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Ping-nie pao was, I think, a rare being—a man not at all easy to know, yet one easy to love. The explanation for this paradox is that whatever aspect of him was revealed to any of us led us to appreciate, trust, and, in time, admire him. What Ping had was genuine, including his reticence. He was not falsely humble; he enjoyed the success he earned. But he was private almost by temperament. He had one vanity I knew and loved him for. He rarely wanted anyone to see him in distress. Years ago I felt a bit shut out—put off—by this quality, but what I came to realize was that Ping was thinking of those who needed him, not of himself.
Ping-nie Pao was born in Shanghai in 1922. His family had some degree of wealth and influence. He was raised largely by his grandparents. As a small child, he was lovingly pampered by his nurse, who tended him so devotedly that he never learned to use chop sticks quite properly. An excellent student, he was admitted to the National College of Medicine in Shanghai, an institution for which the competition to enter was enormous. Coming to the United States in 1948, he trained in Baltimore at the Seton Institute. It was then that I first met him, sitting calmly in the waiting room of my analyst as I left in various states of disrepair. He was my analyst's next patient. Not a propitious beginning for a friendship that endured for 30 years. We both then worked together at the Sheppard and Enoch Pratt Hospital. It was at Sheppard that I became aware of many of the admirable qualities Ping possessed. I quickly learned that he was a gentleman—a man of manners, of taste, of discernment—and a gentle man. Gentle in his touch, his feel, his