Dr. Norman Sidney Blackman, MD, FAAC, FACP, FCCP

July 23, 1919 – March 14, 2008

 

Dr. Norman S. Blackman, a cardiologist and prominent member of New York City’s medical community, died in Yonkers on Friday March 14, 2008.  He was 88 years old.  He was not just an exceptional man, he was my father.  Since there was no funeral, this is my written tribute to him --  Alison Blackman Dunham aka. Advice Sister Alison

 

My father was a man of great ideas, ideals, and character. He was not just a great human being, he was a great dad.  A friend of my father's recently said: "Your father was a principled and highly ethical person. Yet, he did not suggest how others should act, he just knew how he wanted to act." Dad was highly intelligent and thoughtful. He judged each person on his or her own merits, and he was dignified, gracious,  generous and kind. He had incredible, blue eyes that sparkled with life.

Dad lived in Brooklyn most of his life. He attended college at Columbia University and medical school at St. Louis University. During World War II he was inducted into the United States Army,  where he served as Chief of Medical Services at Fort George Wright in Washington State. After finishing his military service, he returned to New York, where he established a cardiology practice in Brooklyn.

As  well as treating thousands of patients in his more than 40 years as a physician, my father served as President of both the Medical Society of the County of Kings and New York State Medical Society and was a member of the Board of Regents of the Long Island College Hospital in Brooklyn.  He also served for many years on the New York City Firemen’s Pension Board, where in 1987 he was held hostage by a gunman who had just fatally shot another member of the Board. As his colleague lay dying, with the gun now aimed at his head, my father called "911" and then calmly talked the gunman into surrendering his weapon and escorted him into police custody. Local newspapers throughout New York hailed him a hero.

My father was a highly creative man. He probably would have become a concert pianist, had his mother not insisted he get a "real profession."  Music was his biggest joy until the moment he took his last breath. Dad would come home from work and play the piano, stopping just long enough to eat dinner with the family. As my sister and I did our homework, we'd hear him practicing something from Beethoven or Chopin, or perhaps Scott Joplin.  He was not the sort of man to show his emotions (we called him "the great stone face") but we always knew something was upsetting him if he played the piano for a really, really long time. Dad also played the cello, flute, alto and soprano recorders, clarinet, guitar, and ukulele (just to name a few). 

When he wasn't working or playing the piano, Dad worked to better the practice of medicine. In addition to being a prominent member of the City’s and State's medical community, he was a staunch advocate of medical malpractice reform. He wrote extensively on the topic, as Editor of the Kings County Medical Society Bulletin and authored a book on the topic with attorney Dr. Charles P. Bailey (Liability in Medical Practice, A Reference for Physicians).  He was awarded three U.S. Patents:  one for a hospital bed that prevented bedsores, one for an audio-calibrated stethoscope  that could more easily detect heart murmurs, and one for a new type of syringe that wouldn't leak when you had to take multiple vials of blood.  He was a good artist , and loved crafts. One of his projects was a  full-sized, working merry-go-round for my sister and I, featuring an elephant, leopard, donkey, and giraffe. He was a talented photographer who especially loved to aim his Nikons at insects, animals, and flowers. He wanted to inspire his daughters to try new things. He was a champion fencer and athlete.  He taught my sister and I how to  figure skate, figure algebra, sing in three part harmony, speak French, and count lightening strikes. He liked to perform magic shows for the family, showing all of us the "secrets" after the performance.  

Dad and my mother, Sylvia Blackman, were childhood sweethearts who were happily married more than 52 years. They were devoted to one another, a bit like Ronald and Nancy Reagan (need I say more)?  When she became ill, he retired from medical practice to care for her at home as she wished.  Since he was a cardiologist, my father's practice included many elderly patients.  "I'm a doctor and I know what happens," he advised. "You get into the medical system, and then you lose control of your decisions. They put you on machines and hook you up to tubes when there is no hope of any recovery. And you have to lie there, helpless.  I've seen too many of my patients literally end up getting tortured to death. I do not want that to happen to me."  While he was still healthy, my father clearly (and somewhat relentlessly) coached me on his healthcare directives, making sure I understood his wishes.  He was a staunch advocates for groups such as Rights for the Dying and the Hemlock Society.  When he no longer had any chance of a meaningful recovery,  I told him that I loved him and that I would support his decision to continue living or not to continue.  It was difficult for me, but thanks to his clear directives, I know that it was the right thing to do.  He died peacefully within a few days, his last wishes, respected.

In the past decade or so, my dad became a friend as well as a father. I could tell him anything and amazingly, he sought my advice. Most Tuesday nights we joined family and friends for a family-style dinner in Chinatown.  My husband John, Dad and I had a subscription to the New York Philharmonic. Dad would bring the appropriate musical scores and he and I would conduct from our seats.  We would go cross-country skiing, but he was stronger and swifter than I.  About eight years ago, my sister and I traveled with Dad on the QE2, including a trip on the Eurostar bullet train through the Chunnel to France, and a flight on the Concorde back home.  The high-tech transportation delighted him!  John and I went to football games with Dad to cheer for Columbia University. With Dad at the helm, we sailed the "Gemini III," We marveled at a meteor shower at midnight.  We took a cruise to Greece. When dad could no longer  travel, we took walks outside or sat in his apartment, and reminisced.  Last Summer, on dad's 88th birthday, we took him to a local golf course where he hit a bucket of golf balls with strength and precision! He was such fun to be with!

As the person Dad entrusted with his affairs, I realized at some point I'd have to make difficult decisions if he was unable to do so. I was saddened by Dad's increasing dementia, and helpless to fix it.  As he declined,  I became frustrated with the so-called  "service providers" and bureaucracy surrounding the elderly.  These systems, supposedly to protect our rights, often fail them. But he lived a good  and long life, and did it pretty much on his own terms.

My father believed that one should act and make decisions based on what one though was "right."  He was not a religious man, but he was a follower of general semantics and was active in the Society for General Semantics.  He used words carefully and thoughtfully. He  said that: "Virtue is it's own reward" and he behaved accordingly.   He was extremely dignified and a true gentleman. He almost never raised his voice, choosing to use his intellect to get his points across. He saved so many lives as a physician and enhanced them as a man. The world was a better place for his being in it. He was one of a kind. The world is poorer for his loss.

In lieu of flowers, donations in Dr. Blackman’s name may be sent to The Bargemusic, Ltd., Fulton Ferry Landing, Brooklyn, NY 11201, where a memorial concert is being planned for a future date.