11 minute read
Philip Incao, Feb 14, 1941–Feb 28, 2022
Rev. James Hindes’ eulogy, given March 3, 2022
Philip Frank Incao was born in Brooklyn, New York, on February 14, 1941. His older sister, Virginia, had been waiting over five years for her brother to arrive. The two grew up in a family Philip described as warm and loving. His grandfather had come from Sicily through Ellis Island before the turn of the century. Philip’s father, born in 1912, had been raised with many “old country” ways. He was concerned that his children be real Americans and use the opportunities available to them. Philip recalled his first six years of life as permeated by a sense of the war going on in Europe at the time.
Both parents had rebelled against the Catholic Church and were referred to as “free thinkers” in those days. Evidence of their complete freedom from religion gave Philip a shock when he was seven years old and asked his mother, “Mom, will I die one day?” Her answer was “Yes, of course,” He replied, “What then?” Her answer to that question became the inspiration for his life work. “Nothing, you’re dead!” He found her response to that question unsatisfactory, actually very disturbing. Something in his soul bristled at the idea. This moment with his mother evolved into a resolve to study science, attend medical school, and discover for himself answers to the big questions.
The family moved to the small town of Valley Stream on Long Island. At Valley Stream High School, he became an academically outstanding student, excelled at wrestling, played the saxophone, drove a large Ford Thunderbird and, as he recalled, ate beef steak every Friday night. He graduated as salutatorian, the student who ranked second in the class of 1959. That fall, he enrolled in Wesleyan University as a biology major. Always a diligent student he completed his degree in three years while also spending two summers learning Italian in Perugia, Italy. Perhaps the real reason for those study abroad years revealed itself during his second trip in 1962. The journey home required a cruise from Italy to Rotterdam, Holland, where his ship then set sail for the U.S. On that first leg of the trip, a young Dutch woman caught his attention. They talked a great deal, discussing life and its meaning, but most importantly, they sensed a life partner without realizing it. Those onboard conversations were followed by six years of letter writing.
Philip graduated from Wesleyan at 21 and went to Albert Einstein Medical School in the Bronx, NY. He thought every new class he started “might have the answer to one of life’s riddles.” But he was “severely disillusioned.” At 25, he graduated with an M.D. in 1966 and did his residency in Berkeley, California. Later that year, Annemarie came to America, and they were married soon after that. Philip also joined the United States Navy Submarine Medical Program, which involved spending two months underwater. He transferred to Mare Island Naval Shipyard in Vallejo, California and the young couple were able to live in Berkeley. Philip then commuted to Vallejo for his 8-hour shift for the Navy. Around this time, Annemarie became very ill. Fortunately, the world’s best treatment center for Hodgkin’s disease at Stanford University was just 50 miles away. She recovered completely, and the couple could get on with their lives.
Living in Berkeley, Philip, always a voracious reader, discovered the works of Owen Barfield, which led him directly to Rudolf Steiner. This was the most significant turning point in his life. He found concepts for feelings he’d had since he was a little boy. The real foundation of the world was not tiny particles but a spiritual world that stood behind it and could be known, not merely felt. The mechanistic approach to medicine was no basis for understanding the human body, health, and the essence of life.
When his time as a Navy physician was over, they moved back East; Philip worked for the Yale University student health service until 1970. He preferred working a 40 hour week, which left him free for family and reading Steiner. His interest in anthroposophy then led him to Emerson College in England in 1970. There he was able to experience how the human mind could grasp spiritual truth with clarity. No subject was off-limits. He found a path that gave direction to his most profound questions. It was one of the happiest times of his life. Late that year, he became a father with the birth of his eldest son, Quintin.
The Lukas Klinik, an anthroposophical medical center in Arlesheim, Switzerland, was Philip’s next stop. He learned German and experienced a “real turning point of his will,” for he could see and feel how anthroposophical medicine really worked. When he walked into this hospital dedicated to treating cancer, he was astonished to find it “not depressing at all!” Doctors and patients alike knew that cancer was just a phase, though a deadly serious phase, in a life that extends back into a time before birth and forward into a future beyond death.
Philip was 31 when the young family of three returned and settled in North Hampton, MA, where he worked for the University of Massachusetts Student Health Service, again 40 hours per week. That left him free to visit the Camphill Village in Copake, NY, a village devoted to furthering the lives of developmentally and intellectually disabled adults. Soon after his move, Christy Barnes asked him to become the doctor for the new community of Waldorf families, Camphill Village, and anthroposophists that was forming in Ghent, NY.
In 1973 second son Sylvan joined the family after their move to Harlemville, NY. Sebastian joined his brothers in 1975. Philip’s life as a doctor, father, husband, and student of anthroposophy then unfolded in Columbia County for the next 23 years. By all accounts, he excelled at all four. His boys remember a warm, loving family with dad working next door in his office attached to the house. They grew up with a sense that their father was an important man. His waiting room was always full of people who relied upon him. After listening at the door to hear if no patients were present, they themselves could walk in on him anytime if they needed him. They also knew that after dinner, he would almost always retire to his office to work and study until long after they had been sent to bed. He was, they reported, a workaholic.
But he often wrestled with the boys, all three at once. Always concerned for their education, when he pinned one to the floor, he would name the hold that had defeated them. His love for nature led him to show them the wonders and joys of camping. They traveled a lot, learning to cook over an open fire, sleep under the stars, canoe, and hike every kind of terrain. Every year the whole family camped at Cape Cod. Also, every year dad and the boys went into nature, often while mom travelled to Europe. They hiked and camped for weeks in the Adirondacks, in the White Mountains, down to the bottom of the Grand Canyon. The four of them canoed down the Mississippi River for three weeks, camping on the banks at night. Another time they hiked the east side of the Sierra Nevada mountains. They estimated that before age 21, they had spent more than a year in nature camping under the stars with their father. Philip stood ready to help his sons in any way he could. Having experienced so much together, a very tight bond united the four of them.
As a doctor, Philip was truly exceptional. His appointment with a new patient could last up to two and one-half hours. Patients could feel his concern to understand them and their situation. Many were especially grateful for his thinking/feeling his way (with some patients aloud) to a diagnosis of their problem. He did not simply prescribe medicine but always tried to share with them a way of living that could help them heal themselves. His complex treatment plans required effort from the patient. He was never judgmental, with his patients or anyone else in his life; he exuded compassion for everyone. His home remedy guide was given to thousands seeking help when no doctor was available. In the words of Dr Adam Blanning:
Above all, Philip conveyed an attitude of reassurance so powerful in its gentleness that his patients, family, and friends could feel, “Yes, this has happened. But life goes on, and there are many things we can do now to move forward.” Rooted in the Christian worldview of anthroposophy, his faith could be infectious.
In 1980, Annemarie developed breast cancer. The next ten years were a journey for the whole family, with Philip as lead caregiver. Those were stressful days, balancing all his responsibilities around the need to be present for his wife. Her death in 1991 was heartbreaking for all who knew her but especially for her three sons and Philip, who had to carry on with the soul of the family gone.
The years that followed were challenging for Philip. The river of his life, always deep and steady, now ran into whitewater. While maintaining his practice at the same high standard of care and raising his sons with the same loving guidance, he struggled inwardly to understand how he should live and what to do next. Four years later he knew it was time for a change. In the summer of 1995, he phoned his friend Rene Querido in Boulder and asked, “Do you need an anthroposophical doctor in Colorado?”
He moved to Denver the following year. He was fifty-five. Philip did not leave all of Harlemville behind. The art school Jennifer Thompson had founded and led for many years in Harlemville was forced by circumstances to close. A long search for a possible new location ended when Renee Querido suggested she come to Denver. She moved two months after Philip. Now the difficulty of finding friends in a new city was solved for both of them. To all reports, unmindful of the consequences, the two anthroposophists, doctor and artist, attended many concerts together, went on long walks through city parks, and spent much time conversing about many things. While preparing Philip’s new office space, he finally noticed what a great helpmate Jennifer had become. They married in Denver in 1999. They were, so to speak, a Godsend for each other. For the next twenty-three years, she was a loving but not uncritical support in his life. It is impossible to imagine Philip’s blossoming in this phase of his life without her. Seven years later, the couple moved to Crestone, a remote village (pop. 141) at 8,000 feet nestled up against the Sangre de Christo mountains in the northeast corner of the San Louis Valley in south-central Colorado.
Although many of his former patients continued to consult him by phone, it was Philip’s teaching and mentoring while in Crestone that indeed bore fruit for future generations. He mentored dozens of younger physicians in the art and practice of anthroposophic medicine, in anthroposophy, and altogether with life advice. He was always open to phone calls from younger colleagues. Small gatherings of physicians and others in the healing arts regularly journeyed to Crestone (a four-hour drive from Denver) to experience his seminars. Philip’s knowledge of and respect for the spirit’s ability to weave through the human body, human destinies and human consciousness set the tone for these gatherings. They were inspirational not only for their content but also for the mood of humility and devotion permeating the sessions. During these seminars, Jennifer was always by his side with essential practical help and additional workshops for those seeking a deeper artistic experience of the world of color and form.
Philip was not a miracle worker or saint in the traditional sense. Yet his depth of devotion to God and the spiritual world was at the same time grounded enough to bring countless blessings into the world. I would call him a modern saint.
