I cannot remember just when or how I met George, or more correctly, Jorge. Likely it was via the friend of a friend. He came across at once as a larger than life exuberant energetic fellow, full of general cheer and a zest for living. Jorge quickly became part of my circle of close friends. We had in common an interest in science in general, particularly the biological sciences. After graduating L.C. Anderson, he too became a pre-med college student at UT, so we shared some classes, as the dreaded organic chemistry, and stay connected. Both of us were competitive students and so when we were accepted into medical school, we both chose Southwestern in Dallas, the reputed hard-core medical school of the UT system. Jorge and I decided to become roommates in Dallas. We spent a day looking for a cheap apartment reasonably close to our med school and ended up in a rather ghetto, but inexpensive, place a couple of blocks north of Lemon Ave. We stayed together for the entire four years, joking we lasted longer than many marriages! He and I shared a great sense of humor, which he never lost. It was easy to be upbeat around him, with his zest for life. Going through the excitement, challenges and overall baptism of fire of medical school together, a time of great growth and reward, was as much like two buddies sharing a foxhole in battle could be for us non-military types. Many were our eye opening experiences and life’s ups and down in those years. Jorge always approached the demands with cheerful dedication. Jorge was fluent in both English and Spanish, as his family had fled Castro, leaving everything behind, and came to the states when he was only a young child. He told me some of his first memories of the U.S. were of his dad and uncle sitting late at the kitchen table, under a bare lightbulb, studying to learn English and pass the US medical license requirements. Although he could’ve cruised through school getting credit for Spanish as a second language, he ambitiously took German in high school, as did I. Whenever seeing Hispanic patients, I was envious of his ability to effortlessly switch from one language to another. Despite living together for four years, unfortunately our school demands kept me from learning more than a smattering of Spanish from Jorge. Jorge was born with a heart problem and underwent surgery as a young child, something which precluded athleticism but did not seem to impact his overall energy, which never ceased to amaze me. He handled our occasional rotations of 110 hour, sleep-deprived work weeks handily. He was able to study effectively in front of the TV playing old movies, of which he had encyclopedic knowledge, whereas I required a quiet room to concentrate. Med school was not all work, and we loved hosting our various good friends for planned or impromptu parties. We also commiserated about our often less than optimal social life and limited time and opportunities for dating! After medical school we went off to our respective internships & residencies. We both did an internship year of general surgery, me in Utah, and Jorge in Little Rock at the University of Arkansas for Medical Sciences. After my general surgery year, I joined Jorge at UAMS, where I specialized in ophthalmology while he completed his five full years of training as a general surgeon. Being a general surgeon is a demanding enough career in itself, but Jorge then did a two year fellowship in trauma surgery in Louisville, Kentucky, pursuing a career which guaranteed many a middle of the night emergency operations. He entered academics and was an Associate Professor in the Surgery Department at the Medical College of Georgia in Augusta. After my training ended, I moved to the state of Washington. We were thus diagonally across the US from each other. We periodically talked, but in hindsight, not enough. This, though, was in the days before the internet with emails, Skype, texting or FaceTime. I was truly heartbroken when he passed away. I lost a good friend and a part of my past. Many are the times I think of him, and how I wish we could have an evening together over brews and pontificate and reflect on life, our past and how far we came along the journey. I must raise a glass to you solo, Jorge. Salud!