Today is John's birthday.  It is mine too. What a co-incidence.  I remember the night (several years ago) when me and a colleague (Barry Kassen) went out to dinner in a restaurant - in Quebec City. In the old days, Pharma could do that. The 2 drug reps chatted after dinner.  One said "I'm a twin".  The other said "So am I", and Barry joined in too. I made up twin #4.  Four strangers, all twins.  When Barry and I got back to the hotel, we calculated the odds. The chap in the elevator overheard us, and said "I'm a twin too".  Good grief.

Last night, I was editing an article. A young man was very ill. His sister, his twin sister, felt his pain. I remembered John, and all the light he brought into my world, and others.  He would appreciate us raising our glasses. Happy birthday, John.

It is so lovely of everyone who posted a tribute to John on this 5th anniversary of his passing. It means so much to know how many people are still thinking and talking about him. I know what a special place you all had in his heart and it would mean the world to him to know that he retains a special place in yours. The reaffirmation that John's memory and spirit live on, sprinkled across the world in the friendships and shared experiences he made in life, is so deeply meaningful to our family. Lots of love to you all.

I shared this with Alison and wanted to share here as well.

My first year on faculty, 2002, and I was covering GI consults over Christmas (because of course I was). My grandmother passed on Christmas eve. John covered my call/rounds for me to attend the funeral that weekend. I was stressed about finding coverage and he offered without being asked. He was on biliary call and rounded on general GI too that Saturday.

Almost 21 years later I still appreciate the kindness and think about it every time I visit the memorial garden where my grandmother and parents are buried.

A good man taken far, far too soon.

May John's memory be a blessing.

Well, John, I got book one out of the way.  I wondered why I write at the end of my career. The same as you, we helped people (sometimes with prevention, sometimes with cure), and we want to mark some of those memories in prose. 

I don't think you would have liked retirement: we both love Medicine.  But now you have time to reflect, find new jokes, and motivate others.

We were both lucky to have good partners and wonderful kids.  That will be your/our legacy.  It is a shame you are not with the kids, but they have your genes.  As I've said before "it is not the depth of your keel that counts, it is the wake you leave behind" - and you certainly made a difference in your lifetime.  

John, Linda and I got to Glasgow this year. Not surprisingly, we found you Everywhere: in the people populating the streets (even those without a beard), enmeshed in the accents and overheard stories and jokes in the pubs, but mostly in our hearts.
It is a hell of a 5 year anniversary.Save me a seat. We have a lot to catch up on.

Dick

How quickly 5 years pass, John. And how many times your name comes up at meetings, with everyone smiling when they hear your name!

Many thanks to all of John’s friends, family and colleagues who have continued to post memories and tributes on his birthday and the anniversary of his death. It means the world to me ❤️

John and I share a birthday. He said he came out 10 minutes before me. I assume he had his watch on. 
I am writing my first book. He told me once it was a ton of work and now I know he was right.
Strange, me now newly retired and John not there to share stories with... But he was always good for a joke.  And a 'scope, but not at the same time. He probably has retirement jokes for the 'Big Yin' up there. And something about the political landscape ..
Happy birthday John! Slainth.

John
Your light still shines brightly. Your name and anecdotes about you come up so many times at all the GI meetings. There is always the same response from everyone---a hearty laugh and a big smile. That's all I need to say.
Miss you, my friend.
Mike

Happy Birthday , John. You may remember that our birthdays are in the same week, mine 5 days later. You Always remembered mine; I had to send you Belated Birthday cards or notes at least a third of the time.
We celebrated a # of those birthdays together over the years and in multiple geographies. I will have a beer tonight and raise a toast to you, one more birthday together.

Dick

Today would have been my dad's 70th birthday. While I am saddened by the fact that he is not here to celebrate with us, his contagious energy and youthful spirit lives on in all of us that remember him fondly. I see him in my nieces and nephew and can still hear his words of encouragement when I need them most. This afternoon, I am going to cast a line and think of the jokes he would have been telling to pass the time as we waited for a bite that sometimes came and sometime didn't. Honestly, it really didn't matter. Time together was what made our adventures so special.

Tonight, I will raise a glass of Chivas Regal Ultis, a bottle which bears his father's name, and think about how much of what I am proud about in myself and my family I owe to the loving and supportive home that he and my amazing mom, Alison, provided for my sister and me.

I hope that you all will take a moment to think about all that is good in your life and have a laugh or a smile in John's honor today.

-John's loving son, Chris

Google photos pop up unrequested and unexpected on my phone. It happens that John was the focus of multiple pictures in the past week: at Duke, DDW, together in Spain and Seattle. I am quite certain that he was telling me a story, a joke , expressing an absolute certitude, taking a contrary view to keep the conversation flowing late into the night…Best said, Forever Missed.

A colleague of mine contacted me recently.  He is a Professor of Medicine at a prestigious University in Canada. He said he was disillusioned with the new stream of trainees in Medicine. They were more interested in income and lifestyle, rather that industry, commitment and sacrifice. 

When I think of John, I think of someone born in a different era, when working hard, keeping the highest of standards, and sacrificing family contact - was the norm. He was a role model, a high achiever - and a nice guy to boot. I hope some of that rubbed off on his associates (and me).  And that the mould hasn't been thrown away.  His sense of humour was just an extra that was much appreciated. 

Here's thinking about you, John.  A lot of people would consider you their exemplar.  Well, maybe not as a comedian... But Cheers! We miss you.   H

Hello John,
Happy Third!
You haven't missed all that much, outside of your rapidly growing, wonderful family (where you have missed a lot, but not really, since you are no doubt watching closely from above).
Other than that, not much has changed: a new President with less impact than what we hoped for, worse political quagmire, healthcare a bit out of the spotlight but getting worse by the day with staff shortages, increasing bureaucracy and the lunatics having taken over the asylum. And the same type of characters at your beloved GI organizations, some well-meaning, others full of great speeches and hot air (how you always hated those!). - All the same. - That gives Dick Kozarek and I a great excuse to keep going with those two carbon fragments on sunny days (and on most others). We will take this third anniversary as an excuse to raise a glass to you, in memory and in ever lasting friendship! Best, Klaus

Three years is lifetime, John.
After weeks of wind and rain on Mercer Island ,a bomb cyclone is what the weatherman calls it, the clouds have lifted and there is sun on our deck. It brings back memories of better days there with you, Klaus, and DC-L tossing down 2 carbon beverages and solving a major share of the world's problems. Guess what, those problems, and more, have done an end -run around us all.

Dick

Today is the three year anniversary of John's death. I like to think that if he could speak to all those who made his life so rich, his words to us would share the sentiment of the poem copied below.

We are to John what we always were and he is us to us what he always was. To me, that was an amazing father and friend. Love you, dad.

---
Death is nothing at all
I have only slipped away into the next room
I am I and you are you
Whatever we were to each other
That we still are

Call me by my old familiar name
Speak to me in the easy way which you always used
Put no difference into your tone
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow

Laugh as we always laughed
At the little jokes we always enjoyed together
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was
Let it be spoken without effect
Without the ghost of a shadow on it

Life means all that it ever meant
It is the same as it ever was
There is absolutely unbroken continuity
What is death but a negligible accident?

Why should I be out of mind
Because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you at an interval
Somewhere very near
Just around the corner

All is well.

-Henry Scott Holland

---

Just a short note to say that we still remember John and think of him regularly. He was a wonderful special person who taught us a lot, made us laugh and made us better people.

Bill Silverman

In my childhood, my dad would give gifts to both my sister and me on any family birthday so we would not feel left out. It was obviously a hard practice to break. Even into our early adulthood, my sister and I would have to give our dad gentle reminders that we didn’t expect a present for someone else’s birthday. Thus, it is only fitting that on what would have been his 68th birthday, I find myself with an embarrassment of gifts from him as well as family and friends.
While intangible, these gifts are more precious than any physical object could ever be. Living in Beaufort, NC, a place that held a special place in my dad’s heart, meant that the drive to Fort Macon for a morning walk with my lovely wife, Alli, and dog, Brinks, was infused with so many incredibly memories of my father. Between our house and Fort Macon, we pass the Beaufort airport, where on numerous occasions my mom, sister, and I, having departed earlier in the day to some town to the beach, would watch from the tarmac as my dad landed to join us for what are some of the most memorable weeks of my childhood.
We pass over the Beaufort and Morehead City Bridge, providing views of fishing spots where we had variable levels of fishing success, but always enjoyed each other’s company. Pulling into Fort Macon, I remembered the fishing trip on which I immediately became sea sick and we had the charter captain drop us on Fort Macon beach only to return 5 hours later with my dad’s friends and a cooler full of 40 lb. king mackerel, a site he greeted with a smile and a laugh. The memories go on and on, each a reminder of the fact that, despite passing too soon, my dad’s uncompromising dedication to his family and his pursuit of his passions as if he had Ray Charles whispering in his ear every morning: “live every day like it is your last, ‘cause one day you gonna be right.”
Returning home from our walk, I open my computer to find more presents in the tributes left on this page. The loving memories left here by those whom my father cared for so dearly in life, while they bring tears, remind me that the best of him is alive and well in the hearts of many. That is what it means to live on and for that I am truly thankful. Tonight, my wife and I, my loving mother, my sister, and her husband Stav, will be toasting my father and all of you who made his life such a rich one. 

John, Linda and I have been immersed in Broadchurch, a British TV series circa 2013-2015. One of the detectives is Scottish, has a beard, and we strain to understand him when he is speaking quickly. He does Not have your sense of humor, your appetite for life, your multi-dimensional talents, nor the friends that you made from all over the world.
Nevertheless, watching and hearing him has brought you back to us and we have spent several weeks reminiscing our trips, our dinners, shared friendships, and late night toasts . So Happy Birthday, John. You Are, forever missed.

Dick

Happy Birthday John!
In keeping with Hector's point that birthdays for remembrance: I remember a DDW (GI) meeting when I was a young fellow. John was a speaker and therefore got invited with 30+ others to the evening faculty dinner. This is a closed event, but spouses are allowed. Much to the consternation of the rest of the group, he took me along to that dinner, in his words "as my date", arguing that if people can bring a spouse as a guest, why not another guest. He didn't take no for an answer and spent all evening introducing me to the biggest names in GI endoscopy, just to get me into the network. - He showed that commitment and dedication to his trainees throughout their entire training period. Always thinking about them first and figuring out how he could help them every step of the way. - Great memories!!

Being a twin has its advantages.  If you don't like your present, you can switch with your sibling.  Sort of early training in negotiation tactics.  Hard on the parents though (double-whammy every April).  

Birthdays are a time for remembering.  I remember a good childhood, and happy days with John.  I'll raise a glass and celebrate a life well lived (another thing birthdays are good for..)  Cheers!

Didn't remember that today is a solemn remembrance for an outstanding soul gone too soon

Perhaps aptly, I find myself reflecting about this while hospitalized w the same disease he helped me treat & manage my disease- Pancreatitis- lastly back in 2015

Little did I know, but as he tried to comfort me after my Father had just died during a rainy just before Xmas office visit, that he too, was very sick & trying to steer me in a good direction in case the un- certainty of my care there @ VCU fell thru

It did- after he died just like the Chump administration steamrolling into 1600 w no respect for the former occupant & evidently the institution itself- VCU administration changed the pancreatic disorders unit to the point where me, & more than 20 other people got dropped from an assist program unceremoniously

People like John went above & beyond the call of 'work'. Even w negative pressures around him, he found a way to connect w me & make me feel steadier in a clearly difficult & decidedly unsteady scenario

In a way I envy John bc his battle is over; what's on the other side cannot be worse than pancreas pain & the peripheral terrible starvation & other bad anomalies that go w it

Thanks to John after the fact, for giving hope & showing me light where I felt & saw none

That a person is not truly gone until their name is no longer spoken and their memory exists in no one's memory is a sentiment that can be traced back to some of the earliest civilizations. The posts on this page are an amazing reaffirmation that my father's contributions to the lives of others are still very much alive.
Time certainly does not heal all wounds. Coming up on two years since his passing, it would be disingenuous to say that memories of when he was sick are some of the very few things that can and do bring me to tears. But thoughts from that window of time have become increasingly rare. When they do, they are largely of the immeasurable strength of my amazing mom, who cared for him in a way that we should all aspire to when we think of our marital commitment to “in sickness and in health.” I think of how proud I am to have such an amazing sibling, Katie, in whom to confide and draw strength. I think of the strength I drew from the wonderful woman I married in a ceremony for which dad was not able to see in person but pervaded in spirit. And I think about how these two years have been a litmus test for the strength and sincerity of friendships and the bond of extended family; the results of which show how many truly incredibly people surround our family.
Memories of family walks at Duke Forest (in the early days, alternating who had to carry the backpack size phone when he was on call), beach weeks with our dogs endlessly chasing birds and boogie boarding until my dad invariably lost his glasses to his chagrin (with the exception of the time he found them 30 minutes later with the aid of a glass bowl he somehow used as a mini glass bottom boat), ski trips, golfing on weekends when he invariably let me use my trusty foot wedge to get a better lie, fishing at Jordan Lake or the coast, and even just watching Wayne's World for the 100th time as my family quoted the lines we knew by heart. These have shuffled themselves to the front of the deck and are where my mind goes first when I think of my dad. I am ever so grateful for it.

You always wish you had the chance to tell someone you loved them one more time or give them that big hug. I am eternally grateful that I had the type of relationship with my father that allows me peace in the fact that I know we packed in all we could have in the time we had together. If he had lived 50 more years, it would never had felt like enough, a feeling that must be tempered by an appreciation for the fact that we too frequently contextualize our life in terms up who has more (in this case time) rather than being thankful that we are not the many who have less. 

As we approach two years since his passing, particularly given the isolation many are feeling from the ongoing pandemic, if I can be presumptive enough to ask that you do something to honor his memory, I ask that you consider reaching out to someone who meant a lot to you at some point in your life but with whom you haven’t spoken to in a while. Rekindle a distant friendship (because 6 feet or across the world, what does distance matter at the moment), think about the things you haven’t said that you would regret if you didn’t get the chance and then say them. These are the things that truly matter. If you are feeling more ambitious, take a decisive step towards that thing that you have been putting off until you have more time. While my family always joked that my dad couldn’t sit still, it meant that although there were a few things he said he would get to when he retired, he died a devoted husband, a loving father, an accomplished physician and teacher, golfer, aviator, fisher (with some help when his line got tangled and he let out a good-natured “for f**** sake), and a friend to many.

In Loving Memory of my dad, John.
Slàinte mhath

Well, here we are 2 years later. Hector, John’s twin, reinforces our loss with his recent post. I have never been a pilot, have never adopted a Captain America visage in the prattle of my “slides”, ever done anything but shudder when I drank a peaty scotch, nor have I caught a fish with one of my children. However, I Have spent time with John : in Egypt, in Spain, in the Middle East, in Seattle, and around the world. I miss him and would have gladly twinned with him if it did not require eating Hagus , putting on a kilt , or toasting into the wee wee hours of the morning

It’s been 2 years since John died.
The world has changed dramatically since then.
How would John have viewed all this coronavirus stuff, embedded as he was in patient contact, endoscopy and hospital medicine?  Not well, I suspect, like most of us doctors these days.  And I can only guess at his commentary on the political landscape.

Communication between doctor and patient is vitally important.  And communication has changed too, between family and friends, neighbours and strangers.  How ironic that, in times of internet and the world-wide-web, we are less together and more apart.  In the old days, family moving out meant a flat on the other side of town, not a garret in Belgium, or a condo in Spain.  We now communicate using WhatsApp and Facetime (thank God they exist). 

I didn’t communicate with John the way I should have.  As a brother and fellow physician. As a family member.  As a trusted friend.  Maybe our upbringing was too aloof. Our careers took different paths.  Then thousands of miles separated us, and time flew by at its own pace.  And when I should have given him a hug, or said well done, or thanks – he was gone.  Like my Dad, who was there one day, and gone the next, unexpectedly ripped from us by tiny piece of occlusive fat in an important artery.  At least I got to share John’s 65th birthday with him, in Durham: I think he got the message – he was valued and loved. 

It is important to say what has to be said sooner rather than later.  Communication is so important.  Now I am left with thoughts of what could have been.  Yes, a giant of medicine left the stage, and others will take his place.  But I remember John as a nice guy who deserved the appreciation of his patients and colleagues, who deserved a joyous retirement, who deserved the love of his wife and family – all cut short by a lousy brain tumour. So, if you are reading this John – although I’m sure you have better things to do up there – you are sorely missed.

Ronnie Church, his second cousin, left us this year too.  A remarkable person.  I had a list of things I wanted to say to her - too late.

So, John, if you were here today, I’d give you a hug and say, “you’re the man”.  Of course, he’d recoil, but that’s the WASP in him.  Inside, he’d feel the same. 

To Ali and Chris and Katie, we are all proud of you, and wish you well. You gave John love, and are his legacy going forward.  Stay in touch.

For John, a poem by the Scottish poet Norman MacCaig

Praise of a man

He went through a company like a lamplighter -
see the dull minds, one after another,
begin to glow, to shed
a beneficent light.

He went through a company like
a knifegrinder - see the dull minds
scattering sparks of themselves,
becoming razory, becoming useful.

He went through a company
as himself. But now he's one
of the multitudinous company of the dead
where there are no individuals.

The beneficent lights dim
but don't vanish. The razory edges
dull but still cut. He's gone: but you can see
his tracks still, in the snow of the world.

Well, when 17April comes along, it isn’t hard to remember John. I’m his twin, so we share a birthday. He was 10 minutes older. My first memory of him was him saying “where’s the light switch; hey it’s hot in here; move over I’m leaving first”. 

John was the more logical, steady-keeled brother in the house. He got on with people. He studied. He knew he was headed for Medicine early on, which helped (unlike others, who tripped and stumbled around and got into this game late in the day). He didn’t collect stamps or ride around the neighbourhood on his bike, or cause trouble with his teachers. He was a debater at school. He had a plan.

His career path led him abroad, in days when “moving out” usually meant to a flat across the street or in the next town. He was ahead of the pack. I think he set high standards, and was proud to maintain them. He valued professionalism, as I do now.

I don’t know how you get a brain tumour. Yes, I got my MRI of head shortly after: my wife says it was ‘mostly normal’. He deserved the accolades of his colleagues. He deserved a fun retirement with his wonderful family. But he got hit with a rotten illness, what can you say? He got the best of care before leaving us. 
 
I am now writing short stories. One (‘Tragedy’) concludes with the sentence “never leave it too late to say thanks” to people you might not see again. I should have said thank you more often to this great guy: but you learn to appreciate others on this journey. John taught me that, among other things.

If you are reading this, John, cheers. “You left big shoes to fill”, although why one would want to do that beats me. Never forgotten. 

Today would have been John's 67th birthday. While it is still painful that he isn't here, in the time since his passing, my thoughts of him are increasingly of our amazing shared experiences rather than sadness about his passing.
Today, I will celebrate his life by taking the time to fully appreciate all the ways in which he still very much is with us. Namely, appreciating the loving and incredibly close family that he and my beautiful mother, Alison, cultivated and nurtured; reflecting on all the friends and experiences that made the lives of my father and those around him so full; and taking the time to be more introspective about how his influence has shaped the person I am today and who I continually strive to become in the future.

For all his love, guidance, and support, I will forever be thankful.

Happy Birthday, Dad. We all miss you. 

Interesting how with time, pain lessens and the good memories come into sharper focus. Even if it sometimes takes a long time. - This morning, I sat on the porch with a nice cup of coffee, staring into an unusually sunny Seattle morning and thinking about all the great memories I have from my interactions with John. The WWJD (what would John do) approach still serves me well in almost every patient care situation. As long as that remains the case, he is still around and continues to do good.

Lots of Family, Lots of Friends, Lots of Fish. And for at least 2 out of 3 of these groups, his absence still leaves a large hole in our hearts.
Dick Kozarek

One year has passed since my father, John, passed away. While the pain of losing the most amazing father one could hope for remains, the past year has given me time to more fully reflect on a man who lived an admirable life and left the world a better place than he found it. The stories here are a testament to the lives he touched. While I miss his warm laughter, compassion, and insight, and would give the world for another afternoon fishing together, I have the deepest appreciation for his influence on the person I have become. His unwavering devotion to his family and friends remains a guiding beacon for the man I strive to be ever day and I aspire to embrace his ability to make the most of every day. Wherever he is now, I know he is be proud of the strength of his amazing, beautiful wife, Alison, who continues to be a pillar of strength and guidance for our family. While he could not be there for the birth of his grandson, Theo, to Katie and Stav and my marriage to my beautiful wife, Alli, his presence was felt on both joyous occasions. He has given Theo his smile, a wonderful reminder of a beautiful man with an amazing heart.

On this anniversary, I hope to let it serve as a reminder to live every day to the fullest and to share your joys with those you love. Until we meet again, I will continue to find brightness in the light my father left in this world.

If you read this today, I hope you will join me in a toast to John Baillie.

I was treated by Dr. B while a patient @ VCU, & in Dec of 15, after my Dad died, he was both professional & comforting his regard of me

He helped me alot & I'm terribly sad he got sick & left too soon

Seemed to me he had hit a real 'stride' & trust me as a pancreas patient, I know pain & loss

I send my deepest condolences to the family, friends and colleagues of Dr. Baillie. I am truly saddened to hear of his passing. I was a patient of his at Wake Forest Medical Center. After a chronic gastrointestinal disorder diagnosis , my specialist advised me to have Dr. Baillie takeover my care. I was very impressed with his honesty and concern for my health. He included me in my treatment. He was a great doctor and truly missed.

I first met John when he was appointed as a trainee in Internal Medicine at the Victoria Infirmary , Glasgow. Little did I know this was to become the start of a lifelong professional, personal, and family friendship.
Endoscopy was relatively new at the time and John joined my Gastroenterology Team, taking the initial steps in what was to be a highly successful clinical, investigative and research career that brought him deserved international recognition. Although he left Glasgow for the US we kept in close contact carrying out collaborative research and he supporting a number of staff on Fellowships to the unit in N Carolina.
John of course as others have highlighted was multitalented. It was a tradition
in UK hospitals for a Christmas Pantomime to be arranged by the junior staff and all staff with the most basic talent were roped in. The purpose of course -the character assassination of their senior colleagues. Needless to say John was at the centre of these productions - yet another hidden talent.
Like most Scots John did not lose contact with the "old country." Having been made a Fellow of the Royal College of Physicians and Surgeons of Glasgow he was a keen and fair medical examiner. He made trips back to Glasgow to fulfil these duties. He did however always take advantage of the visits to return to Argyll and visit his mother; and rekindle a lifelong love of and addiction for a "Glasgow Curry."
I met Alison when she was a medical student. It was no surprise when she qualified as one of the top students in her year. The marriage of these two bright , talented individuals was always going to be a success .
John worked hard but was sustained by a loving and caring family. The Christmas card each year was awaited with anticipation to find out what the Baillies had been up to and more importantly how many more dogs had been rescued.
Love from Kenneth and Jill

Did my GI fellowship with John and, with his encouragement, went to London to learn to make plastic biliary stents at the Middlesex. Weekly Minneapolis GI conferences were not to be missed because of his wry humor in case presentations! My favorite memory is helping get his aviation hours by flying short hops around Minnesota. Did not realize he was from Islay til visiting here. My brother and I visited last fall to trace Mom's ancestry to Dunnyveg and Finlaggen. Magnificent country in a small world. Many thanks to his family for sharing him with all of us!

John was my first attending at Duke when I came as a visiting medical student in the late 1980s. He was my mentor when I decided to go into GI (because of him). He was like a second father when my own father died shortly after I arrived at Duke. I know what I know about GI endoscopy because of John. And I am what I am because of his example. His friendship, his kindness, and his caring for others.
Here is an attempt to summarize his enormous legacy for our specialty of gastroenterology: https://bit.ly/2GJAMmp
Save some of those jokes for us, John. We look forward to hearing them when we see you again!

It was truly a privilege to have known and been trained by John. His sharp wit was matched by his empathy, and he had an incredible ability to teach. I still apply some of the lessons I learned from him all those years ago to my day-to-day life today. He will be deeply missed, though his legacy will continue in the patients he helped and the in the physicians he helped to mold.

I’m truly saddened to hear of Dr. Baillie’s passing. I was only a device rep but Dr. Baillie was always very kind to me and we enjoyed talking aviation a lot. As most physicians endured the plague of device reps he was typically welcoming. I enjoyed my time in ERCP with Dr. Baillie and watching him skillfully perform and teach was always an elegant affair. His wit and humor were especially appreciated and I will always have fond memories of him. My deepest sympathies.

The outpouring of support we have received from John's friends, family, and colleagues has been an incredible source of strength for our family in this difficult time.
I hope that in processing the loss everyone can find a measure of peace in knowing your part in making John's life a rich one.
The best way I can think of to commemorate John's life is to pass on a kindness: Take that extra minute with a patient facing uncertainty, share a special moment with a friend or family , and allocate even a moment each day to appreciate all that brings you joy even when things are difficult.
Although I consider myself agnostic, I believe that consciousness is too complex and wondrous to end when the physical body can no longer serve us. Wherever consciousness continues for my father, I know he is reveling in how many people he loved and loved him in between scouting out the good fishing holes and the the runs on the golf course greens for when we meet again.

(below is an email to alison)
I’ve been hesitant to write for quite a while because I feared that. I am so sorry for you and your whole family.
john and I had worked together on medical-legal cases, but beyond that, he was my friend and we talked on the phone a lot. one thing we discussed was music. he was a big fan of midge ure. when I told him that I met midge and that he was touring again, I offered to pay for his ticket to a show here in new york—and to pick him up/bring him back to the airport. he said he couldn’t get off of work. it’s possible I made that offer more than once, now that I think about it. when he refused, I wanted to do something special for john. I went on the internet, found a nice color picture of john, and blew it up. I then brought it to midge for him to sign. I figured a lot of people have autographed pictures of midge ure but it’s likely that no one would have the nerve to ask the god-like midge ure to sign a picture of themselves. originally, I composed a snarky scottish-like comment for midge but he wrote his own words. I think I also got john a piece of signed vinyl.
I hope you know where those items are and will think fondly of john when looking at that picture.
I’ll miss my friend.
michael lavinger

Gilbert McCaul has been in touch with the sad news of John's passing.
Unlike others who have written here, I did not know John as an adult. My memories of him go back to the late 1960s at Jordanhill College School, when a little lad with glasses and a squeaky voice began to make himself known at school debates by asking convoluted but incisive questions. Although I was three years older, he and Hector became friends of mine, especially during a memorable school trip to Salzburg in 1968. Then I went to University, and we lost touch. It has been fascinating to read the accounts of his adult life, how his outstanding intellect was married to a warm and compassionate personality, and how he touched so many other people's lives. I am deeply saddened to hear of his death, and send condolences to Alison, his children, and to his brothers Tom and Hector. I too have become a regular visitor to Islay in recent years, and will remember John when I am next there. Cuiridh mi clach air a charn.

John's passing was tough news to bear. I first met John in 2006 when I joined the GI division at Wake Forest as a new faculty member and he was relatively new there as well. His reputation in the GI academic world was well known and we quickly became friends. I often wondered why a guy with such great intellect, big persona, and major accomplishments in academia would want to be friends with me, but I soon learned that he was at heart a decent and thoughtful man who enjoyed his work and his life and was never too lofty to develop friendships with junior faculty, fellows, residents, etc. John was also always the voice of reason in the audience at teaching conferences and reminded us to always do what's right for the patient and never do things in medicine for the wrong reasons - politics, RVUs, money. 
JB and I shared a love of golf and played many rounds together over the years. He always found a way to make a bad outing on the course enjoyable and fun. Sadly after his illness took him back to Durham I did not get to see him again or play one more round with him. I will miss him greatly.
John Long

John was one of my two younger brothers (“the twins”), all three of us born in the Distillery Manager’s house in Bowmore, Isle-of-Islay, Scotland. We relocated to Glasgow shortly after John and Hector arrived, and we grew up there together. We all attended the same school (Jordanhill College School) and the same university (Glasgow University), and while I studied chemistry, John and Hector pursued an education in medicine. John was the smartest of the three of us, leaving high school a year earlier than most of his peers and graduating with both a bachelor’s degree in Pathology and an MB ChB degree in medicine. Both of us entered careers in academia that ultimately took us to the USA – John to the East Coast and I to the Pacific NW, so unfortunately our paths were seldom to cross during our adult lives.
Even as a young boy, John’s selfless consideration for others was clearly evident – always willing to help where needed. I must confess that I took advantage of John’s goodwill on more than one occasion, notably when our mother, Kathie Baillie, asked me to run some errand to the local grocery store – one of my least favorite chores. A whispered request to John usually elicited a positive response, often facilitated by a modest bribe such as a three-pence piece, referred to in the vernacular of the day as a “thrupny bit”! I have no doubt that John’s lifelong concern for others contributed to his reputation as a skilled and compassionate physician – an accomplishment that would have made our father, Allan Baillie, who grew up in Scotland during the Great Depression and never had the opportunity of a higher education, immensely proud.
Both John and I developed an interest in aviation stimulated, no doubt, by many lengthy after-dinner tales of our father’s flying exploits during WWII. We each learned to fly after moving to the USA, and we flew together on several occasions. On one memorable day-trip from Raleigh-Durham to Ocracoke, NC, and back, the alternator failed on the return trip, and before long the battery was drained of sufficient energy to power the radios and navigation instruments. How to get back into a busy commercial airport without a radio – after dark, nonetheless? John calmly decided to land at a small airfield on the way, call ATC on a local pay phone, and make special arrangements to return to RDU as a “no radio” arrival. All went well, the episode illustrating John’s ability to keep cool under pressure – no doubt, another beneficial attribute for a medical practitioner!
Others have commented on John’s outstanding professional reputation in the world of gastroenterology and, in particular, endoscopy. I encountered John’s notoriety personally during a routine pre-colonoscopy interview, when the gastroenterologist assigned to perform the procedure commented on the unusual spelling of my surname. I explained that “Baillie” was the Scottish spelling, whereupon he responded that there was a highly renowned endoscopist with the very same last name who also came from Scotland. I couldn’t resist but to inform the physician that Dr. John Baillie was none other than my “wee brother”, which led to the exclamation that, “Well then, I’d better not screw up your colonoscopy!”
John’s untimely passing is indeed tragic, especially for someone who always was so full of life. His love of family, his compassion for others (dogs as well as humans), his wry sense of humor, and his tireless commitment to the field of medicine, combined to make him a truly unique individual. I am proud of his many accomplishments, personal and professional, and to have been his “big brother.” 
Tom Baillie

Our lives ran in parallel from the time I first met John when I was at the Western Infirmary and he at the Victoria Infirmary in Glasgow 40 years ago. Several transatlantic moves later we both found ourselves back in the US and when we met recounted family and work events and reminisced over our time in Glasgow. He was ever the proud Scotsman; many years later I visited Islay and sent John a photo of a rainbow above the inlet that was the background to the graveyard where his parents lay - then you understood his roots and the steadfast integrity that was central to all that he did. I was in Italy at a meeting with Richard Hunt when I heard the very sad news - I feel I lost a fellow traveler. That night Richard and I raised a dram of Bowmore 12 year old to John's memory.
Slán go fóill, mo chara
Ni beig do leihead ann aris

On behalf of the Baillie family, I would like to extend our most sincere thanks to everyone who has contributed and for all the messages of support we have received. In celebrating his life, your stories and memories are such a wonderful reminder of all the magnificent friends my father was so fortunate to have had in his life. Erich Remarque is credited with the saying that "dark times reveal good people." In the case of my father's illness and passing, I think it would be more apt to say that "difficult times reinforce the goodness of people," as my father and our family have long been aware of the generous, thoughtful, and warm-hearted people that gravitated towards my father and my father towards them.
"We are the keepers of the memories. A sacred trust given by one who has journeyed on." -G. Stansbury

I met John in 2001 when I returned to Duke as a GI fellow, and then stayed on after training as a faculty member. John was an excellent teacher and a quick wit. He was an entertaining speaker who taught many of us around the world much about pancreaticobiliary disease, as a prolific traveler and educator. He was also great fun to be around and had an endless supply of jokes. He, Barry O'Connor, Don Rockey and I were a formidable foursome who won the Duke Medicine Faculty and Housestaff golf tournament several times. He will be sorely missed.

I am probably one of many trainees who consider John a mentor. After John left Duke, and especially now, it is hard to walk by Duke South endoscopy and not think of him. During training, I ran into John at the Starbucks on MLK every day before work, where he had 2 shots of espresso, standing up, in a very European way. Then he had 2 more shots walking from Duke North to South after morning rounds. I couldn’t understand how he could have a steady hand to cannulate the bile duct, with so much caffeine on board, but he obviously did, brilliantly. And John had the best jokes of anyone I’ve met. John also was the ultimate physician, both clinically and academically. He was the face of Duke GI to the outside world for many years and will be greatly missed. Our thoughts are with Alison, Katie and Chris.

As Alison's sister and brother in law, we wanted to share our thoughts on John.
John Baillie was one of a very small group of people who actually made the world a better place.
We have known John a long time, obviously as Alison's sister I have known John for some 40 years but Donald met John a bit later. He admits to have been slightly scared of him initially - John had a aura about him and when he talked, you just knew you were in the presence of an incredibly intelligent man. As we got to know him we became aware of his wicked sense of humour, his kindness and extreme generosity, not forgetting his insatiable appetite for midget gems (sports mixture)!
What was very apparent was John's great love for his family, for Alison, Katie and Chris as well of course for Dougal and Lucy. With almost 40 years of married life it shows the depth of their relationship and as a loving husband and father as well as a brother in law and friend, there will be a big space in our lives.

It has already been said by John's friends, family, colleagues and admirers: larger than life, multi-dimensional ( reader, Marshall arts expert, raconteur, student and teacher), and from my personal standpoint, dear friend, fellow traveler, late night confidant-both lamenting the state of politics/medicine/global warming/the continued contraction of airline seat and leg space...
 John, Linda and I will miss you terribly. One only makes a few memorable connections in this life. We are richer for your friendship, poorer by your absence.