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Page 21 text:
“
A L E M B I C out that B.O. didn’t mean body odor, but botanical origin, and no amount of Lifebuoy soap would take it away. We were not allergic to common names like Tom and Dick, but Glandulae Rottlerae, Pale Catechu (bless you), and Secale cornutum P.I., were definite idiosyncrasies to us. Just when we had a fool-proof system worked out, we discovered that although aniseed and caraway seed were common names, the part used was the fruit. “Bewildered” became our theme song. Who can forget the “writer’s cramp” developed in Prof. Hanmer’s classes? If you crossed a “t” or dotted an “i” you missed a whole page of notes. In Organic Lab the victory cry became, “Urea, IVc got it!” If incompatibilities are grounds for divorce, we should have been divoiced from the dean’s course in dispensing. But he insisted that we and the course become compatible. Party politics charged the air again; and after a very heated session, the following officers had been elected: Vincent Drake, President; A1 (I’m not related to the dean) O’Brien, Vice-President; Catherine Mariana, Secretary; and Eugene Peterson, Historian. The Junior Prom was our biggest project this year. All of the committees worked hard to make this affair the grand success it was. The Prom was held in the Ten Eyck Hotel Ballroom on May 6th. The attendance was one of the largest in the school’s history for a formal dance, and everyone who attended enjoyed a very' memorable evening. We also received our class rings this year, and upon learning that there was no refund on them, we realized that we would now have to graduate. More quarterlies, more finals, more midnight oil, more cramming, more coffee arid benzedrine, an increased vocabulary of non-rcpeatable words and oaths ex- pressed at 4 o’clock in the morning — and before you say 4, 6 Dimethyl-2-' ulfanila- mido-pyrimidinc (Sulfamethazine to you), we were proud Seniors. The Last (S) Mice We could hardly wait for summer vacation to get over with, so we could finish that last year of college in a hurry. Before school opened, we never felt more confident in our lives. After the first day of school, we never felt more depressed. They say that what you don’t know can’t hurt you, and it was certainly evident that the Seniors weren’t going to get hurt very much this year. After another hotly-contested class election, George (Green) Grass was elected President; “Pete” (Pro) Del Santo, Vice-President; Eleanor (Mrs. Messia) Van Buren, Secretary; and Eugene (ole reliable) Peterson, Historian. Space is too limited here to tell of our ups and downs (mostly downs) which occurred in this do-or-die year of school Suffice it to say that the pressure was really on — and how we knew it! The one ray of hope that shone brightest during this dismal period was Dean O’Brien’s announcement right after mid-terms that he had already ordered our sheepskins from England. “At last,” we mused, “we’ve got him right where he wants us”. There could now be no turning back — onward to third quarterlies, finals, and state boards — and may the good Lord have mercy on us. Yes, we have just about reached the top of the hill as far as our academic career in pharmacy is concerned. We realize, however, that the real test of our knowledge will come after we have graduated. The degree to which we contribute to the general health and welfare of the public through our professional skill will determine our success in life. We shall succeed. We, the graduating class of 1950, take this opportunity to wish the other classes at school best wishes in the coming years. And at the expenre of maybe sounding corny, we say farewell to thee, our Alma Mater — farewell dear ole A.C.P. Humbly submitted, Eugene K. Pf.tf.rson T wenty
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Page 20 text:
“
P H A R M A K O N night oil”, all-night cramming, black coffee, prayers, and a few words that definitely did not go with prayers, we became sophomores. The Second Year Was The Hardest The term sophomore means “wise fool”, as every good Latin scholar knows. We felt like fools all right, but we didn’t feel very wise, as wc attempted to struggle through our second year of school. Without a doubt it was our most difficult year (until we become seniors, that is). E.R.P. and L.R.P. at A.C.P. made L.S. M.F.T. seem like A.B.C. To the best fanagler went the spoils, and even' time you looked on the floor in the balance room, there was the spoiled unknown of someone. We became sensitive to sensitivity, and sensibility definitely did not enhance our ability. Most of us enjoyed Prof. Reed’s qual. course, but like little children who don’t like castor oil, we objected to Prof. Lapetina trying to cram harsh physics down our throats. We told him wc didn’t need it, and probably never would. But, alas, he said although wc might feel like we didn’t need it then, we would feel differently later. He was certainly right. (It came in handy in chem.) On the credit side of the ledger (how did that bookkeeping get in here), there was the Sophomore Sock Hop. Again setting a precedent, we inaugurated this affair to entertain the entire school body. Everyone came dressed as hillbillies, and prizes were given to the man and woman wearing the flashiest pair of socks. An evening of square and round dancing along with refreshments followed, and a dancing good-time was had by all. This year saw the largest enrollment of students at A.C.P. in recent times. As a result the boys’ room was turned into a classroom, and smoking was permitted in the lower hall. This gave the girls an equal opportunity to share cigarette butts from the floor with the boys. (If any of the girls’ mothers should happen to read this — which is doubtful — we’re only kidding.) Gone were ping-pong games, and the outdoor sports become more popular — sometimes more profitable. Basketball and bull sessions also helped pass away the time. Power politics staged between fraternity party candidates and independents replaced the rather quiet elections of our freshman year. After much campaigning and the smoke of battle had cleared, the following members had been elected to head the sophomore class: President, Warren Ilauck; Vice-President, Ray (I grew up under the Brooklyn Bridge) Kramer; Secretary, Lee Tripp; Historian, Eugene (N. Y. U.) Peterson. More quarterlies, more finals, more cram- ming, more prayers, more unprintable words expressed at 3 o’clock in the morning—and then we became happy Juniors. Junior Year Was a “Breeze” If if had not been for Pharmacology, Phar- macognosy, Dispensing Pharmacy, Organic Chem- istry, and Manufacturing Pharmacy, our Junior Year would have been a “breeze”. Thank heaven for Pharmaceutical Economics! What started out as a breeze ended up like a hurricane. Doses, doses, and more doses! In the immortal words of Shakes Peer, “Never before did so many know so little about so much.” WTe were discouraged to find Nineteen
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