Just over two years ago, Schwartzberg was diagnosed with Stage IVB, metastatic pancreatic cancer, generally a fatal disease. He was just shy of his 73rd birthday.

As Josh liked to say throughout his illness, he kept the cancer in a tight headlock while he squeezed every bit of juice out of the orange; which he pretty much did thanks to his fierce determination, a good medical team and the love of his family and friends. He packed in two years of fishing adventures and other experiences with his sons, their spouses, grandchildren and wife Beth. Josh took up seeing patients again, and enjoyed cooking, eating, robust conversations and hanging out with friends. He blew past the life expectancies for his diagnosis.

“For those who have the wherewithal not to be overwhelmed and terrified, living with cancer provides an opportunity for living in the moment,” Josh told me in June 2018. “Many of the day-to-day things that one concerns oneself about all of a sudden don’t seem to matter so much anymore. It may seem bizarre, but in a certain way, I’m thankful to be living with cancer because it facilitates being in the present. The path has been delicious, the future is unpredictable and the present is just magic.”

Josh lived his life his way to the very end. His spirit and humor remained alive and well over the two years since receiving his diagnosis. His only unfulfilled wish was attending his own funeral before he died. He just ran out of time. Josh held the disease at bay until the very end, his heart, love and spirit remaining intact and embedded in those he loved and who loved him. Also remaining is a treasure trove of stories that will be told again and again in the years to come.

Josh was born in Munich, Germany, to Auschwitz Holocaust survivors 10 months after the end of World War II. The conflict had swept away his older brother, grandmother and a dozen immediate relatives killed by the Nazis. His family emigrated with him to the United States in 1951, initially beginning their American life in the “Fort Apache” section of the South Bronx. They then moved to a small farming community in New Jersey, where Josh was introduced to fishing, which became a life-long passion. A few years later, the family moved on to a North Philadelphia ghetto where his dad opened a mom-and-pop meat market. Josh did well in high school enabling him to be transferred to a magnet high school, and from there to Temple University. He had no plans to become a doctor, but one of his best friends accepted into an osteopathic medical school in Philadelphia coaxed him to apply. Much to his and his parents’ surprise, he was accepted.

Josh took up a residency at the Albany Medical Center because it was near the Adirondacks where he assumed he’d find good fishing. Residency completed and now married to his first wife, Ora, Josh became a country doctor in Old Forge. After the birth of their first son, Jesse, they moved to Saranac Lake where their other two sons Ezra and Eli were born. Shortly thereafter, Dr. Frank Trudeau invited Josh to join Medical Associates, where Josh practiced for a dozen years.

Wanting to step out on his own, Josh established his own practice in Lake Placid. In time, it included Willsboro and Burlington, Vermont. Josh and his second wife, Beth, who like Josh is a pilot, found a farmhouse with a field suitable as an airstrip. From the onset, Josh always doubled as an emergency room doctor, first in Syracuse, then at CVPH in Plattsburgh as a way of augmenting his income and keeping abreast of the latest medical and health-care developments.

“Josh was an excellent, consummate, care provider,” said Dr. Peter Sayers. “He and I served many moons on the independent provider board. Duking it out with insurance companies is not always a popular thing to do. Josh had the patient’s interests at heart. He was one of the last of the dying breed of primary care providers with an all-encompassing view of their patients and their needs. He was one of those who did house calls – and did so right up to the end. In Josh, the Earth has lost a good man.”

Josh’s training in osteopathy, an approach that champions holistic care and preventive care, coupled with being a child of Holocaust survivors, shaped his practice. A distinguishing characteristic of his practice, then, was to treat his patients as people. He built strong emotional relationships with them. He believed that good care was more hands-on; it was a warm embrace. And that often meant long waits in his office, or even having lunch, going fishing or going on flying adventures with him.

“For the past 18 years, Josh was Patty’s and my doctor,” said Peter Paine. “Josh took the time to get to know his patients. He would spend an hour with you. He wanted to get a sense of who you were. He was very good at managing the specialists. For example, I had an atrial fibrillation – common thing for older people. I ended up having two treatments. After the second, Josh asked, ‘What drugs did they give you?’ I said, ‘X and Y, here it is.’ He said, ‘You have no business being on Y. That’s a significant mistake.’ He calls up the specialist while I’m sitting in his office and tells him, ‘Our mutual patient shouldn’t be on this drug.’ The specialist says, ‘Oh my God, you are right! Take him off immediately.’ This is a commentary on what Josh called the medical industrial complex.

“He was the best primary care physician I’ve ever had, and I’ve had some good ones. He was also a superb fisherman. We fished together in Argentina, British Columbia, Labrador and all over the Adirondacks. He lived life to the fullest in the face of this devastating disease.”

“My husband and I were patients of Josh’s from the get-go since he arrived in Old Forge,” said Diane Bowes of Big Moose. “He was interested in your whole life. After he left Old Forge, we kept him as our primary doctor when he moved to Saranac Lake, Placid and Willsboro. He was always there for us. When our daughter was in Greece and had some health-related questions, he insisted she call him.”

Bowes told me how her husband, Josh, and some other friends took two planes to Hudson Bay, saying how Josh was so good at finding bizarre projects to do that generally involved a plane and a fishing rod. This one was to help some Inuits establish a fishing camp. The friends faced a variety of challenges when they got there, from a broken steering cable to a punctured pontoon on the plane to bad weather forcing them to spend three nights on a lake on the way back. On a subsequent visit, her husband invited the Inuits back to Big Moose so he could teach them how to water ski. Josh offered to fly them down, which he did the following May.

Another patient and fishing buddy of Josh’s was Dmitry Feld of Lake Placid. Feld said, “After the Soviet Union collapsed, a Russian bobsledder came to me and said, ‘I’m not feeling so good.’ I asked, ‘What’s the matter so I can translate for my doctor Josh.’ He looked at me and said, ‘Listen I can’t make love to my wife.’ So, I said, ‘What do you want, Viagra?’ He said, ‘Oh, yes, that’s the best thing you can give to me.’ So, I went to Doc Josh, told him I had a Russian bobsledder that wants to make more babies, do you have any samples of Viagra. He said, sure, so I gave them to the bobsledder as a Christmas present. He gave me a bottle of vodka for Dr. Josh. That’s how great he was. He was always there for you.”

Then there is his assistant, Thalene Bates, with a story about the patient who paid Josh with a cardboard box containing four roosters unhappy with being in a box together. I could fill the paper with such stories. Josh will be missed. His passion and love for people live on in all who knew him.