Editor:

Ezra Griffith's biographical note¹ about Bob Phillips stirred some very old memories for me. At the very beginning of my career, I worked as a paraprofessional on the inpatient unit where Dr. Phillips served as chief resident. His sartorial splendor made an impression then, and it remains a vivid memory even now, 20 years later. But a more important impression was made by the way his physical presentation—his appearance and the way he used his face, voice—added to the success of what he said.

Specifically, I recall a weekend evening when the ward staff were trying with little success to maintain calm and control among a restive patient population. As the day wore on, it was apparent that our efforts were to no avail, and Dr. Phillips, who was on call, convened a special ward meeting. He asserted that the behavior that had been occurring that day would not be allowed to continue. What struck me at the time was that had I used the same words Dr. Phillips did, I believe they would have been perceived by the patients as shrill and threatening. Coming from him, though, they came across as a simple statement of fact. And they had their effect: the patients went to bed that night on a calm unit. It wasn't so much what he said that evening that restored calm but how he said it.

Dr. Griffith, therefore, rightly points to the inadequately understood role of “performance” as a dimension of our professional competence. To those of us reared on television courtroom dramas—whether “Perry Mason” or “Law & Order”—performance may suggest theatricality. Dr. Phillips' example, however, suggests something both subtler and more profound. Perhaps it's related to the moral view of professional practice to which Dr. Griffith refers.

• American Academy of Psychiatry and the Law