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After that came a period of 16 years in which nothing I wrote appeared anywhere. That drought was ended when I wrote an article for the February 1983 edition of Aspen Press’ Healthcare Materiel Management Quarterly. As I recall, the article was about capital equipment purchases. I lost my copy of it years ago, so if you have one, let me know…

Then sometime around 1985 I got a call from a guy at what is now Healthcare Purchasing News asking me if I’d like to write an article for them.

His name was Christopher J. Bale, and that article began a relationship that has lasted until today. I remember the article. It was titled something like "Consignment and the Cost of Convenience." Mainly I remember it because about 20 minutes after it was published I got a telephone call from Jim Mills of Medline in which he jumped all over me for the position I had taken on the subject. (Who says my output is bland and uninspiring?)

What I remember more, however, is Chris Bale. Everyone who knew Chris remembers him. He was a tall, dark-haired guy that wore glasses. I use the word "guy," because it has a laid back connotation, and that’s the way I remember Chris. I was literally a nobody, and he was the editor of the primary journal for my chosen occupation, and he would joke with me, listen to me when I called with an idea, and generally support me. He made me feel important — not in the sense of being an important subscriber, or an important materials leader, but important because I was a human being, and all human beings were important to him.

We kept in contact over the years, and I submitted several articles, all of which were published.

The one day — suddenly and with horrendous finality — Chris Bale dropped dead — literally. He suffered an aneurism and died. They say that as you suffer an aneurism, the odds are 50/50 that you make it to the ER alive, 50/50 that you make it out of the ER alive, 50/50 that you make it out of surgery alive, and so on. As you can see, the odds are stacked against you. They were stacked against Chris and sadly, he didn’t make it.

I believe that among the shortest lists are those who met Chris Bale and whose lives were not touched by the experience.

Mine certainly was.

Chris’ successor was Mark Thill. I believe I met Mark right around the time I met Chris. I think he’s probably the guy who gave my second HPN article the wrong title. Of course, over the years he has more than made up for it. Mark is a thin guy — I could actually be moved to use the word gaunt when describing him. I could always picture Mark in one of those Walter Winchell (Google him, youngsters) pictures from the ’40s. You know the one I mean — wearing a fedora, cocked at a jaunty angle, smoking a Lucky Strike, his hand wrapped around an old-fashioned microphone. I could almost hear, "Good evening, Mister and Mrs. America and all the ships at sea…"

Like Chris, Mark was identified by his sense of humor. Also like Chris, his support for me and my slightly different articles was something I treasured. Once I wrote an article about the Ten Commandments of something or other, and not only did he publish it as written, but he added a picture of authentic Moses-like tablets to enhance its allure. On more than one occasion I have seen that article posted in Materials Directors’ offices.

Another article I wrote while Mark was at the helm was about the importance of getting an advanced degree. At the time I wrote it, I thought of it as nothing more than a space filler. A few years later, while I was visiting South Miami Hospital, I learned the impact of the written word. One of my former employees — a young man named Manny — told me that Ms. Russ wanted to talk with me. I vaguely remembered Avis Russ, but couldn’t for the life of me think of a reason why she would want to talk with me. I met her in her office and she thanked me for my article on why it was important to get an advanced degree. She said that she read it because she recognized my name and that the article had spurred her on to getting a MBA of her own.

Mark left HPN with Chris Bale in 1996 for new adventures, only to be as devastated as the rest of us by Chris’ fate. Today he serves as the editor of IMDA Update and the editor/communications director for IMDA — an organization representing independent medical product and equipment distributors, and edits several other industry magazines. He is living a happy and successful life, bravely weathering the costs associated with feeding and educating his brood.

I really can’t say that I remember where or when I met Rick Dana Barlow. All I can remember is this dude with a flat top hair cut that appeared to be held up with moustache wax, and a really sharp wit. I remember laughing often and heartily from the meeting.

I do remember the second time I met RDB. I was moderating a panel at a NCI seminar in Chicago. I believe it must have been held the day after the Junior Prom because Rick showed up wearing the dinner jacket that was originally worn by Humphrey Bogart (Rick Blaine) in Casablanca. He was muttering something to the extent of, "You played it for her. You can play it for me. If she can take it so can I. Play it, Sam."

I must have ragged on Rick for a half hour about his attire. Then we exchanged pleasantries and afterwards kept in touch. I’ve written several articles for Rick in his various endeavors and over the years I’ve found him to be exceptionally well-versed on everything from the 1-3-1 zone defense to the exact point where God parted the Red Sea to help Moses and the Israelites flee the Egyptian army.

Like his predecessors, Rick has supported my eccentric point of view and strange subject matter. Also like his predecessors, RDB understands that it is people, not technology, that make this profession so rewarding. Three great guys have rewarded me with their support, trust and generosity, and because of them I feel sort of like Claude Raines in the final scene from Casablanca. Major Strasser is dead. Victor Laslo and Ilsa Lund have the letters of transit and their plane has taken off for Lisbon.

Rick and I are standing in the fog watching as the plane rises through the mist.

This could be the start of a beautiful friendship.

Here’s looking at you, guys…

Editor’s Note: Fred Crans first met Rick Dana Barlow in the early 1990s at the DeRoyal Healthcare Materials Management Executive Forum he referenced in his May "Baseline" column. For the record, the white dinner jacket was an authentic Chicago-based Seno & Sons tuxedo circa the early 1960s that is now in storage because it no longer fits. Thanks Fred.