As Ron taught me – today’s weather is perfect for a funeral! He told me that whenever he went to a funeral, he always heard someone say that. It could be pouring with rain or a glorious sunny day – it was always perfect weather for a funeral. Then he’d talk about the words on the gravestones: everyone was much loved or sadly missed – and then pose the eternal mystery question: where are the bad people buried?
It’s my honour to give this work eulogy on behalf of my colleagues (Val Turner, who was Ron’s deputy for many years, Steve Dunjey, Carolyn Wilson and Michelle Johnston – who all contributed to this) – we all grew under Ron’s tutelage. It’s fair to say that Ron was a remarkable character, often described as a rough diamond, somewhat shrouded in mystery – much like his favourite comic book superhero, the Phantom – also known as the Ghost who Walks: a powerful and indestructible guardian of the innocent and fighter of all types of injustice.
Ron originally trained as an orthopaedic surgeon and once claimed that he was a person before he was an orthopod. His appointment as Head of the RPH Emergency Department in 1982 happened the old-fashioned way: Rex Joyner, David Alltree and Ron went to the pub and had a few drinks. They chatted a while and then Ron left. Rex asked David “What do you think? David replied “He’s your man, Rex”. And so it came to pass.
In 1982, emergency medicine was not a medical specialty, it was poorly resourced in many ways and lacked respect. This was felt to be an injustice by Ron, who fought tirelessly to make the ED better by establishing systems to improve patient care. Ron turned this around over many years of battles, using his wits, his humour and street smarts, much like the Phantom, and was a Foundation Fellow of ACEM
Some of the battles were famous, and often involved language that I would not use in this venue. He seemed to love conflict and was unafraid to stand up to anyone who got in the way of what he was trying to achieve: including health ministers and senior administrators – one of whom told him that he had turned intransigence into an art form. He once declined to attend a meeting with a health minister, sending this message: Ron is not coming but he’s not an apology! Mostly his obstinacy was justified and a force for good.
When things were done right, he even had the Phantom’s skull ring to give his stamp of approval. Ron brought together a group of passionate and talented people to provide the best possible care for emergency patients. He did this by establishing a culture of excellence and truth to power. He is the reason that the culture and work processes of the RPH ED are so effective. His fingerprints are all over our ED and we were so glad that in June, we were able to honour him by naming the seminar room the Ron Hirsch Seminar Room. This is particularly fitting as he was a fabulous teacher. Most importantly, he taught us to think and to think differently.
A reflection of how much he respected and valued the whole team is that at the opening of the Ron Hirsch Seminar Room, there were senior ED staff (RPH and other hospitals), medical administrators (past and present), nurses, nurse practitioners, patient care assistants, ECG technicians, clerical staff, colleagues from yesteryear and medical school, and ICU specialists. His respect of everyone was reflected in our respect for him from all levels of staff.
In the early days, he was a like a policeman. He wanted every patient to receive excellent care. However, he was adroit at detecting imperfect care at every level. He had such a reputation for pulling people up on their errors (he did it in a very professional and educational way), that people began sweating and owning up to errors as soon as he approached them, even if he knew nothing about it!
In some ways he was very old school, demanding clinical excellence based upon the traditional clinical training he received, especially in England. He had incredible focus, but at the same time he was also remarkably egalitarian, strongly supporting our female colleagues such that half our consultant workforce is female – as it should be. Both Carolyn and Michelle were struck by his intrinsic and subconscious awareness of gender equality. To the point that they’ve labelled him a feminist!
Steve Dunjey tells me that when he first worked in RPH ED, he was astonished by the department’s organisation. Steve, like everyone else, cannot overstate how Ron always had our backs. Always! Be it a conflict with another person, a clinical issue – absolutely anything, he was completely non-judgmental and provided kindness and caring support. However, some staff were distracted by his gold chain medallion and gold bracelet; or the elasticated pants and slip on shoes. He hated the ‘C’ word – committees.
People trusted Ron – he was a man of his word – and they knew they could rely on him to be unwavering in his support of them and the department. He was a true leader, a man who never shied from walking alongside every one of his staff, no matter what. The loyalty to his staff was unshakeable. Ron was able to do that, and create a culture so strong it has only increased over the years, when so many other places have faltered. People come from all over the world to work at RPH ED, and it is for one reason – the special culture that Ron established.
He wasn’t politically correct but he was effective in so many different ways: a nurse sat sobbing in Ron’s office because she was deliberately weed upon by a drunk man – her clothes were saturated in urine; she was understandably very upset. He listened very carefully, and with a twinkle in his eye said: some people pay good money for that. She killed herself laughing and walked out with a big smile.
But he could be cantankerous and moody: he had a sculptured wooden hand on his desk. If he was in a good mood, it faced outwards as a peace sign. If he was in a bad mood, it was faced as giving you two fingers. You dare not enter on the wrong signal! At the same time, he was very funny. I had the pleasure of experiencing interactions between Ron and Val – they were so funny together. It was a joy to experience their banter. He loved to tell stories and let me tell you, there are so many wonderful Ron stories. One of his favourites was having an electronic dog at his house – so there was the sound of a dog barking if anyone approached the front door. He was delighted to receive a bill from the local council to pay for a dog license. He couldn’t stop laughing about that one.
And he was a genius at responding to complaints. He did not suffer fools gladly, particularly when they wrote absurd complaints. One of my favourites was the person who wrote pages complaining about nothing, with the complaint’s finale being that the doctor smiled stupidly at her. He rapidly put up posters around the ED of a doctor smiling – stupidly - which had a solid line through it, with the words: Achtung! Smiling stupidly is strictly verboten! His sheer cleverness and creativity at responding, especially to lawyers, was a superb artistic lesson in language: how to write the finest of salutations at the end of a letter – a scathing ‘up yours’ wrapped up in euphemism. His letters were bullet proof and we loved them and loved him for his incredible support.
He loved horses and horse racing, the TAB and the AFL. He had the very annoying habit of listening to both at the same time. One small radio stuck in each ear. In the 1990s he developed a passion for frogs, especially frog memorabilia. Many years ago I saw his collection at his house. It could be a frog museum. It was simply extraordinary. My children knew him as the Frogman. Even his email address was phrogman. However, he wasn’t much for using technology, and if you called, there was a secret code of letting it ring three times, hanging up and then calling back straight away.
His garage was immaculate. Every tool had its anatomically precise place on the wall which was specially outlined in black paint. He had a hole in the same wall connected to a PVC pipe connected to a plastic box buried in the ground outside. Into this box he would flick “shrapnel” in the form of $2 coins. Only $2 coins – because he had a rule: he never spent a $2 coin. He told me that he giggled at the sound of the coin running along the pipe and chinking into the box. When he dug up his stash it contained 2500 of them: $5000 – it was too heavy to carry to the bank!
Ron taught us many facts, aphorisms and life lessons such as:
- why cows only walk in the middle of the road
- what happens to eskimos if they eat a loaf of bread
- the only time you don’t do a PR is either no finger, or no rectum
- never make a diagnosis of constipation
- Only go to a meeting if there is an agenda
- The world’s stuffed – according to his mum, these were the first words he ever spoke
- Idiots are not an endangered species (something I taught my children)
- Perhaps most importantly: To trust our clinical judgement.
And I love his views on excellence that he once wrote as he bemoaned the falling standards of everything: “Mediocrity! Used to be what you got when things went wrong, then became what you got when things went right. Now it’s what we strive for!”
After 20 years, he retired as head of ED in 2002, having overseen massive progress and leaving a proud legacy. The people of Western Australia owe Ron a huge debt of gratitude for his advancement of emergency care. He was way ahead of his time and he did it in his own way. He is the Ghost who Walks through our ED every day. Or to quote Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: ‘When a great man dies, for years the light he leaves behind him, lies on the paths of men.’
Thank you Ron!
Daniel Fatovich
10 August 2021