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January 18, 2002
Anti-Semitism in the hospitals
Medical pioneer struggled to find a teaching position in 1950s
Toronto.
PAT JOHNSON REPORTER
Medicine: My Story
By Barnet Berris, MD
University of Toronto, Toronto, 2001. 183 pages. $40
It is jarring to be reminded of how backward aspects of this country
were just a few years ago and encouraging to see how far we have
come. The career of Dr. Barnet Berris is not the most remarkable
Canadian biography, but it is particularly illustrative of the institutional
anti-Semitism that was rampant in the medical community and Canada
at large as recently as the 1950s.
When Berris retired as a physician at Mount Sinai Hospital in Toronto,
colleagues insisted that he write his memoirs to mark the social
progress that has taken place in Canada since Berris became the
first Jewish teacher in the University of Toronto's medical faculty
in 1951. He has done so in his new book Medicine: My Story.
Berris, whose daughter Catherine lives in Vancouver, writes of his
happy childhood in Toronto's heavily multicultural neighborhood
near Dundas and Bathurst. His life was one of Jewish friends and
institutions, though he attended public schools. It was not until
he graduated from high school that the full force of the establishment's
anti-Jewish bigotry became clear to him. Though he was admitted
to medical school and succeeded brilliantly, getting an internship
was nearly impossible.
"I discovered to my dismay that I was the only person in our
class who had not been accepted or 'matched' for internship by a
hospital. I couldn't understand how this could have happened and
was certain it was a mistake. I went to both hospitals to which
I had applied and asked to see the list of students they were prepared
to accept. At first there was some resistance to my request, but
when I persisted I was finally allowed to see them. I was stunned
by what I saw. The Toronto General Hospital had two lists on one
page. On the left was a long list of students they were prepared
to accept, and this list included a number of students who were
near the bottom of the class. On the right was another, very short
list. It was titled 'Hebrew List' and on it were three names."
His other hospital of choice, Toronto Western, had only one Jewish
name on the list. The hospitals of that era had very specific quotas
for the number of Jewish interns they would accept. Friends of Berris
whose fathers had connections within the university establishment
went to bat for him, to no avail.
Eventually, he managed to get a position at St. Joseph's Hospital
(a community facility, not strictly a teaching hospital which he
would have preferred).
After his internship, he was accepted into McGill's medical school
in Montreal for further studies that would permit him to become
a specialist. Just a minor bit of paperwork had to be done to ensure
him of his position in the class.
"When I arrived in Montreal, I went to the department chair's
office at the appointed time. I filled in the application form and,
as was very common in those days, one of the questions asked was
religious affiliation. I filled in this line with the word Jewish.
The secretary took my completed application to the department chair's
office, and a few minutes later came out and said that she had been
instructed to tell me that all the positions were filled. I was
taken aback and I showed her the letter in which I had been offered
an appointment. I asked her to show the letter to the department
chair and to ask if I might see him. She entered his office again
and came out soon after with the letter. She said, 'The department
chairman told me to tell you again that there is no reason for you
to be interviewed as all the positions are filled.' "
Like many of his Jewish colleagues at the time, Berris headed for
the United States, where attitudes in the medical community were
apparently more advanced. He attended the University of Minnesota.
Returning to Toronto, Berris believed that his academic successes
and experience in the States would allow him to finally obtain a
teaching position. Instead, he was offered yet another year of internship,
after which the chair of the department promised to do what he could
to get him a permanent position.
Offered little money and no guarantees, Berris nevertheless accepted
the one-year appointment. After a year on staff, he received good
news.
"When the year ended, Dr. Farquharson asked me to come to his
office. I knew at once that he had good news. He was smiling and
as I came through the door he extended his hand and said, 'Congratulations,
we did it. You are now a member of the hospital staff with a full
university appointment.'
"As I thanked Dr. Farquharson, I experienced a mixture of emotions:
gratitude for his efforts, elation that my gamble had worked out,
and relief that a decision had been made. I realized that it must
have been difficult for him to get me accepted. I was told sometime
later by a non-Jewish classmate whose father was connected with
the university that Dr. Farquharson did indeed have a problem trying
to convince the board of trustees of the hospital to accept me.
But in the end they did grant his request. Dr. Farquharson was respected
by everyone, and it was a respect that was justified."
Eventually, when Mount Sinai Hospital became affiliated with the
University of Toronto as a teaching hospital, Berris was selected
to become its chief of medicine.
Reflecting on the many changes he has seen throughout his career,
Berris writes that he is pleased to see the strong Jewish presence
in his profession and the social progress that has allowed that
to happen.
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