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My tribute to Roger Robinson
- Richard Smith (24 October 2003)
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Roger Robinson
- Trisha Greenhalgh (25 October 2003)
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A role model
- Rhona MacDonald (26 October 2003)
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Roger Robinson: Literary Scholar
- Duncan Wu (27 October 2003)
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Sadly duplicitous
- Peter Morrell (27 October 2003)
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Truly Inspirational
- Roopa Venktesh, Venkatesh A G K (30 October 2003)
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Richard Smith, Editor BMJ
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What follows is a slightly edited version of the words that I read at the funeral of Roger Robinson. I’m posting them as my tribute to Roger but also to urge others to post memories not only of Roger but of others whose obituaries appear in the BMJ. In this way we can provide electronic memorials to friends and enrich the obituary section. Roger joined us at the BMJ in 1991 at the same time that I became the editor. Because three senior editors went at once, I went overnight from being an enfant terrible to being the oldest editor in the place—apart from Roger. We were vulnerable. We lacked bottom and had a distinct tendency to frivolity even anarchy. Roger saved us. Single handedly he supplied enough wisdom, gravitas, and judgement to keep us afloat. But Roger was never pompous or arrogant. Indeed, when I asked people at the BMJ for memories of Roger it was his appearance as a harlequin that people remembered first. He came to our Venetian party in the spring of this year with the full outfit—the checked suit, the baggy trousers, the mask, and the hat. He was a very proper harlequin as he was a very proper everything. At the BMJ we talk about “Doing a Roger.” It means reading a paper with great care and searching hard for its attributes. For a man reared on a diet of physiology and clinical science, Roger was remarkably open to qualitative research, decision analysis, and host of previously unfamiliar methods—although he never developed a taste for economic evaluations. One of his legacies is “the sledgehammer to nut ratio” of a study, steering us away the many studies where it was too high. Roger chaired our weekly meeting where we discussed the papers passing through our system. Before Roger took over the chair the meeting would sometimes go on for hours and descend into fruitless, circular argument. Roger rescued us from that chaos—keeping a firm but gentle hand on the meeting and sometimes getting just a little tetchy with us. Just sometimes he would be infected by the humour of the meeting and collapse into giggles. Whenever we got into a mess—as we did often—I would always ask Roger to investigate. He had a forensic ability to identify the essentials of a story, a highly developed sense of fairness, and remarkable judgement. Authors were always grateful to Roger--even when rejected. But Roger was never boring. He wore his immense learning very lightly and had a wry sense of humour. He told me this story a couple of months ago. A colleague who had just joined us asked Roger if he remembered a student he had taught at Oxford. “I remember her well,” answered Roger. “How do you know her?” thinking she might have been a partner in his general practice. “She’s my mother answered,” the colleague. Roger then said to me: “You know you’re getting on a bit when realise you have taught your colleagues’ mothers.” Roger was very good to colleagues, providing both intellectual and emotional support. People have pointed out to me that we consciously need to replace what Roger supplied with such good grace. Roger’s final gift to the BMJ was to teach us how to die. With an equanimity that some of the younger staff found almost scary and surely born from his deep faith he told us of his prostate cancer and prognosis—and set about ordering his life. One of his priorities was to work on the final proofs of another Beattie book: he was anxious that somebody else might “correct” Beattie’s characteristically wayward spelling. As he prepared for the operation from which he never recovered he said goodbye to us individually, assuring each of us of our worth. We at the BMJ have all felt very privileged to have known Roger. We will miss him, but I know he will continue to be among us as we hold the weekly meetings that he chaired. Richard Smith, Editor, BMJ Competing interests: I'm the editor of the BMJ and accountable for all that it contains. |
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Trisha Greenhalgh, Professor of Primary Health Care University College London
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Years before the ungainly term ‘critical appraisal’ entered the medical vernacular, when I had recently joined the BMJ’s editorial hanging committee, Roger Robinson taught me how to read a paper. He was distrustful of mechanistic quality checklists applied out of context, since defensible methods may be used to further poor science. His legendary ‘sledgehammer to nut index’ was a powerful metaphor in committees, especially when he enacted it by ‘weighing’ a hefty submission in the palm of his hand to indicate that despite its substance, it was surprisingly lightweight. But he knew the limitations of old-fashioned common sense, and was one of the first to endorse the routine requirement for formal quality standards (such as the CONSORT and QUORUM statements) in the editorial process. His wealth of clinical and research experience allowed him to distinguish between the practicalities of the real world and the corners cut by sloppy researchers. Incisive but never gratuitous in his criticism, he was the grand master of the polite rejection letter - and he did not shrink from sending them to his friends. And as the epitome of the old-fashioned British gent, he knew how to open a door for a feminist. Competing interests: None declared |
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Rhona MacDonald, editor career focus, senior editor SBMJ rmacdonald@bmj.com
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You wanted to be your best around Roger. He was so wise, fair, gentle and kind that if you were in his company, you wanted to strive for his high standards. He reminded us all how to behave and even in his death, is a real role model to us all. At his funeral, people from all walks of life, from professors to Sunday school children, were united in grief and their love for this great man. He always had time for everyone and treated everyone the same, no matter what their age, stage or status. Despite being the oldest in the BMJ office, he took great delight in meeting and helping the medical students who came to us from around the world as Clegg scholars. There are tears around the world for Roger and he has left a big hole in the BMJ office that we will never be able to fill. Competing interests: I am an editor at the BMJ and thought of Roger as my surrogate uncle |
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Duncan Wu, Professor of English Language and Literature St Catherine's College, Oxford OX1 3UJ
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Before Roger Robinson began work on the life and works of James Beattie, little, if any, research had been carried out in that area in recent times, and recognition of Beattie’s importance both in his own right and as a crucial influence on the Romantic poets was all but forgotten. What work had been done dated largely from the Victorian era when standards were very different. Many edited texts of that time were so inaccurate and incomplete as to render many of them useless. As so often in literary studies, it was an act of imagination that awakened Roger to what needed to be done. His reading of Wordsworth’s poem The Excursion (1814) in the light of Beattie’s The Minstrel (1778) brought home to him the powerful influence exerted by Beattie on the Romantic concept of the poet – a theme integral to the larger development of English Literature. From that point on, he made it his business to find out as much as he could about Beattie until he had reached the point where he was ready to edit his complete poetical works. This was no mean feat; indeed, it was the work of years, and led him to discover a number of poems not previously published, and to attribute poems to Beattie not previously recognized as his. He discovered caches of Beattie material in libraries all over the world, particularly Scotland, and drew up the first bibliography of Beattie’s letters and works that could make any claim to completion. No one could fail to be impressed by the thoroughgoing manner in which he went about the job. I remember visiting him for lunch one fine spring day in 1994, to be shown his den, lined with copies of every edition of Beattie’s works ever published, including one or two extremely rare ones which he had made it his business to track down. The thoroughness and determination that characterized his assembly of editions of Beattie was also to be found in his editorial work. Not being fully aware of his reputation in his previous career, I remember feeling astonishment that qualities which often took research students many years to attain seemed to be Roger’s without any tuition or active guidance at all. This was, of course, naive. He was a true scholar in all aspects of his professional life, and just as his consummate expertise as a paediatrician was founded on a deep compassion, so his literary undertakings were accompanied by a genuine love of poetry. It was that, as much as his attention to detail, that made him such a good literary scholar and critic. It is easy to see why Thoemmes Press thought him the editor best suited to tackle a multi-volume edition of Beattie’s correspondence. I doubt whether, in fact, there were any other viable candidates. It is hard not to regret that he did not see the finished edition, but I am firmly of the belief that its appearance will do much, in the course of time, to revive interest in Beattie, and restore to him the credit he deserves for having exerted such a strong influence on poets of later generations. There could be no finer tribute to Roger’s literary work, the fidelity and scrupulousness of which will serve scholars and critics for decades to come. Competing interests: None declared |
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Peter Morrell, Hon Research Associate, History of Medicine Staffordshire University, UK
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Sir, If by “enriching the obituary section,” [1] entails three or probably in due course even more colleagues weighing in with such gushing eulogies of one of their own, then I am sure many readers will begin to compare such ‘enrichment’ with the unedifying detritus that followed a recent ‘obituary’ to David Horrobin. Why the huge contrast in such ‘enrichment?’ And how patronising, empty and duplicitous seem these eulogies “to a friend” when compared to the appalling way Horrobin was ‘sent off’ by BMJ editors. If there should be ‘enrichment,’ then please, a greater consistency in how the deceased are commented on might be a good starting point. Roger Robinson may well have been a very decent fellow, worthy of all that has been said about him. So too, by all accounts, was David Horrobin. Yet, none of those heart-felt tributes to him offered by those who knew him, made the slightest difference to these same editors when it came to their enduring refusal to extend a proper apology or retraction for their hurtful behaviour. [1] My tribute to Roger Robinson, Richard Smith (24 October 2003) http://bmj.bmjjournals.com/cgi/eletters/327/7421/992#38660 Competing interests: None declared |
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Roopa Venktesh, clinical obsever The Royal oldham hospital The Royal oldham hospital Oldham OL1 2JH, Venkatesh A G K
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The life and a wonderful inspirational account of Professor Roger Robinson should continue to inspire a lot of young doctors like us. Surely the BMJ needs to be lauded for enlightening about the professional/personal facets of a wonderful personality like Professor Robinson. Their ways of life both professional/personal cause a doctor to be remembered and taught to the younger generation of doctors is really commendable. Thanks to the BMJ for letting us know a good account of these wonderful people who leave behind them a rich heritage of experience for us to emulate. Competing interests: None declared |
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