University of New England

Catch Me if You Can: On the Lamm at UNECOM (Mike Lamm, UNECOM Class of '08)

[Editor's Note: This profile appeared originally in the February 2006 COMmunicator.]

The Picasso of Personality

You don’t meet Mike Lamm just once.

You meet him the first time, then you meet him the second time, and the third time, and so on until you begin to wonder how many new Mike’s there might be, and whether or not there is a common thread between them. A second year medical student, Mike displays a different facet of his eclectic personality every day. To see him as he is, you must see him over time.

In that sense, he is the Picasso of UNECOM. The Spanish artist revolutionized modern art by creating abstracted paintings that captured the essence of an object. Though at first blush the finished product might not look like the original subject, viewers found that they reacted emotionally to, say, a rendering of daisies or a donkey, which eventually looked more real than a photographic depiction. Mike is the Picasso of personality, building his self-portrait layer upon layer as the months roll by.

It is a fascinating, complex, and sometimes paradoxical portrait.

Mike’s Like That

There was a two-year period in high school when Mike never wore the same outfit or hairstyle twice.

Maybe it was the influence of metropolitan New York City, a place so diverse and sprawling it needs five boroughs and a good chunk of sky to stand up and stretch out. Mike could see the Trade Towers in Manhattan from the third floor of Valley Stream Central. He’d gaze out through the glass plates and feel a part of the throbbing city that never sleeps. In this climate of frenetic energy and cosmopolitan tolerance he would wake up in the morning, gauge his mood, then craft an image to match his blue or rouge emotions. 

There are few things more creative than a teenager seeking identity, and Mike wore everything but a wedding dress to school. He experimented with a two-foot tall Mohawk, braided cornrows, stippled leopard spots, shaved hirsute checkerboards, and for a short time enjoyed the cool gleam left by a Bic razor and very fair skin. His mother later opined that he should have taken a picture of himself every morning and made a documentary.

It would have made him rich (or perhaps gotten him arrested.) Mike’s like that.

They Tore Down the Hospital

They tore down the hospital a few days after Mike was born.

He doesn’t take it personally. After all, Fort Campbell, Kentucky, had scheduled the demolition for January and Mike was born on December 29th. He enjoys the fact that he beat the system by a day or two, though perhaps his mother should receive the lion’s share of the credit for her labor. The true oddity was not the sudden destruction of his birthplace, but the fact that such a dyed-in-the-wool city boy was born in the heart of Dixie.

His southern roots were short-lived. The Lamm family moved back to New York City when Mike was about 18 months old, his parents so poor that they put three tires and a transmission in the car trunk to ameliorate the vehicle’s inevitable breakdowns. Their dire predictions were one tire short, so they spent their toll money on a fourth wheel and had to beg the bridge tenders to let them into Queens.

Poverty did not cling, however. Mike’s father became a manager in the New York City Sanitation Department, overseeing the vast and efficient processes that keep the mountains of steel and miles of streets remarkably clean. It is a responsible and rewarding position. Mike’s mother also developed her skills while working in a dental practice. As Mike says with justifiable pride, “My parents came from nothing and tried to give me everything.” Their focus and determination have rubbed off on Mike.

Day of the Doctor: August 17th, 2000

He didn’t play with other children.

Instead, Mike nursed a fondness for reading the elaborate fantasy of J.R.R. Tolkien and talked with adults whenever he could. There were dark periods, not unlike the desperate days most adolescents feel that they alone suffer. Depression is uncommonly common. Mike labored through years as an early teen when he toyed with horror writing, cartoon animation, and the exquisitely angry music of Gothic Industrial bands with cheerful names such as "Switchblade Symphony," "Skinny Puppy," "Cannibal Corpse," and "Children on Stun."

His blue period did not last forever. At 17 he thought he wanted to be a Disney animator, until he “woke up one morning and realized that I didn’t want to draw cartoons my whole life.” After high school, Mike enrolled at a local community college, taking sci-fi courses, history classes, and a variety of general education requirements. Generally uninspired, he floated through academics in a lackluster haze. Internally, he wanted to make an impact; externally he just wanted to have fun. The tension refused to resolve.

Then came the day of the doctor. On August 17, 2000, Mike woke up and decided he wanted to become a physician. It was the summer before his sophomore year of college, and Mike remembers the specific date because he rolled out of bed and enrolled at the New York Institute of Technology as a pre-medical student majoring in biology. Then he had breakfast.

A Great Paradox

Mike’s paradoxical portrait continued to take shape as he successfully completed course after course at NYIT. The former Goth drove himself to succeed academically in a very challenging discipline where success is not accidental. Yet he laughs sardonically at the accusation that he might be more driven than his casual personality admits. Still, there is no doubt that the strait channels of microbiology, chemistry, and physiology narrowed and deepened Mike in ways he had never thought possible.

That is not to say that he stopped having fun. On the contrary, he still found himself nocturnally roaming the streets of the Big Apple, sampling the five million flavors that make up America’s largest city. He woke up every morning with the goal to be happy, and his late-night wanderings made the long days of didactic study bearable.

And what of that elusive commodity known as sleep? Overrated, says Mike. He hates down time. Without the constant stimulation of places to go and things to do, he might implode. Tongue only partly in cheek, Mike says, “I thrive on stress. I’m stressed when I’m not stressed. I do more in a day than other people do in a week.” That ability to multi-task and run at hyper-speed is part of the paradox that Mike seems to convey. How can a person who is so distractible keep his own nose to the spinning grindstone of medical school? The answer: Self-imposed exile.

Self-Exiled to Maine

Mike is on the lam at UNECOM.

He could have applied to NYCOM, but realized suddenly in a flash of frankness that he could not succeed at a place where a million non-academic distractions beckoned. He looked to Maine as a safe haven from the de-stabilizing factors of New York City. In short, he chose focused determination over instant gratification. Such a decision bodes well for his future as a physician, where the need for competence and self-discipline are crucial determinants. He has not regretted his decision, though he does plan to return to NYC as a physician. 

While removed from New York’s hustle, Maine is no Elba. Mike is still Mike, and he loves to travel. Give him an open Friday afternoon and he’ll head to the airport to fly someplace he’s never been, usually by himself, since he won’t wait for others to decide whether or not they’d like to come. He loves Rome for its art, and Prague for its beauty, but he finds himself continually returning to New York City. As Mike says, “Europe has my mind, but New York has my heart.”

His wanderlust is a part of him. As an intellectually gifted and often charming young man, Mike needs the constant stimulation of new ideas and new faces. It is a trait not incompatible with his desire to succeed as a physician. People fascinate Mike. He can talk to anyone about anything, and feel comfortable as he does so. Whether he sits at a café in Prague or at the Café in Alfond, he relishes conversation with fellow human beings.

When asked why he didn’t become a psychologist, Mike squints his eyes and puckers his lips, as though he’d just sucked a lemon. He eschews psychology as a pursuit of things best left undisturbed. Better to address the correctable maladies of physiology while using his interpersonal skills to set patients at ease.

Part of his undergraduate work included the study of osteopathy, since NYIT is a feeder-school for NYCOM. Mike has been interested in herbal remedies and alternative medicine since he was a teen, and he believes that patients are more than just a shell with presenting symptoms. His keen attention to the words and actions of others enables him to treat human beings as holistic packages, and the osteopathic practice of manipulative therapy seems more humane to Mike than the excessive use of surgery or the over-prescription of drugs.

A Tombstone (Or Two)

On his tombstone, says Mike, will be the epitaph, “Here lies Mike. He had fun.”

But here again one encounters the paradox that is Mike Lamm. The fact that he woke up at 5:30 in the morning to study for class before attending a Preceptorship, then washed and vacuumed his car before sitting down for a lunchtime interview suggests that there might be more to Mike than the mere pursuit of happiness. His drive demands a different epitaph. Perhaps a more accurate inscription might go something like this: “Here lies Mike. He wanted to make a difference.” One headstone alone does not portray the true portrait.

The Picasso of UNECOM seems determined to craft an image that defies categorization, yet his consistent desire to make a difference while enjoying life to the fullest can hardly be questioned. Over time, the true portrait emerges. His focus, energy, and determination all indicate that Mike Lamm will make a fine, if fun-loving osteopathic physician. And when he earns his “D.O.,” you may be able to make an appointment to meet with Dr. Lamm.

Until then, catch him if you can.

- Steve Smith, RSAS