I grew up hearing stories about my grandfather, Dr. Luis Torres Díaz, the way some children hear stories about national heroes. In our family, he was one of them. He was not a war hero or political figure but a quiet, thoughtful, and brilliant scientist. My grandfather was a chemist, a poet, a professor, a dean, a museum founder, a man whose life seemed to stretch across disciplines with an ease that still amazes me to this day. He literally shaped pharmacy education in Puerto Rico, preserved its history, and helped forge a unique culture. He wrote poetry that captured the emotional landscape of his generation and, significantly, he built institutions that still stand.

To me, he was a monumental person.

The shock of omission

Imagine my shock (my dismay even) when I was browsing the online “World Book”-style encyclopedia and saw that, among the names of people from Puerto Rico cited there, making pivotal contributions in the history of the island (some that I had never heard of), the name of my grandfather was missing. I thought that some of the people mentioned in the entry made valid contributions worthy of mention but, considering the breadth and depth of my grandfather’s work, the absence comparatively didn’t make sense. With no disregard intended, I felt that the legacies built by them did not compare to what my grandfather had accomplished in his lifetime and this made the omission personal and painful.

I stared at the screen for some time, feeling a mix of disbelief and indignation. How could someone who had done so much for the pharmaceutical educational institution, for the Puerto Rican culture, someone who had founded the first museum dedicated to the history of pharmacy on the island, be absent from the digital record?

It felt wrong. It felt unjust. And it felt personal. That feeling moved me to action. I realized that I was the right person to fight for his place in the public record. His students had retired. His colleagues had passed on. His books were aging on library shelves. His museum, though still standing, was no longer widely known outside academic circles.

Legacy doesn’t preserve itself; it needs caretakers who value and protect it, like I aimed to do by adding my grandfather to Wikipedia.

The fight for recognition

I thought it would be simple; after all, his accomplishments were clear, documented, and significant. But Wikipedia is not built on emotion or family pride. It is built on citations, formatting, neutrality, and strict definitions of “notability.”

My first draft was rejected. Not because he wasn’t notable, but because I hadn’t yet learned how to speak Wikipedia’s language. I wrote with too much admiration, too much narrative, too much heart. I wrote like a grandson, not an encyclopedia editor. And so began a back-and-forth exchange that lasted over a year.

Every time an editor pushed back, I felt a twinge of frustration, not at them, but at the idea that I had to prove my grandfather mattered. It felt almost absurd. This was a man who served as the dean of the University of Puerto Rico School of Pharmacy for over 40 years, where he made significant contributions to the field. His dedication to pharmacy education led him to found the Museum of Pharmacy. As an accomplished author, he wrote foundational texts on the history of pharmacy in Puerto Rico and shared his poetic talents in respected literary outlets. Furthermore, he led major academic initiatives, including the Pan-American Congress on Pharmaceutical Education, underscoring his commitment to advancing pharmaceutical education worldwide.

Why was it proving so difficult to get his significance recognized and accepted?

Learning the language of Wikipedia

I rewrote sections, reorganized citations, and removed anything that sounded like admiration, despite admiration being the reason I was doing this. Learning to balance my pride with Wikipedia’s neutrality standards was essential to making the article acceptable and keeping the focus on his achievements.

And then, one morning, after yet another round of revisions, I refreshed the screen and saw it: Luis Torres Díaz: Wikipedia.

There he was, recognized, documented, and visible to the world, a moment that made all the effort feel truly worthwhile and underscored the importance of giving recognition to those who deserve it.

Once again, I stared at the screen for some time, letting the moment sink in.

Victory and reflection

In all honesty, getting my grandfather on Wikipedia wasn’t about vanity. It wasn’t about elevating my family name. It was about correcting an omission, one that felt symbolic of how easily the contributions of Puerto Rican scholars, scientists, and cultural figures can be overlooked.

It was about ensuring that future students, researchers, and curious readers would not have to dig through archives to find him. They could search his name and discover the man he was.

It was about giving him the recognition he earned, recognition that others with far less impact had somehow already received. But most of all, it was about honoring him, giving him the recognition he earned, and feeling a part of his legacy.

My grandfather devoted his life to knowledge, education, the advancement of his profession, and the cultural life of Puerto Rico. He deserved to be remembered. He deserved to be found. He deserved to be part of the global record.

Now he is.

Francisco M. Torres is an interventional physiatrist specializing in diagnosing and treating patients with spine-related pain syndromes. He is certified by the American Board of Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation and the American Board of Pain Medicine and can be reached at Florida Spine Institute and Wellness. 

Dr. Torres was born in Spain and grew up in Puerto Rico. He graduated from the University of Puerto Rico School of Medicine. Dr. Torres performed his physical medicine and rehabilitation residency at the Veterans Administration Hospital in San Juan before completing a musculoskeletal fellowship at Louisiana State University Medical Center in New Orleans. He served three years as a clinical instructor of medicine and assistant professor at LSU before joining Florida Spine Institute in Clearwater, Florida, where he is the medical director of the Wellness Program.

Dr. Torres is an interventional physiatrist specializing in diagnosing and treating patients with spine-related pain syndromes. He is certified by the American Board of Physical Medicine and Rehabilitation and the American Board of Pain Medicine. He is a prolific writer and primarily interested in preventative medicine. He works with all of his patients to promote overall wellness.