What’s going on in Windber, in Washington, D.C., and in the United States that could change the practice of medicine forever? Last week you may have heard about President Obama’s appointment of Vice President Joe Biden to head up Moon Shot 2020, an effort intended to wipe out cancer. Within minutes after the State of the Union address, pundits began to point out all of the other presidents of the United States who had announced exactly the same goal. This time, however, partially because of what’s happening in Somerset County and Windber, there may actually be a chance that this goal could be met.

Medicine is in the midst of a genomic revolution. The approach is often referred to as personalized, individualized, or precision medicine. They all mean the same thing: using technologies to sequence a person’s DNA, analyze the person’s unique characteristics, and then treat the person as a distinctive individual rather than a statistically average person. Too many times, however, we hear about remarkable discoveries in science that come with a disclaimer that they are not yet available to patients. Sometimes it takes decades to reach our physicians and hospitals. The gap between breakthrough scientific discovery and the actual implementation of these findings in practice is a major challenge. New discoveries and innovations, no matter how valuable, mean very little until they can reach a patient’s health care in practice.

There are currently 26,000 genetic tests offered for more than 5,400 conditions, and the number is growing quickly. The Global Genomics Market is expected to reach $22.1 billion by 2020, growing at an estimated 10.3 percent from 2014 to 2020. Other industry analysts estimate at least double-digit growth in gene sequencing through the next several years, and likely exponential growth. This is the secret sauce to the Moon Shot 2020 initiative.

The work that has been going on at the Windber Research Institute since 2001 has contributed to the progress of genetic research. By using already existing relationships with Walter Reed National Military Medical Center, WRI has been producing significant testing for not only military patients but also for the National Cancer Institute. Now that Dr. Patrick Soon Shiong’s nonprofit foundation, the Chan Soon Shiong Institute for Molecular Medicine has taken over WRI and Windber Medical Center, they have become a major participant in Moon Shot 2020.

It won’t be long before individuals interested in knowing their pathway to personalized care will be helped across the world. Vanderbilt University already advertises daily, “Come to Vanderbilt University Medical Center, and you will never receive the wrong heart medication.” This is the result of genetic testing. This genetic testing would not only beamajor medical tourism draw for Somerset County, it could also be an amazing gift to those patients who cannot tolerate certain heart, oncologic, or other drugs. Rather than experimenting with drugs,a simple and relatively inexpensive genetic test can be used to reveal the genetic predisposition to absorb whatever drug is prescribed.

The Windber Research Institute as a partner with the Department of Defense, Col. Craig Shriver, MD, and the John P. Murtha Cancer Center at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center has collected more than 60,000 donated tissues with hundreds of fields of information on each patient. Their work continues to provide innovative, clinical gene testing that will contribute to national quality medicine that will lead to wellness and prevention.

Windber Medical Center also began innovative work in integrative medicine back in 1997, and that work has yielded significant positive information internationally by demonstrating that simple things like diet, exercise, and stress management can significantly impact our genetic predisposition to certain diseases.

Windber has been in the business of creating transformational experiences that will positively impact the lives and health of patients for more than 15 years, and is now positioned to be recognized as a national model for healthcare reform

It was January of 1980, and the Washington Post, Wall Street Journal, and Pittsburgh Press all ran this advertisement: Wanted Executive Director forarural arts organization in Somerset. The want ad went on to read something like: This is a particularly incredible opportunity for the right person with the appropriate skills.

Just seven months earlier, I had decided to leave my teaching position in Johnstown to take a job in fund development for schools in the Pittsburgh area. After training in July,Istarted my job in August, and 11 of my 14 schools went on strike. Immediately after that, the Iran oil crisis hit. People in sales were permitted to purchase rationed gasoline in order to continue to do their work, but it meant sitting in hours long lines on the Pennsylvania Turnpike.

Needless to say this career decision was not one of my best, but the rest of the story includes the fact that the house that we had purchased in Pittsburgh had building jacks hidden in the walls. The repair work, lost income from the strikes, and the cost of the move ended up completely wiping out what little savings a teacher could have amassed.

So, on a Sunday afternoon, I made what I considered to be a Hail Mary decision and sent a resume and application for the position of executive director of Laurel Arts and the Dressler Center for the Arts. Because it was clear to me that my training and background had almost nothing to do with running an arts center, I approached my unexpected interview with a somewhat cynical but light-hearted air, and ended up making wise cracks for most of the session.

To my surprise that worked because three of the five people interviewing me were fun guys in their late 20s or early 30s. Another person was impressed with my references. The last person, a real artist, seemed to tolerate the decision to bring me back for a second interview.

I got the job, and on the very first dayIarrived in my threepiece, brown, polyester, Johnny Carson suit and walked into the office thatIshared with the volunteer administrative assistant. She looked at me and said, “What are you doing?” I explained thatIwas starting to work. She then said, “See that wood burner? It needs to be fired to heat this place, and I’m not doing it.” That was the beginning of a five-year relationship that will forever be lodged in my brain and heart.

Her name was Dorothy Burnworth. Dorothy was a retired elementary school teacher and former member of the Women’s Army Corps. Once, when I asked her why she had never been married, she smiled and said, “I don’t like to dance backwards.” She was intelligent, forthright, an unbelievable worker, and dedicated to the Dressler Center.

Like most of us, however, she did have a few flaws. A former CEO who tangled with her once told me she could be “meaner than a boiled owl.” Most of the, however, time she was fun and extremely competent.

My job there was to be the visionary, the idea man, the face of the organization. In those early days, she was the implementer and the operations director. If, for example, I’d decide to set up 123 classes in Senior Centers all over Somerset County, she’d get the rooms lined up, hire the teachers, enroll the students, collect the money, and announce snow days when needed.

She also became the Sergeant Major to the half-dozen people that we hired and the 300 volunteers who helped start Somerfest. Dorothy made Laurel Arts work, while she trained her successor, Lori. I’ll never forget our time together.

She had traveled the world but decided to spend five years of her retirement with me.I can hear her now, “Saint Peter, get those people in line or suffer the consequences!”

As a kid I thought I remembered watching a television series called “I Led Two Lives.” It was a series about a person who was a double agent: a spy and an advertising executive. When I Googled it today, though, it turned out that the show was called “I Led Three Lives,” which really screwed up this introduction because as a kid I only led two lives: Italian and English.

During the week we lived with my mother’s parents — a British/Scots-Irish couple, immigrants to the United States back in the 1600s. They were sons and daughters of the American Revolution, and the entire family was made up of Presbyterians who had converted from being Quakers. One of my grandfather’s way-back grandfathers, Jacob Beeson, founded Uniontown, Pennsylvania. My mom’s father was an engineer on the railroad, a high-paying and prestigious job. Two of my Anglo-Saxon uncles were also railroad engineers, and one was a stockbroker/business executive.