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It was my good fortune to meet Steve 10 years ago on a photo trip to Alaska. A great friendship ensued after that. We continued our trips over the years doing over 30 trips together. We traveled and photographed Alaska, Canada, New Mexico, Florida, Wyoming, Montana, Colorado and Tanzania. Spending that much time with someone you get to know them very well. The best description that I can come up with for Steve is that he was a renaissance man. He was at the top of his field in medicine. He was a great photographer, loved playing the guitar and singing. He was well read and enjoyed having conversations about many subjects.
I could go on and on. Simply said Steve was a great friend.
Steve I will miss you greatly.
Rest in peace my friend.
I was deeply saddened to learn of the passing of my great friend and colleague Steve Goodman.. Steve and I go back many years, with wonderful memories from the Genetics and Pediatric meetings every year. Without question, Steve was one of the foremost biochemical-geneticists in the world. His contributions to our field have been enormous. As an investigator, teacher, and mentor he was superb, in a class by himself.
Steve had a great sense of humor, always enjoying a good joke. His laugh and smile were infectious. He could be very serious about professional matters and warm, friendly, and delightful about life's other experiences. I had the pleasure of staying with Pat and Steve at their home on one occasion and at their mountain chalet with my family on another. They were a great duo and their warmth was contagious.
As I reflect on the nearly 50 years of my friendship with Steve, I know that I will miss him greatly. We often spoke by phone about professional matters but every conversation ended with a laugh and a smile. That's what I loved most about Steve. He was admired and respected by world-wide colleagues and will be remembered fondly by all.
REST IN PEACE MY FRIEND
MICHAEL KABACK, MD
I first met Steve in Heidelberg during the 1st International Meeting on glutaric aciduria type I (GA I), an inherited metabolic disorder discovered by Steve in 1974. After that, we met many times during international meetings and I believe we became friends. Steve was a brilliant scientist and a very kind person. Because of him and only because of him and with the help of Mike Woontner I got the only animal model of GA I. Nobody wanted to give me this model to study the pathophysiology of the disease. Steve said you want it, you will have it. And it happened. He stayed in Brazil as a visiting professor at UFRGS (my Univerity) and HCPA (hospital) from March to July 2010 and he was an ideal human being, smiling all the time, always kind, always extremely scientific with all people, from undergraduates to top scientists. He gave courses, conferences, attended seminars, gave his views, etc. He lived in a hotel, Coral Tower Trade Center and walked every day from and to the Hospital/University a distance of 2 miles. He never complained about anything. He brought his kindle with many books inside. We had lunch everyday during this period at my home since this is a tradition in Brazil. We only had 15 min for it, since i had to take my children to school. He was always willing to do so without complaining and in a good mood. We went to a small Zoo in Gramado, a tourist city 60 miles away from Porto Alegre. He was impressed by the quality of the Zoo and said: "Patricia, his beloved wife, should be here and enjoy this". We spent Pessach with my family and, although not religious, I felt some emotion in Steve's eyes, by eating gefilte fish and listen to our pray and songs. If I could resume his better qualities i would say kindness besides open heart and open brain. I spent from July 2019 till August 2020 in Boston, US, and I could talk and greet Steve for his 81st birthday, after his terrible loss, Patricia. He said as always: Take care Moishe. We will always miss you Steve. Now you can rest and meet your beloved wife in heaven.
So many "favorite" memories -- starting with Steve looking up when I walked into his office on a Monday morning in 1987 to interview for position and hearing him say "oh, you're here, lets see who is around to meet with you". Steve introducing me to colleagues in ways that boosted my career, and Steve being supportive as I'm sitting in his office in tears when another (actually the 4th in a year) child with organic acidemia died, Steve with guitar at SIMD -- and when he first needed bifocals, when he had to hold the guitar far away in order to read the song-list taped to the back. I remember finally winning a bet against Steve (yeah, that baby really did turn out to have hyperphe). And Steve including me - and so many of us! - as part of his "extended" family and how wonderful he and Pat were together (and the annual brisket), how proud he always was of his wonderful daughters and how happy to be a grandfather. .
I will miss him!
I know that folks are collecting information about his career - and here is an excerpt from letter I wrote, describing what happened when I nominated him for in 1988 for the first-ever Faculty Council Award for Excellence at University of Colorado (he won): "a theme in the letters of support written by our colleagues from around the world was that “he … does things to help people for the science, not for what’s in it for him.” Each time I requested a letter of support from a colleague, the answer was “absolutely” and each one suggested another, who also wrote in support."
In 1989 I came to Denver to find an apartment before my fellowship. I was of course completely intimidated by the "strict and a bit scary" Dr Goodman. But that evening they took me to a resident/faculty talent show where Steve played his guitar to "very major general" with words that were all medical abbreviations. Lets just say I saw the human side to the great Dr. Goodman in a way that will stay with me forever! My favorite song of his was "Charlie and the MTA".
Steve was also a magnificent teacher. He taught just the way his seminal book on organic acids is written - building a foundation with the basics and making it feel simple and effortless. It was a gift.
One of my last interactions with Steve was a SIMD meeting where he told me my hot pink jacket hurt his eyes, and then said "hey, kiddo, you're going gray.....I can't believe my kids are already middle aged!". I was just happy to be considered one of his "kids".
Thank you Steve for everything. You will be greatly missed.
One life lived, many lives touched.
I was just reading his article this morning and thinking about him and all the discussions I had with him about Glutaric acidemia. . My fond memories are of his laughter with Dr.. Elsas Geneticist from Emory , my mentor and when he took me for a long walk in one of NY resorts where we stayed for a meeting. and shared his passion about bird watching. I was fascinated by his interest. May he RIP.
I will remember his awesome smile, love of nature, sense of humor, beautiful photography, old stories and his incredible expertise. Most importantly his willingness to help me learn biochemical genetics as a new Nurse Practitioner and always being available for brainstorming and consultations over the years.
An incredible man and huge loss for all of us.
RIP Steve !
When Steve came to visit Children's National in February this year he and I got a whole late evening to visit. In classic style, we put the top down on the car and drove around DC (just above freezing). Seeing the monuments at night and getting to visit was so much fun. I think we talked for 3-4 hours.
We always had fun ribbing each other. I was always "Summar!" since the late 1980s when we first met. I think I was the only Tennessee hillbilly he knew. I learned a lot from him but the friendship was the real gift.
He will live on in his family and all of the lives he touched.
On behalf of the McGill School of Medicine,
I would like to offer our sincere condolences to the family and friends of Dr. Goodman, one of our most distinguished alumni. As Dean I had the pleasure of meeting him at Homecoming, He was a proud member of the famous Class of 1963, I was happy to learn that he was a fellow photographer, albeit a much more talented one. Beyond his music and photography, Dr. Goodman was internationally known for his seminal work in the field of organic acidemias and for his academic leadership and he is missed by his colleagues here in Montreal. Our sympathies to all who were close to him.
Dean,Faculty of Medicine and Health Sciences
I was saddened by the news of the passing of a great guy and biochemical geneticist. Professionally, I would rely on him for advice in treating Glutaric Acidemia I. Since this picture depicting him on the Cysteine (misspelled intentionally) Chapel is featured, I will tell of another "religious" encounter I had with Steve: At one of the SIMD meetings (can't remember which one) I saw Steve walking down the path with Richard Hillmann and Steve Cederbaum, as we all know, three eminent geneticists. Noting all three in a row, I blurted out: " WOW, THE FATHER, THE SON, AND THE HOLY GHOST." Wrong religion X3, but they got a chuckle out of it.
- Kirk Aleck
I do not share personal emotions readily in public, but those for Steve are easy to make as an exception. The Quakers were fond of naming newborns after their hopes or the personality of the baby. When Steve was named Goodman, it followed that tradition; he was a good man. He was a genuinely good person and no acerbic comment or casual teasing remark could mask that. He liked people; he respected them and was nice to them. We were contemporaries, began our careers at the same time and grew with the field of which we were a part. He was smart enough to know that the success of the SIMD depended on its atmosphere as a welcoming organization and because of that, the organization flourished. His science was fearless and led to breakthroughs in our understanding of glutaric acidemia, but of course much else. Steve was fearless in all his passions and loved his photography as he did his family and his mountains. Standing above all else was who Steve was. I will miss him greatly.
I’ve known Steve all my life. He was “Stevie” in the early days, my older cousin, the same age as my sister (the little girl with Stevie in some of his childhood pictures in the Family Album). In Montreal we’d often see each other on weekends because his mother and mine were very close. In those early years we’d also spend summers together in Saint-Hippolyte, north of Montreal. I remember that Steve played the guitar as a teenager, but both of us being city-slickers in Montreal, I never imagined him as the “country guy” he would become when he moved out to Colorado.
Like Steve, I also pursued a career in the medical sciences and we got to see each regularly for several years when my wife and I would attend a summer cancer conference in Aspen and Pat and Steve would meet up with us while we were there. By this time, we had all become infatuated with nature and a regular part of our stay together involved bird-watching. Pat was the best of all of us in that regard but even back then Steve showed a remarkable aptitude for nature photography, something he had given no clues about during the early years. One of the traits Steve had inherited from his father was a love of driving and he would get a kick out of taking all of us up and down roads filled with hairpin turns (terrifying to us Easterners) to visit out-of-the-way places where we could find interesting wildlife. In addition to getting together in Colorado one of our most memorable trips together was to the Bosque del Apache Wildlife Refuge in New Mexico in the middle of wintertime; we’d all get up at dawn to watch the sandhill cranes and snow geese take off from their roosting site and stand there shivering while Steve would be snapping photo after photo.
For those of you who have not seen Steve’s nature photos, I recommend that you check them out (GoodmanPhotos.com). Many of you obviously knew him as an accomplished scientist but he was also a wonderful photographer.
We were very much looking forward to seeing Steve again on a planned trip to Vail this past summer, but we missed the chance for a last visit together because of the pandemic.
Our times with Steve and Pat were always so fulfilling and enjoyable that we shall remember them always.
I cannot think of Steve without smiling. Over the decades there have been so many memories. Because he had family in Montreal and because he always came back for his McGill medical class reunions, we would get together quite regularly. Usually we would meet for breakfast so that he could spend the rest of the day visiting family. When he returned for reunions, he would sometimes ask to borrow my guitar so that he could be part of the entertainment for his class.
Steve was a talented scientist and physician, but it was his talents outside of science and medicine that made him so special. He held strong views on life and politics, some of which we shared and some of which we did not. He lived the dictum that if you are not a socialist in your youth, you have no heart and if you remain one later in life, you have no head. We could argue endlessly, but always with good humour.
He made me read Charles Krauthammer so that I could be properly educated. We would often get together at meetings (photo attached). But it was over music that we bonded. I remember an SIMD meeting in Perdido Beach Resort in South Orange Alabama, where Steve took his guitar onto the beach and started regaling with bawdy songs. A church youth choir was singing a little further down the beach and some of the kids came by to see what Steve was singing. Steve had to change his repertoire pretty quickly.
He loved Pat and his girls; he loved his work; he loved music; and he loved photography and nature. After Pat died we had weekly Zoom guitar jams which were often joined by his Colorado colleagues. He loved cowboy songs and I would always try to get him to yodel.
His talents as a photographer were outstanding. He explained how he started taking pictures of birds when Pat took up bird watching; he wanted to be with her but he wanted to do something more than make lists.
Steve leaves a void that is hard to fill but I never have a thought of him that does not make me smile. Linda and I cherished every contact with both Steve and Pat over the years. Steve’s memory is a blessing.
-Linda and David Rosenblatt
So many good memories, so much fun, so much help and expertise.
Early in my career, Steve and I wrote several papers together and we often took short trips or side excursions from scientific meetings, usually to look for birds. One trip in particular, maybe 40 years ago, stands out. One autumn, Steve asked me to partner with him giving some lectures on genetics and biochemistry to a physician group in Albuquerque. He promised to limit the lecturing to the morning so we could look around on the afternoons. I met Steve in Denver and we drove south visiting the San Luis valley in the Sangre de Cristos National heritage area along the way. We surveyed a vast, flat, wetlands filled with thousands of sand hill cranes and scattered whooping cranes flanked by trees loaded with bald eagles silhouetted against a back drop of the low autumn sun on the Sangre de Cristos mountains; magnificent! Later that weekend we visited Bosque del Apache national park south of Albuquerque also filled with a cacophony of birds in the desert light. The last day we traveled west from Albuquerque looking for Chaco Canyon, homeland of the ancient Puebloan people. We were lost most of the way with the last hour or so on dirt roads but eventually the land dropped suddenly and we were in the canyon, deserted and cold, and it started to snow. As we walked alone through the ruins, it was completely still with snowflakes drifting down. It was as if we were back in the time of that ancient civilization; magic!
Thanks Steve for the good times and for all your help, always delivered with a dash of humor, in managing our difficult patients.
I was in clinic this morning when my colleague told me of Steve’s death. The world stopped.
For some reason some of us in genetics chose to pursue the study and treatment of the rare, potentially damaging and sometimes lethal disorders that are inborn errors of metabolism. I was the lone person seeing these patients at my institution until recently, and to credibly do that, one needs a great support group on ‘speed dial’ (today=texting).
Steve was a support ‘group’ himself. Having gathered pearls of IEM clinical wisdom from David Valle and laboratory details from George Thomas, when out on my own, Steve grew into a Professional’ life-long mentor for me, a clinical and laboratory advisor on puzzling cases, and all-around cheerleader. He was always available for clinical or laboratory ‘consultations’. When my lab was on divert, in the latter years we diverted to his lab – partially to get the expertise that came with it! I and our many patients owe him a huge debt of gratitude – for sharing his wisdom with us.
His was the definition of a smile – yeah that’s the way it’s done! So many SIMD meetings, especially Asilomar, grace my memories. Always with the cogent comments during presentations – with practical , direct solutions to the society’s issues – and sharing his stories and photos around the fire. I remember his story about 2 big-horned sheep duking it out in the middle of an interstate highway near Denver, stopping traffic for miles. His recorded phone message urging us to ‘speak slowly and clearly’! He had us laughing without even talking to him.
Someone said a renaissance man. Yes.
I will always be indebted to this unselfish giant who willingly shared his knowledge – and love of life - to those of us lucky enough to have encountered this amazing soul.
My condolences to his family, and RIP -and keep on taking good photos up there!
My Beloved Cousin Stevie and I shared our childhood in Montreal where my mother invoked the culturally acceptable Jewish momma’s norm of holding me to Steve’s standards, unattainable in part because he was 2 years older. "Why aren’t you like your cousin Stevie? His marks, he is never a nudnick. is so lattish, etc.”. So when we visited cousin Stevie, some reticence on my part might have been understandable. But impossible. Steve was disarming, even as a youngster: always welcoming, smiling, happy. I loved listening to his music, whether guitar or “record player.” I loved playing ball with Steve. His pitching arm was intimidating and I remember hardly moving my glove to snare his fastballs. His smile was infectious, his energy contagious, his humor hilarious, his presence, inspiring. We bonded over joyful childhood times, so special to kids and so everlasting. Because I was 2 years younger, Steve was patient, helpful and supportive all the way from our childhood through McGill when Steve gave me his lecture notes from first year Med School. These were not just notes; every lecture was typed, perfect, illustrated and better than the assigned textbook. Our career paths diverged - Steve came to Denver and I to Boston and, as adults, we rarely saw each other - but when we did we picked up where we left off. We had one unfinished mission - we never understood the source of our relationship. It may be that we were cousins by culture but not by blood, an artifact of Jewish life in Montreal a century ago. And with Steve’s passing, I am content to not pursue this question. We were and will always be loving cousins.
I call Steve 5 years ago from Montreal, regarding a new patient with GA3 who was coming in every month for severe vomiting and metabolic acidosis, unusual for a GA3. I had met him in conferences, and we interacted through the lab, but we did not know each other well. He was open, kind, funny and I remember this long brainstorming conversation to still be one of my favorite in my career. We ended up finding a possibly treatment avenue if this was related to GA3. I did a trial with the patient, and she was never hospitalized again in the following years I care for her.
I met Steve when I was an intern. At that time I was not very interested in Genetics, but what Steve and I had in common was baseball. There were annual faculty vs house staff softball games where Steve started at second base. He was really good. I pitched a few innings. Most faculty batters went for home runs and you could easily get them to pop out. Not Steve. He placed his hits and always got on base. It was impossible for me to get him out.
I took up Genetics during a 2 year postdoctoral fellowship at McGill University in Montreal, Steve’s home town and school. I was pretty much cowboy in those days and my Montreal experience was quite different from Steve’s. But we both loved the place and have enjoyed talking about it whenever we could.
Steve got me started playing guitar two years ago and stuck with me as my progressive neuropathy compromised my playing cords and strumming. Picking was out. To his immense credit Steve leaves me having fun playing simple songs.
In 2017, having played and sung at my retirement celebration, Steve approached me wanting to better his understanding of cowboy lingo. I invited Steve to join my wife and I in Lewistown, Montana at the Montana Cowboy Poetry Gathering. Cathy and I will never forget this trip. In his last few months, Steve started talking up another trip to another gathering.
For now, no more trips or guitar lessons. But I can, and do, dial up happy memories of Steve at will. Often, he still makes my day.
Steve was my first mentor and teacher of metabolism after he accepted me into his laboratory for a summer internship in 1982. We have been friends ever since, with me calling him numerous times for advice and guidance. I remember fondly, not only his brilliance and amazing knowledge of metabolic pathways and how they interact, but also his wonderful sense of humor. He liked to share his marveling of nature and invited our family to spend some time with him, Pat, Karen and Michelle at their mountain cabin, where we found time for a few games of chess. In the summer afternoons on the 4th floor of the Stolinsky Laboratories, he liked to show me funnel clouds coming down from the mountains. In one of the SIMD meetings in Alabama, he showed me how he takes professional photos of sea birds. He told me about his leading excursions into Yellowstone National Park in the winter, this at age 80. Steve was full of life and so many interests and kept going strong also after his retirement. He is a big loss to his family and friends and personally to me and my family. He will be sorely missed. We should take some solace that he lived life to the fullest. May his memory be a blessing.
יהה זיכרו ברוך
Steve and I go back to 1953. While we were far apart once he moved to Denver, We always stayed in touch. About two or three years ago Steve came to visit us in Ottawa (it was part of his trip to McGill for a class reunion).
As you all know Steve was an excellent nature and wildlife photographer (I wish I had one of his masterpieces.) During dinner he told me that I was the inspiration for his getting into photography. For my Bar Mitzvah I was given a Mamiya 35mm camera. It was a unique camera in that it had interchangeable film magazines (anyone remember film) so that even in mid roll one could change say from print to slide, from color to B&W, etc.
I still have the camera and Steve was thrilled to see and hold it.
Secondly, it was Steve who introduced me to folk music. Even my terrible voice would ring loud and clear as we sang folk songs or when we went to see performances like The Weavers at Plateau Hall in Montreal.
We will all miss his sunny disposition but the fond memories will never disappear.
My wife Isabel and I were invited by Steve and Pat to visit them in Denver and then join Michelle and them on a trip to the Four Corners National Parks. It was a delightful time we will never forget.
Steve was one of the first faculty that I met in 1971 when I started my internship. His accomplishments and expertise were well known even then but what impressed me so much was how approachable he was. He was such a nice guy, so willing to share his expertise but also a smile and a joke. We were friends even though we never socialized or traveled together. For almost 50 years, when we passed each other in the hospital we always stopped and talked for 5 or 10 minutes. I asked about his travels and he asked about mine. We discussed his photography and my global health work. He graciously helped me get to the right people to develop newborn screening guidelines for the Pan American Health Organization just last year. He was a kind wonderful, brilliant friend and I will miss running into him in the hospital and being able to have our impromptu 5-10 minute catch up. My condolences to everyone who knew and loved him.
As a VERY junior faculty member at CU SOM PEDS and the Kempe Center, I approached Steve to consider a presentation with me on GA-1 at a national child abuse conference. This metabolic disorder whose co-discovery he is credited can present with brain hemorrhage and be confused with abusive head trauma (AHT) in infants. It is now on the differential in this work up and we all know that this is because of work done here in Colorado. I was terrified he would say no ( and probably more so that he would say yes!). He could not have been more gracious and embraced the idea. We drafted , submitted and then presented the session in September, 1998 at the 2nd National Conference on Shaken Baby Syndrome, Salt Lake City, Utah titled GA1 and Evaluation of Abusive Head Trauma. It was a success and I will never forget him saying to me as we left the room " you did great" and thanked me. I know the enormous impact of his career and life work on so many, many patients, families, and trainees. I am grateful I had this time with him then. My last few memories connect to this first one: I would see Steve on the CHCO employee walkway once in a while. I never missed that moment to say hi and how are you or good to see you. Treasure such moments, everyone.
To the family - thank you for the gift he was to us all and sharing him with our world.
-Andrew Sirotnak, MD
Steve’s loss is devastating to his family, friends, colleagues and many others, I am certain. He left the world with so many gifts from the labors of how he lived his life that they cannot be counted. As one of the founding members of the SIMD, Steve was a “small molecule” guy. When I joined about 25 years ago, the Society had become increasingly inclusive of “large molecule” biochemists for which I, for one, was very grateful as we really had no professional home before the SIMD.
I did not train with Steve nor did I work with him directly. His influence on my life had more specifically to do with photography and birding. Whenever we gathered at SIMD meetings around the country, I would ask Steve if he had a birding excursion planned and he usually did. Then I’d ask if I could come along and he would say yes. One such outing particularly stands out. The meeting was in Orlando in 2004. Steve wanted to go to a beach that he knew would have Sandhill Cranes and so he with all of his heavy duty photographic equipment and me with my one comparatively simple camera took off to find the cranes. Sure enough we found them, or perhaps I should say they found us. They walked toward us on the beach as a group pecking the ground like giant chickens mindless that a couple of humans were in their path; one of those humans was scrambling to get all of his equipment set up in time for photos. I kept saying, “Steve! Steve! They are going to walk right over us before you get your camera ready!” They did indeed walk right up on us and around us like a flock of small Ostriches and just kept on going. I don’t even remember if Steve got any photos before they left but I took a few and found one of them to share. We had a good laugh over that adventure.
Steve liked to keep his best photos in a handheld Epson viewer. Knowing I loved nature, he would always pull it out at a meeting and show me his latest breath-taking photos from somewhere in the natural world. He eventually convinced me to buy the Epson viewer. I took it out over the weekend and looked through my own photos while remembering Steve and his gifted enthusiasm for nature photography. I will miss him.
I was a graduate student in Steve's lab from 1991-1996. When I heard that he had passed, so many memories came flooding back. A summer party in Steve and Pat's back yard when I was a brand new student in his lab (Pat said, "Call me Pat, not Mrs. Goodman"). Learning about all the things the lab was involved in, from organic acid analysis to Tay-Sachs testing (so many fainting husbands!) to genetic counseling, and the various "guest" lab members that I met along the way. Working with Karen in the lab one summer. Going to Spain to represent the lab. Going to the clinic to see a real live patient. My PhD hooding ceremony, where he cracked a joke during the most serious moment. Meeting up with him a few years later in Baltimore, having a lively discussion of the city's history. Getting one of his wildlife photos to hang on my wall.
I had just reached out to him last week to see if he would consult on something my company was working on. To hear he had passed was a shock, and I will miss him greatly.
-Barbara (Biery) Leeper
Steve was one of my mentors when I was an intern in 1967. Over the next 50+ years, we maintained contact, which was to my great benefit. He was a role model for me, whether as a photographer or as an editor/author of textbooks in our respective fields of pediatric genetics or endocrinology. He was also a role model for my wife, Peggy, a guitar-playing "folkie," who Steve encouraged to play and sing along with him. He even gave her a beautiful new guitar case, which she cherishes. One evening, not so long ago, we met Steve for dinner which he prepared for us at his home, and then followed with a spontaneous two-person concert, to my benefit and enjoyment! He was a neighbor of ours in Silverthorne, where he had a house for over 50 years, just down the road from the one we have had for 25 years.
A very significant emotional encounter occurred on September 26 of this year, just a month before he died. He was in Silverthorne, and stopped by spontaneously to chat and to play and sing with Peggy. He shared with us a discussion of his cancer and the choices for treatment available to him. He then played and sang, much to our delight and enduring comradery.
He lives in our hearts.
-Michael and Peggy Kappy
I never had the opportunity to work directly with Steve but met him through the metabolic disease community and always looked forward to seeing him at meetings of the SIMD. He was an incredibly kind, intelligent and funny man. I loved seeing his wildlife photographs and talking about Africa with him. He was truly a giant in our field- always very generous with his time and expertise. I called on him on many occasions with questions about patients or test results and he was always willing to provide assistance. He will be sorely missed. My condolences to his family.
I have to tell the following story about my collaboration with Steve to his family and friends that resulted in directing me and my laboratory’s research for over 35 years! I started my scientific career as an Assistant Professor in the Department of Human Genetics at the Medical College of Virginia working on an inherited metabolic disorder called propionic academia. Our laboratory was one of the few labs that would perform carboxylase activity assays in skin and white blood cells from patients to confirm their diagnosis. Steve’s lab was performing organic acid analyses for geneticists and metabolic specialist from all over the United States and the world. Therefore, he frequently referred other laboratories with putative carboxylase deficiencies to my lab for confirmation. Over time, our lab had characterized a number of children with what was called late-onset multiple carboxylase deficiency. I had the idea of looking at the potential role of biotinidase as a cause of some children having multiple carboxylase deficiency. Once we had the assay for serum biotinidase activity established in the lab, I called Steve to see if he could arrange to have sera from one of the families of a child with late-onset multiple carboxylase deficiency in the Denver area so we could determine their biotinidase activities. He and the family agreed. Steve then arranged to send us five serum samples from one such family. He told us that he was going to send us five blinded samples (A –D); two controls, one from the child with multiple carboyxlase deficiency and one from each of the parents. The samples arrive within a day or two and we ran the samples for biotinidase activity. Two of the samples had essentially 100% of mean normal biotinidase activity, two samples had no detectable activity and one sample had about 50% of mean normal activity. We realized that we were onto something, but the results were not consistent with the samples that Steve told us he was sending. We expected two samples with 100% normal activity, two with 50% of normal activity (if consistent with a primary defect in an autosomal recessively inherited metabolic disease) and one with very low enzyme activity (the affected child). This happened late on a Thursday afternoon, so I called Denver to ask Steve to break the code and explain the results. Upon reaching his lab, I learned that Steve was not there and no one in the lab knew how the samples were coded. In fact, I was told that Steve handled our samples and shipped them to us himself. I also learned that Steve was in the air flying to Montreal to visit his mother. So I asked if anyone had his mother’s phone number! They did, so I immediately called his mother. “Hello Mrs. Goodman, my name is Barry Wolf, and I know that your son is coming to visit you. It is not an emergency, but can you please have Steve call me ASAP when he gets there!” Several hours later, Steve called me from the airport in Montreal. I told Steve that we had some interesting, intriguing enzyme results, but they didn’t quite make sense based on which samples he told me he was going to send us. I told him the results and he said, “I think you’ve got it!” He explained that , yes two of the samples were controls and had 100% activity; yes, one had 50% activity and was from the mother; however, the father was sick that day so did not give a sample. Because he knew we were expecting five samples, he split the child’s sample in two and that’s why we found two samples with no activity! We had found the primary defect in late-onset multiple carboyxlase deficiency, biotinidase deficiency. For me, the rest is history and represented the beginning of the rest of my scientific career. The next morning we had Dom Perignon champagne in the lab!
Steve was a Mensch. He was a wonderful colleague, collaborator and friend. I would enjoy my times smoozing with him and his often constant companion at meetings, Steve Cedarbaum. I and many others learned from their wisdom and insight. I greatly enjoyed Steve’s great sense of humor and learning about his varied interests in music and later photography. As we both aged in the world of inherited metabolic disorders, my attendance at meetings waned and I only would speak to Steve every six months or so just to touch base and see how he was doing. I will greatly miss these calls. However, the genetic and inherited metabolic disease community will miss him more. Fortunately, his legacy and contributions will care on.
.עליו השלום .ינוח על משכבו בשלום
With sincere condolences to the family,
- Barry Wolf
I was Steve’s Radar O’Reilly and he was my Colonel. I worked for and with this man for 23 years and what a ride that was. We went from hand written log books and reports to computer with the help of Dr. ERB McCabe who was interim while Steve was on sabbatical in Australia. Cheri (Peck) was willing to take computer classes and wrote our initial program. It was a hard sell to get Steve to switch when he returned but he adapted. Not sure why he kept me as he could type faster with his two fingers than I could with all of mine. Whatever his reasons, I’m eternally grateful to have shared part of his journey.
We secretaries were so glad when Steve’s Bible, as I called it, finally went to print after multiple typewritten drafts. Organic Acidemias was the last hand typed publication. Steve hung onto his IBM Selectric for quite sometime before switching to a computer. He would type and I would input – team work.
He was brilliant. Discussions in the lab were always interesting. He could quote paragraphs from his favorite books, Steinbeck being one. He thought the music from Coppelia was beautiful. Another love was his Corvair. Pat was the birder in the family until Steve caught the bug. He did a great duck impression when Cheri’s daughter Teale would visit the lab. He was aghast that I hadn’t read ‘The Trumpet of the Swan’. I now have a copy and loved it. I remember the day his first lens arrived in the lab starting his photographic adventures. He was also a good carpenter. He played guitar and sang in little coffee shops while attending medical school.
When he won the ‘Guthrie’ I called his Mom in Montreal to tell her and he wasn’t pleased with me for doing so. I also sent her a copy to share with her friends. Steve would never ‘toot his own horn’ but as a Mom myself I thought it important that she know.
He loved his family and was so proud of Karen and Michelle. He loved his vocation, especially Saturday mornings in the lab because he could ‘think ‘. He was a pistol and I enjoyed the ride for almost a quarter century. I will miss my annual interaction with SIG.
So long Boss,
Steve and I met in 1968 at the BF Stolinsky Research Lab. Steve knew medicine and physiology, and I was fresh out of grad school in chemistry. I learned a lot from Steve because I was building a computerized gas chromatograph - mass spectrometry system to be applied to inborn errors, about which I knew nothing. Our boss Donough O'Brien, assembled our group daily to review lab results, so we got to know each other pretty well professionally.
Carol, Pat and Steve and I also got along well socially, so we shared many meals prior to children entering our lives – we recall that Pat was still working as a nurse in those days. We well remember visiting their mountain cabin, and I marveled at the fact that Steve seemed as comfortable with a guitar as with an amino acid analyzer. Another memorable evening was at a very dressy fundraiser for the lab, where the movie-TV actor from ‘Columbo’, Peter Falk, was featured and us ‘lab folks’ and spouses were appropriately star struck.
Steve and I published one paper together on glutaric aciduria, and then wrote a book together on the Diagnosis of Inborn Errors of Metabolism by Gas Chromatography – Mass Spectrometry. It was published in 1981, 3 years after I left Denver for NIH in Bethesda. Steve had been recruited to this project by a publisher, but we were both disappointed that the book never got much attention, and disappeared from circulation after a brief period. When we met for lunch ~45 years later in Denver, Steve told Carol, Pat and I that he later learned that the publisher had died the same month our book was released, and no one in the company ever promoted it. He was philosophical about it after all these years because we both enjoyed the collaboration that the book required, and we learned a lot from each other. The memories of working with Steve remain, and I miss him.
Because UCSF did not have an on site biochemical genetics laboratory for training fellows, I had the fortune of traveling to Colorado to be taught by Steve. The time I spent in the lab with Steve was a tremendous experience, and of course I learned a lot. However, his sense of humor sticks with me most. He especially liked my Scottish stories, as I attended medical school in Scotland and things were a bit different there. In particular, there was a story related to my first day on the ward as a medical student in Glasgow. I had done my preclinical training at the University of St. Andrews, so I joined a Glasgow class in midstream. The Glaswegian students had already taken a class on clinical medicine, but I hadn't a clue as I joined 6 classmates huddled about the bed of a gentleman hospitalized for a recent myocardial infarction who had developed a heart murmur. A tall Englishman who had served in the RAF and had a classical Queen's English accent was our tutor that morning, and he sharply asked me to listen to this man's heart, and draw what I heard. I did what I was told, first listening, and then doodling some abstract art on a small piece of paper, as I did not know how to notate 1st heart sound, 2nd heart sound, crescendo-decrescendo murmur, etc. I reluctantly handed my sheet with the doodles over to the consultant physician as he stared at me. He then looked at the paper, then back at me, then to the paper again, then back to me, paused and said, "Enns, you are an idiot!" I replied, "Yes sir, you are probably right" and my medical training was underway. Steve would always greet me at meetings we attended as our paths crossed with a broad smile and declaration of "Enns, you're an idiot!" with his best attempt at a Scottish accent. I'll really miss that.
I first met Steve in 1952; I was 12 and had just moved to Montréal from Toronto. Stevie was 13. He lived two apartment blocks over from me and I expect we just met out on the street, as kids did in that more innocent time. But I him remember clearly how he struck me from the very start: friendly, open, and while he could be very straightforward he was truly kind. In the many, many years that have passed, I never knew him to stray from those qualities. He was a man of character, a true friend. He was industrious, inventive, a man of science yet as a photographer truly an artist. When Gloria and I married, Steve was my best man, permanently a part of a very treasured memory. He was always available to speak with, to advise, to listen even after a space of many years since the last discussion and with no notice of this one. I shall very much miss knowing he is there -- although that infectious smile and gleeful laugh will always be with me.
Gloria and I send our love and condolences to Michelle and Karen and to Steve’s sons-in-law and grandchildren on their loss; they are in our prayers.
For Stevie, alla v’shalom – May God grant him – and all who mourn him – peace.
“Death ends a life, but not a relationship”
We will all miss Steve greatly. We will miss his always pleasant nature, his smile, his friendly quips, and very much his teaching and his wonderful contributions to metabolic disease. Steve was a leader in our generation of physician scientists. We succeeded the first generation, those who developed the means for identifying and discovering metabolic disorders. Steve developed new methods and with these methods discovered new diseases and their treatments. And Steve was tenacious! When despite Steve's insistence the Colorado Newborn Screening Program refused to expand their screening program by using a new method that would greatly increase the number of children they could diagnose and save lives, Steve decided to do the screening of Colorado babies in his own laboratory! That was Steve. Many children and adults are alive and healthy today because of what he did. He and I had many conversations about expanded newborn screening during that time and I developed profound respect for not only his brilliance but also his deep humanity. As the saying goes, they don't make 'em like Steve any more. May his memory be a blessing to all of you and all of us.
- Harvey Levy
It has been my pleasure to know "Goodman". One would call the lab with a question regarding an urine organic acid result and you would get not just an answer but a relevant discussion with Goodman. Never any nonsense, always straight talk with Goodman. He will be missed. My condolences to his family and friends.
I cannot actually remember the first time that I met Steve. It must have been at Asilomar at an SIMD meeting sometime in the early 80s. Of course he was playing the guitar and singing. At that time I lived in LosAngeles and never imagined that he would be my boss and mentor at the University of Colorado for more than 25 years. He took a risk on an out of work laboratory geneticist and gave me an opportunity to build one of the first molecular diagnostic laboratory focusing on inborn errors of metabolism. He supported me throughout the promotion process from assistant professor to full professor over 17 years.
A few remembrances not always in full sentences: Where did that couch in his office come from? Impossible to get out of once you sat in it. I learned to only sit on the arms so we could be face to face.
Steve's love of jokes, it was OK to be a little off-color.. He often reminded me of one that I had told him many years ago. A little embarrassing.
I had a very contentious and somewhat demeaning meeting with our Pediatric Department chair in Steve's office when we were in the BRB. I was so frustrated that I got up and walked out of the meeting. He was so proud of me that ran to Linda Crnic to tell her what happened, big smile on his face. You would have thought he has just witnessed one of his girls taking their first steps.
I heard him on the phone with the personnel office after he had started to work part-time. His comment was: I am older than dirt, why am I still paying into retirement? One of the joys of having an office next door to him for 10 years.
My sympathies go out to his biologic family and to his scientific family. May his memory be a blessing.
I first “met” Steve when I was a post-doc. He called to complain that I had not cited him in my first publication. Then he laughed. We met in person shortly after and became good friends – a friendship that lasted more than forty years. My fondest memory of Steve is sitting with him, Mike Kaback and other friends under a tree at Asilomar, probably at an SIMD meeting, listening to Steve strum his guitar and sing folk songs. He was a great mentor and colleague who never failed to get on the phone to provide helpful advice. He had a wonderful sense of humor, often popping up at the most unusual moments. Though I didn’t see him often in recent years, I am deeply saddened to know he is gone.
Steve, you will be missed.
Dr. Goodman was on my graduate committee in Human Genetics and Genomics at CU Medical and was always a fervent supporter of me and my work. During my comprehensive examination, he mentioned that part of my responsibility to be able to answer any question in science. My heart thumped. He asked me about eukaryotic cell transfection and fortunately I knew how to design and experiment to be responsive to his question. That was a great moment and was reflective of his insight and abilities. We shared a Canadian upbringing where the natural world was central to our existence. Dr. Goodman was always a biologist first, cared for the environment in the Canadian tradition, and that shows in his photographic work. He will always live on in us, his students and we will always love him. Condolences to his family and friends.
Steve inspired me and so many other biochemical geneticists with his expertise, kindness, and outlook on life. I wish that he could see science continue to endure and prevail. Steve - you made this world a better place.
- Bill Wahl
To the Goodman family - I am so sorry to hear about your Dad. I know it’s been a long while but I have very fond memories of you Dad as we were in high school (getting a ride to school while listening to his guitar CDs, hearing him call out our names from the basement when we may have been a bit too loud, his laugh ️) My heart goes out to you all.
I was very fortunate to know Steve. He was never one to give superfluous compliments. I remember giving a talk at SIMD and walking out of the conference room to get a glass of water. Steve got up from his seat and followed me out. When he stopped me he said "That was not as bad as I thought it was going to be" and ducked back inside. That 'compliment' from Steve meant more to me than he will ever know.
My best memories are honestly not science related. I enjoyed sitting on his old office couch, which I am sure is from his original move to Colorado, and listening to his many stories. Of course he talked about the people in our field and there were moments when I wondered if everyone in metabolism had spent at least a few days in Steve's lab. I am confident I know most of the secrets to nature photography even though the only camera I own is my phone. And maybe I have been convinced that Sandy Koufax is almost as good as of left handed pitcher as Steve Carlton...
Curtis Coughlin II
I had met Steve when I was looking at Pediatric residencies; he may have been head of the residency selection committee at the University of Colorado. He encouraged me to go to the University of Minnesota for my residency and then come to Colorado for a fellowship in Metabolism with him.
I was scheduled to start my fellowship in Steve's lab on July 1, 1976. Steve called me in Minnesota to tell me that he was going to Norway for a sabbatical during my first year of fellowship. I thought he was going to tell me that my fellowship was cancelled. But no, he would leave me in the lab to review and sign out the urine organic acid results from the GC-Mass Spec.
I traded call nights with other residents so that we could be in Denver on July 1 to give me as much time as possible with Steve before he left for Norway. As I recall, there was a six day overlap to get me set to "run" the lab. Fortunately, Steve had Barb and Jerry who ran the GC-Mass Spec, and Harriet who ran tissue culture. They really "ran" the lab and I learned from them.
When Steve left for his sabbatical in Australia seven years later, I was better prepared and less concerned.
The last time we corresponded with Steve, he was excited to be headed to Alaska on a photography expedition. We always will remember his excitement.
Michelle and Karen, please accept our sincere condolences. Your father was a pioneer in his field, who literally "wrote the book."
-Linda and Ed McCabe
It was with real sadness that we heard of Stephens passing. Julie and I are part of his Sage Creek friends here in Silverthorne. Although I never got to know him very well, I would always see him at the Sage Creek Annual HOA meeting every year. He was always supportive, friendly and full of kind words. I know he loved being in the mountains and at the cabin on the river. I'm sure there are many fond memories that were made there.
We just wanted you to know that we are thinking of your family. Nothing ever prepares you for such a loss and we know you'll miss him. Only time heals these wounds. Hold on to all the great memories. I can see that there are many with all the great photos.
We live here in Sage Creek so please don't hesitate to call us if we can ever help out with the cabin.
Mike and Julie Magliocchetti
I had the good fortune to be a postdoctoral fellow in Steve’s Lab for 2 years. Due to unexpected circumstances with lab staffing, I spent the first 9 months or so working in Steve’s diagnostic lab and I can honestly say these were among the best 9 months of my professional life. He was the ultimate teacher, always willing to take time to review organic and amino acid profiles with me as well as other test results generated in the lab. Not only did he always have the answer to any question I posed, but he would often pull out his copy of “Stanbury” and go immediately to the page that supported his answer, as if he had the entire book memorized. Steve liked things to run smoothly in the lab and he liked to “pull” the organics first thing in the morning. So I was determined to get to the lab before him each morning, not only to rectify anything that might have gone awry with the GC overnight but to be there to review the chromatograms with him. Of course, this meant arriving by 6am each day, and while I didn’t always succeed, when I did, I was rewarded by quality learning experiences every time.
When his technicians returned and I was relegated to his research lab, which was my original purpose for being there, it quickly became apparent that this area was not my forte. However, once again, I was so very fortunate to have Steve as my mentor, as he took this in stride and literally walked me step by step through what turned out to be a successful project. What I remember most about this time is uttering the phrases “I hate research” and “I want to go back to the diagnostic lab”. But whether it was the first time I said this or the 100th time, his response was always the same. He would grin and say hang in there kid, you can do it, never once getting angry or upset with me, but equally important never giving in. Without his guidance, support, and understanding there is no way I would have completed my project and I am a better person for having done so.
In addition to what I learned from Steve in the area of metabolic genetics, I will also be grateful to him for encouraging me to take time to explore Colorado and other National Parks in nearby states. For someone who had never been away from the East Coast, this was an entirely new experience. His enthusiasm for hiking and traveling was infectious and because of his influence, I had many wonderful experiences and hope to have many more. It’s hard to believe I will no longer see him at conferences, no longer see him smile, give me a hug, call me kid, and ask how I’m doing. I will miss him greatly.
Hi - as a parent of a 31 year old daughter with Propionic Acidemia - I have to give my sincere graditude to Dr. Goodman - not only in his research, but his training of so many metabolic specialists along the way. I'm certain my daughter would not be here today if it weren't for him and other metabolic specialist that have devoted their career to studying organic acidemias. I am the director of a parent support group called the Organic Acidemia Association. The OAA had the good fortune to have Dr. Goodman speak at our family conference back in 2016 when we were in Colorado. He was generous to give his time and talent to our families. We all are very sad to hear of his passing....we sent our heartfelt condolences to his family!