Bernice Z. Brown, M.D.

 “Atta Girl”: One Unconventional Journey Begets Another
by Tamara R. Fountain

Do you know who Bernice Z. Brown was?  Well, let me tell you about this woman who left a lasting mark on the field of ophthalmic plastic and reconstructive surgery.  Born in Altoona, PA, she headed west and never looked back. After a BA from UCLA, she went across town to USC for her MD and stayed on as the first woman accepted into ophthalmology residency at USC/Doheny Eye Institute.  She pursued oculoplastics training with two of the founders of the field: Crowell Beard at UCSF and Alston Callahan in Birmingham, Alabama.  

Many in our ASOPRS community are familiar with her accomplishments – Inductee of Phi Beta Kappa and Alpha Omega Alpha societies, Lester T. Jones Anatomy Award recipient, co-editor of Ophthalmic Plastic and Reconstructive Surgery, and President of ASOPRS in 1990. She was a Clinical Professor of Ophthalmology at USC and was actively teaching the next generation of oculofacial surgeons until her death in 2004.

Many may not, however, be familiar with something else about her-- she ran hot. Literally. Legend has it that when she would operate, the residents were tasked with placing ice bags in her lap to keep her comfortable.  This ritual famously earned her the nickname Bernice the Furnace, which was also a helpful pneumonic that her first name did NOT, in fact, rhyme with Denise but with, well, furnace.

Yes, the legendary Dr. Brown left a lasting impact on our field, but she also was impactful in my life back in 1993.   I had not matched after applying for an ASOPRS fellowship, and after residency, I decided to stop out of medicine to take care of my newborn and 1-year-old.   My career derailed as one pediatric “gap” year turned into two.  I had pretty much given up on my oculoplastic dreams when I heard about a new ASOPRS fellowship out in LA that needed its first fellow outside the match.   Never mind that my family had just moved to Chicago for my husband’s job, I decided to throw my hat in the ring. I flew out to LA and interviewed with Don Liu, who would be the preceptor of USC’s recently-approved fellowship. Things went well, and Don later told me I was a finalist for the position. But there was still one person I needed to meet with--Bernice Brown.  While Don was the preceptor, Bernice held an adjunct role at the University. Being a recent past president of the Society, Bernice insisted on vetting the final candidates for what would be Doheny’s first official ASOPRS-trained fellow. Don set up a meeting for the two of us at the Academy, that year being held conveniently in Chicago.

I was to report to the ASOPRS booth on the exhibit floor at a predetermined hour.  I dressed in my best suit and arrived early.  Remember, there was no internet back then.  I had no idea what she looked like, but when I got to the booth, there was only one woman there. She was seated and engaged in conversation with someone she seemed to already know.  The body language made the hierarchy clear--she was definitely the alpha female to the beta male across from her.  I thought it had to be her, so I milled around trying to stay in her line of sight without looking too expectant.  The man she’d been speaking with rose to leave, and so did she.  Did you know Dr. Brown was about 6 feet tall? Neither did I--until she stood up to shake his hand.  At this point, she turned to me and introduced herself.  "You must be Tamara."  Her voice was deep and gravelly. She reminded me of Bea Arthur who played Maude in Norman Lear’s sitcom of the same name, and more famously, Dorothy, the sensible, no-nonsense member of the Golden Girls. She motioned for me to sit where beta male had just been.  Though she smiled cordially, I felt more warmth from the seat than I did from her. She folded those long legs under her and, with little preamble or pleasantries, got right to business.   

She asked perfunctorily about my training, and I ticked off my educational pedigree. She nodded faintly, smiling very little. My collar seemed to tighten around my neck. I yearned for some lip balm or better yet a glass of water.  She inquired about why I was available for this position, having heard some business about failing to match and more business about multiple pregnancies, toddlers, and a husband working in Chicago.  My peripheral vision began to fade while McCormick’s ambient noise and her voice started slowing down like in the movies when someone was tripping or about to faint. 

Feigning confidence, I didn't feel, I took a deep breath and confirmed the somewhat messy details of my situation. She shifted in her chair, her eyes piercing, and asked, "So, are you telling me you would move to Los Angeles with your two babies to be an ASOPRS fellow for two years while your husband stays in Chicago?"  The din of the exhibit floor seemed to cut out.  The only thing I could hear was my inner voice, and it was critical and bordered on scathing. She’s right; this is CRAZY. Who are you kidding?  Did you really think you could pull this off?  For the first time since I sat down, I felt calm--a resigned calm, but a calm nonetheless. Why be nervous about a pipe dream now so seemingly beyond reach?  The bustle of the exhibit hall cut back in, and I managed to answer, "Well…yes, that is what I’d do if Dr. Liu chooses me. I’d make it work somehow."   

She leaned back in her chair, still eyeing me intently, and then she…smiles!  Not just with her mouth like at first, but a REAL one this time, with her eyes. She says two words, “Atta girl" and then launches into HER life story.  About how she started her family after college and only years later, now the mother of two young children a little older than mine, decided to go back to medical school.  She was dismissed. She was belittled. She was underestimated. Young mothers in her era generally didn’t work outside the home, let alone embark on a career in medicine!  It was as if the naysayers long ago had lit a fire in her that still burned brightly (maybe THAT’s why she ran hot).  Bernice the Furnace had bucked conventional wisdom in her wildly successful career and must have seen something of her own unlikely journey in mine. I got the call from Dr. Liu a couple of weeks later.  “Congratulations, you will be the first ASOPRS fellow at USC/Doheny.  See you next July.”  

Bernice and I never became close either during or after my fellowship thirty years ago. I would see her at meetings, usually engaged with a phalanx of ASOPRS VIPs. Despite her role in launching my career, I was still too intimidated to approach her. She passed away a few years after my fellowship, and I’ve always regretted that I did not tell her how profoundly grateful I was for her blessing that day at McCormick.  She and Don Liu threw this young, out-of-work mother a lifeline, and I owe my career to them both.  It is said that when we lose someone, they are never truly gone as long as they are not forgotten.  I will never forget Bernice Brown.  Maybe now you won’t either.

Editor’s note: Dr. Fountain was ASOPRS president in 2018.