Robert A. Davidoff M.D., Class of 1958

When I was five, as my parents drove past Bellevue, my father pointed to the big building and told me that was Bellevue Hospital, the most famous hospital in the whole world, and that when I grew up I would go there to learn to be a doctor. From then on, I realized that as far as he was concerned it was medical school or else—end of discussion! So with my future decided, I raced through school. At an unsophisticated 19, shy, introverted, and depressed about my mandatory career choice, I entered NYU to meet my fate.

I can’t say I enjoyed med school much. After the first 25 blood counts and urine analyses, I concluded that “scut” work wasn’t really contributing to my education. I also considered it humiliating to hide out in the patients’ bathroom when William Tillett made rounds because he didn’t like to set eyes on medical students. But I did like physiology and pathology, and I found neuroanatomy fascinating because everything seemed to fit together so elegantly. Never mind that later, as I pointed out in several reviews, I realized that practically everything Louis Hausman taught us about function was in error.

I was asked to be a sub-intern for the last two months of my senior year. It was a transforming experience. Despite the every-other-night rotation and all the difficulties of taking care of patients at Bellevue, within several weeks my depression lifted; I started to feel confident and content, maybe even happy. I liked the sense of responsibility and the excitement of having to think on my feet—so different from being a clerk. It seemed that, after all, I was really delighted to be a physician. I was happy to match for an internship at III Bellevue, and stayed on after that for a year of medical residency. Next, I decided to take one year of neurology at Mt. Sinai Hospital before returning to complete my medical residency. But I never did come back . . .

I found Morris Bender, Chief of Neurology at Mt. Sinai, exciting, inspiring, and—best of all—iconoclastic. I was seduced into neurology and wanted nothing more than to become a hot-shot clinician. After 14 months, however, the Navy drafted me, and finding itself with one too many neurologists, sent me to a research unit in San Diego, a psychophysiology laboratory. I had never even thought of doing investigative work, but after writing three major papers, my perspective changed; perhaps an academic career would suit me. So after finishing my residency, I accepted a post-doc to do bench work on spinal cord pharmacology at Indiana University. I was a member of the triad who discovered that remarkably the simplest amino acid glycine was the major spinal postsynaptic inhibitory transmitter. So I began a lifetime of studying neurotransmitters.

After a few years as IU faculty, I was recruited by the University of Miami where I remained for the next 33 years, retiring in 2002 as Professor Emeritus of Neurology, Physiology, and Pharmacology, Chief of Neurology at the Miami VA Medical Center, Vice-Chairman of the Neurology Department, and Head of a spinal cord neuropharmacology laboratory. Over the years, I had a good mix of clinical and basic science teaching, did research and administration, and ran a small Headache Clinic for private patients at the University. I had the good fortune of continuous NIH/VA funding. Our lab did much of the original work identifying the amino acid GABA as the transmitter responsible for presynaptic inhibition in the spinal cord and elucidating how GABA and other amino acid transmitters worked and interacted with modulators in the spinal cord. (One grant-reviewer characterized me as the “world’s expert on the pharmacology of the frog spinal cord”).

Although the lab work had little, if anything, to do with clinical medicine, I did also have a clinical focus: Headache. I became a “headache maven”—developing a reputation as the expert of “last resort” for patients with intractable headache in South Florida and even Latin America. I wrote the definitive monograph on migraine (2nd edition, Oxford Univ. Press, 2002). I decided to retire in 2002 in large measure because academic Neurology had changed so much. Teaching either clinical medicine or basic material—once such an important part of my life—was no longer enjoyable or, at times, even pleasant. I was saddened to see what excited me about neurology was of little interest to residents focused mainly on the results of laboratory data and on evidence-based management of disease.

My professional career, rewarding as it was, had always cut into other interests. Now, it’s back to the tropical fish of my childhood, this time with attention to the technical aspects of water chemistry and growing aquatic plants. I collect stamps again and grow exotic ferns; Judy, my English-professor wife of 43 years (Ph.D., medieval studies and linguistics), grows orchids. I’ve always been an avid reader, especially history. Now I have time to audit graduate-level history courses. Judy and I have also been digging into our Jewish roots. Last summer we traveled to Israel for three weeks. We are both are interested in primitive art and have a substantial collection of African and Inuit works.

And there is the family . . . We are fortunate that both our children live nearby. Sarah, who never wanted to do anything but cook, is a Culinary Institute of America-trained chef who owns and operates an upscale catering company. Our son Arieh, despite his degree in Voice and Religion from the UM Music School, makes his living as a forensic computer expert, (although when he does mount the bimah at our Temple to sing, we relish his beautiful baritone). And 18-months ago, Sarah produced our first grandchild—the brilliant, beautiful, and talented Jacob. Most times I even think retirement beats working.

(The caricature appeared in the student newspaper. I don’t have an Adam’s apple.)