Not all heroes wear capes
Obituaries don’t tell the whole story.
James H. Abbott passed from this earth on Oct. 8, 2019. He was 92 when he died and he left a list of accomplishments that exceed the impressive. These were the kinds of accomplishments that come with honorary dinners, testimonials, medals and glittering trophies.
He was a Maxwell Public Administration grad who began his career with the U.S. Health Service. He followed that as an administrator of Good Shepherd Hospital, the first administrator of the new University Hospital and vice president of Upstate University Medical Center. The one accomplishment that is most telling, at least for those times, was that Jim was the first male, the first non-religious … not that Jim was without a faith …. president and CEO of St. Joseph’s Hospital. He took the reins from a group of women who turned a dance hall into a premier health care facility and then shepherded it into the 21st century. That took hutzpah.
The list of accomplishments goes on and on, with one prestigious association after another.
But there are other measures that mean greatness, fame … at least to me.
He had an adorable smile and he loved dessert. Jim was on the Samaritan Center Board of Directors, of which I was the development director, and for one term he was the president.
I remember his humility and the power of his acumen. When confronted with an issue it would be typical for him to say, “Now, I don’t know much about this, but …” and he would then proceed to analyze the subject into clarity and add “suggestions” that would turn out to be just what was needed.
The Samaritan Center, at that time, was in resurrection mode, having been rescued from extinction by a dedicated board of directors. Jim guided us through the work of developing a five-year plan that made all the difference in meeting our mission’s goals.
At one point, between executive directors, I was the interim director for the agency. Without humility, because this is the unvarnished truth, I am not an administrator, a manager. God forbid! But, in this situation, there was little choice, so I put on my adult socks and forged ahead. Jim was there with me for the duration, climbing the 42 steps to my office every day to help with budget preparation and other administrative issues. I remember another time when we had to trudge through knee high snow drifts to meet with the treasurer to clear up some knotty problems. Jim had retired almost 20 years before and was in his late 70s at the time. With his quiet and old-fashioned work ethic, he saved the day … and the years to follow.
There was a time when he sat with me and gently told me about his daughter, Amy, who had faced what I was newly facing, a diagnosis of breast cancer. He offered any kind of help that he could. It was like my Dad was there.
A young Jesuit volunteer, perplexed by being accepted to multiple medical schools, found Jim’s advice to be on target. It may not sound like much of a problem for her, but it was, and again, Jim helped her clarify and she made her choice. She has been a practicing pathologist for some five years now.
Jim was the biggest supporter of our annual fundraising dinners, telling everyone to come because it was like “going to the wedding of a close friend.” It was his contacts that led to our first donation to the foundation that provided the financial security that is so often an enormous problem for not-for-profits.
As powerful as the depth of his experience, knowledge and contacts was, Jim was not a digital person. He didn’t own a computer He didn’t even know how to type. He was firmly rooted in the here and now. He was fully cognizant of the importance of modern technology, e.g. computers and cell phones, but preferred to use land lines and pen and paper. I suspect that there are many out in Syracuse and its surroundings who have received Jim’s handwritten memos and notes in beautiful Palmer Method script.
Jim wasn’t all business. He could spin as interesting a tale as any, many of which were gleaned from his long-held friendships and gatherings at the old Julie’s and the Pastime Club. He knew them all, people from every walk of life, from places and ideas that were the basis for new ideas and remembrances of the old ones.
In so many ways, Jim represented what we expected of a gentleman in every sense of the word, from his manners, his warmth, his kindness (though he didn’t suffer fools,) from the loyalty that he showed to those who were colleagues and friends, his dedication to his family and the little things like those handwritten notes.
I have one of those notes tacked on the bulletin board above my computer. It is a sweet thank you note he wrote at the time of my retirement.
“I have prized highly our association and hope our paths may continue to cross from time to time.” he wrote.
There is no trophy better than that. Thanks Jim. Note to God … if you need some clarity, Jim is in the house.
Ann Ferro is a mother, a grandmother and a retired social studies teacher. While still figuring out what she wants to be when she grows up, she lives in Marcellus wit
