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Thomas Schuller (1917-2011)
30
SUMMER
2011
In memorium
Thomas Schuller was IC president from 1961
until 1976. He passed away on March 3rd
2011. IC staff and faculty send their deepest
condolences to the Schuller family.
My good brother, Rabih, keeps me
informed of things happening in the old
country, in the very old country, with the
very old problems. He keeps me informed
of the things that do not make it to the
headlines of the newspaper.That means he
keeps informed of the things that count.
Who of the friends and family had a
child, who got married,
who got divorced, who
he stumbled onto on
Hamra street, and
who was hav-
ing coffee in the
«new qahwitt li›jazz», Starbucks. He also
informs me of who has completed the
cycle of life in this world and transitioned,
leaving us and the people he or she loved
wondering where we go when we exit.
My brother keeps me updated on the
important things. Yes, he does. A couple
of weeks ago one more piece of real news
from the old country.Thomas Schuller
passed away.
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I know the man, I said. I have a diploma
hanging in my office with his signature
on it.The only diploma I have hanging
in my office. As a matter of fact it is in
my patient exam room. It certifies that I
completed my Elementary Education at
the International College. I am sure it is
his signature, I know his signature, he was
my friend. His along with that other man
whose eyebrows were bushier than those
of Einstein, Mr. Ataya. One signature in
Arabic and the other in English.The di-
ploma, except for the name of the school,
is in Arabic. My patients think it is my
M.D.If they ask, I explain. I say that that
is my Elementary School Diploma. I op-
erated on the man who signed it...I say.
If he trusted me, so should you...I say. I
fixed his hernia...I say. When he walked
into my office at AUMC in 1992, he
asked if I could fix it. I asked if he
thought his teachers did a good job.
He said yes. So I said, then I can. He
said go ahead. And that was that.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
In 1967, school was suspended on
June 5. I was twelve. A war had
broken out. Word on the street was
that if we all spit across the front lines
we will drown the enemy. We are
hundreds of millions and they are
only one million. Six days later
we had no saliva to swallow, we
were dehydrated and dry from
panting with our mouths fully
opened wondering how we could
have run back so fast.The school
year was considered done. We
went to the Martin House to
shake the hand of a man who was