I Am a Part of All That I Have Met

There’s usually no success without a little failure first. And an individual’s achievement—no matter how “Look, I did it all by myself!” it may seem—often is the product of at least a little help, support, input, advice, positive and/or negative influence (you get the picture) from another person or organization. We all admire that can-do spirit and praise self-made people for their brave accomplishment of “going it alone.” But even the most successful loner reaped the benefit of supportive parents, a professor, a significant other, or even rose to meet the challenge of an adversary or overcome an obstacle.

That message, in many ways, is the point of every issue of Orthopedic Design & Technology. Most of the successful orthopedic device firms—from the scrappy startup with cutting-edge spine technology to the billion-dollar, large-joint implant behemoths searching for new markets—have a strong network of suppliers, consultants, manufacturers, developers, etc., that led to their commercial and clinical successes. We’re quick to laud the company for its cool new device, but when you pull back the curtain, you will find a long chain of expertise and guidance outside the firm that provided a pathway to winning.

And that winning formula means sales for the OEM and more business for creative development and manufacturing partners. Now that’s the art of the win-win scenario.

In business, just as in our in our private lives, the influence of others can make all the difference. Along those lines—and on a slightly personal note—I’d like to say thanks to someone who truly made a difference in my personal and professional lives.

Jim Stommen, whose name you may recognize as a regular contributor to ODT during the last few years, passed away in August. More than just a freelance writer, Jim had been an authoritative voice in the medical device industry as editor of Medical Device Daily (MDD). I was living in Atlanta in 2001, recently out of a job thanks to the dot-com bubble’s economy-reverberating pop. I interviewed with a few staff members on MDD and eventually sat down with Jim. I remember the interview as if it happened yesterday. We talked about living in Massachusetts (my home state and one of Jim’s
favorite places). He’d been editor of The Salem Evening News, not far from my hometown. We chatted about the Boston Red Sox—anyone who knew Jim understood his passion for baseball, marveled at his encyclopedic knowledge of the game and knew of his regular trips to spring training. It seemed we talked about everything but the job. We shook hands and I left thinking I’d blown it. “He kept me talking about everything else because he didn’t think I was a good fit,” I’d thought to myself. A day later I got a call and a job offer. I confided to Jim that I was surprised. He was equally honest: “Well, some of the others were worried that you didn’t have any healthcare background, but from what I can tell, you can put two sentences together pretty well. The rest you can learn. Plus, you’re a Sox fan. So that’s about it as I see things.”

I’ve had many positive influences in my life, but just a few true mentors. Stommen was one of them. He didn’t coddle or mince words—that’s for sure. If your story was crap, he’d tell you so. Then he’d show you how. He was a talented wordsmith—and passionate about a good lead sentence. He put a lot of faith in the people he trusted. I think I was one of those people, and I hope I never let him down. When he transferred me to Washington from Atlanta, his advice was simple: “Just keep doing what you’re doing and avoid the hot air.”

I knew he didn’t mean the weather in D.C.

I started in medical technology because of Jim Stommen. It’s been a great ride that most likely wouldn’t have happened without him. When he retired, I asked—a little awkwardly—if he’d write for ODT. He jumped at it. He had some health setbacks that slowed him down a little, but he wasn’t good at being idle. When he wasn’t out in California with his grandkids driving his 1965 Oldsmobile Cutlass convertible, he was banging away at the keyboard. We benefited from his expertise and energy. When Jim, 70, passed away at his home in Alpharetta, Ga., he’d just completed a freelance
assignment for another medtech journal and went to take a nap—from which he never woke. We’d exchanged emails just a few days before. I wish I’d gotten to say a proper thank-you. I hope this note, in a small way, will suffice.

Christopher Delporte
Editorial Director, Medical Devices
[email protected]