I was the Chair of the first department of medical physics in a

In the words of John Cameron, spoken with quiet pride and monumental weight, we hear a declaration of legacy: “I was the Chair of the first department of medical physics in a medical school in the U.S.” Though simple in form, these words mark a turning point in history, for they bear witness to the birth of a discipline that weds the precision of physics to the sacred art of healing. In them, we glimpse the courage of a pioneer who stepped into uncharted ground, shaping a path that others might follow.

The creation of a department of medical physics was no small feat. Physics, long the study of the heavens, the atom, and the unseen laws of the universe, had to be drawn into the service of medicine. To measure radiation, to guide imaging, to refine therapy—all these demanded a mind that could see across boundaries, uniting knowledge once held apart. Cameron’s words remind us that every new discipline begins with one who dares to say, “This too can serve mankind.”

Consider the symbolic power of being the first Chair. To lead where no one has led, to define not only what is taught but how it is imagined—this is the work of a founder, not a caretaker. Like the builders of Alexandria’s great Library, who sought to gather all human knowledge beneath one roof, Cameron sought to unite the wisdom of physics with the practice of medicine, so that patients might live longer, healthier lives. The title of Chair, in this context, is not a seat of authority but a burden of vision, carried for the sake of generations to come.

History echoes with such moments of bold creation. When Andreas Vesalius defied tradition in the 16th century by founding anatomy through dissection, he too was establishing a new department of knowledge within medicine. His work transformed not only the education of physicians but the survival of countless patients. Similarly, John Cameron’s founding of medical physics was not merely an academic achievement, but a gift of precision, safety, and healing to countless lives touched by modern radiology and therapy.

The deeper meaning of his words lies in the union of disciplines. Medicine without physics is blind to the hidden forces of radiation, energy, and imaging. Physics without medicine risks abstraction, knowledge without compassion. By bringing them together, Cameron embodied the ancient truth that wisdom must be practical, that knowledge must serve life. His department became a bridge—between science and healing, between theory and flesh, between invisible energies and the very beating of the human heart.

The lesson for us is profound: do not be afraid to create new paths. If you stand at the meeting of two worlds—whether science and art, tradition and innovation, or body and spirit—do not hesitate to join them. For greatness often comes not from following the old roads but from daring to carve new ones. Like Cameron, you may find yourself the “first Chair,” the founder of a work no one else imagined, and through your courage, generations after you may find health, knowledge, and hope.

Therefore, carry these words as both inspiration and challenge. Whatever field you walk in, ask yourself: Where can I build a bridge? Where can I unite what has been divided? Where can I create what does not yet exist? For in doing so, you honor the spirit of pioneers like John Cameron. And when your own story is told, may it be said that you too took your seat in the Chair of creation, not merely to preserve the past, but to shape the future.