had never even met, but I guess if a person’s actions and words make a strong enough impact on you, you can develop a connection with that person. At least that’s the bond that I felt existed with Dr. Bob LeBow, who passed away yesterday . I received a message on a health care activist listserv last night from the director of the hospital where Bob was staying saying that he had died.
I only had heard stories about Bob–unfortunately never had the chance to meet him. He was a former president of PNHP , where I worked last year, and a couple weeks into my job, Bob finished his excellent book, Health Care Meltdown . About three days later, Dr. LeBow got into an accident–he flipped over his bicycle, wearing a helmet–and broke his neck. I had the honor of designing the cover for the first printing of the book , inspired by Bob’s collection of old medical advertising, and felt privileged just to be able to work with him and his wife Gail.
Bob was an amazing physician. He worked for 30 years at the Terry Reilly Health Services Clinic in rural Idaho, providing health care to the uninsured in the state. He biked everywhere he went, I’m told, climbed mountains, and traveled the world. He was an advocate for patients, and a writer and activist for national health insurance. It doesn’t matter what your political view on the subject–for it or against it–for Dr. LeBow, it was simply a matter of dignity. He always wrote about the need to give all people–regardless of their race, class, income, or opinions–respect and dignity. And those without health insurance paid for their care not with money, they paid with their dignity.
If I can be half as remarkable in life as Dr. LeBow was, I’ll have far exceeded my expectations for this life. I remember hearing word that once Dr. LeBow awoke from his coma after his accident and found the strength to speak, he wanted to know how his situation could help the health care reform movement. You’ll be missed, Dr. LeBow.