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Dr. William Harold Dunn died suddenly on the evening of February 12, 1955. Although he had earlier had a cardiac illness, he had remained more than ordinarily active to the day of his death. Merciful as this was for him, it left an unusual void and a great difficulty in the realization of his passing in the minds and hearts of his friends. For he was a man with a rare gift for and fidelity to friendship. 'Jack' Dunn, as he was known, was the most amiable and quietly courageous of men, an unusually fine companion and an excellent doctor. Essentially a modest and retiring man, little inclined to speak much of his own very considerable achievements, he was also gregarious and fun-loving. His appreciation of the picturesque, vivid panorama of life colored his humor and enhanced his talent as a clinician and, together with his warmth, gave him a special capacity for what one might call immediate and relieving relationships. One of his patients, talking to me after his death, highlighted one aspect of this in saying, 'He had the most soothing sense of the ridiculous. I have never known anything like it.'
I worked side by side with Jack Dunn for more than ten years in a hospital service which brought us a seemingly endless vista of human suffering and poverty. It was a setting in which one appreciated the caliber of a man of Dunn's character: his seeming tirelessness, his absolute dependability, and his patience, such that any tension found its relief in sparkling humor.
Dr. Dunn was only fifty-six at the time of his death. He was born in 1898, in the rich and beautiful farming country of western New York State, descended on both sides from early American settlers. He was the youngest of three children. The early loss of his mother may have contributed to a haunting