Columbia University School of Dental and Oral Surgery - Dental Columbian Yearbook (New York, NY)

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% A. =e W = Z° °5 ' incomplete if we were to refrain from mentioning that complete social success, the dance at the McAlpin. As Juniors, we leaned hack smugly, and complacently awaited results. Well indeed, had we earned the title of being the hardest boiled and the laziest class in the history of C. I ' . . S. True to tradition, we assembled at the Marie Antoinette, anil once again danced away dull care on the light fantastic toe. Ye have come now to the end of our scholastic career: our aim accom- plished, our goal reached. Like the proverbial dog. who was thrown into the grinding machine and came nut as mince meat, so did we enter as toys and leave as men. with unity of purpose and prepared to do our share in this world ' s work. Weighty responsibilities have no place among youthful frolics. This was shown by the success of the Senior Hop. That night the Plaza was resplendent with gaiety and color. The formality of our evening clothes was abandoned, and the class carried on as though nothing but the dance mattered ; and nothing did matter. Along professional, athletic and social lines, we have left behind us an env iable record. In spite of the reproaches of our professors, we have always had a sly suspicion (and we say this with no vanity) that inwardly they were sorry to have us go. We have come now to the parting of the ways, each his own path to choose, and his own history make. To the Graduating Class of the College of Dental and Oral Surgery; Tin ' s is the season which witnesses the official passing of the members of the class of 1922. To them I say God-speed. The efforts of their undergraduate years are about to be rewarded. They shall take their positions in the world of professional and scien- tific duties. For all it will be i. period of transition, because the two great vocations. Medicine and its offspring Dentistry, arc unique amongst the callings of men. The change from the dependency of student life, to the unaided responsibility of profes- sional labor, is not gradual, but abrupt. From the sheltered class-room you shall at once step forth into the world, where you ae judged solely on your own merits. Opportunity will be for you, only if you are able to meet it squarely. To end right vou must commence right. If you were to ask me what I consider are the foundations of honorable success, I would reply, honesty, scientific accuracy, and as the result of these, self-confidence. Be honest with your patient whose trust you hold; lie honest with your fellow practitioner whose good name you hold; be honest with yourself u lion- character you hold. Remember that in a short space of four years, you have only learned how to do, how to observe and how to read. Experience, coupled with constant study will perfect you Therefore do not neglect what you have learned to read Be careful to advance a science advances, or you will be left far behind. In your efforts to regain your place, monetary considerations may overwhelm you. Self confidence will probably not be with you at first. But as you study people, and study them you must, you will gradually come to know, that armed with honesty and learning, your efforts will be permanent and satisfactory. I heartily wish the graduating class a future, of which their Alma Mater may be justly proud. Frkderii k M. Johnson, M. D. ' iTiJiV | q 22, m o -r %.)D rage rwemy-om

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3n JSeirnapFrt WAS but yesterday, during the period of that never-to-be for- gotten Great War, that we climbed up the first rung of the ladder of our career. Like children learning to walk, we too, have had our falls and mishaps, but with a firmness of step and a clearness of mind, grown of perseverance and conscientious endeavor, we are now prepared to enter the field of our chosen profession. In the Fall of ' 18, to the roll of drums and the sound of fifes, the Clasj of ' 22,was ushered into the college. Yes. we were indeed given a reception entirely befitting the finest class in the history of our Alma Mater. With a complete disregard for our desire to become peaceful citizens, Uncle Sam commandeered us into his service to become protectors of humanity and to help make this world a better place to live in. Tor once, the high and migh- ty senior was taken off his pedestal to do an ' ' about face by order of an in- significant and lowly frosh. War was war, but the class was a complicated problem. Due to the unusual circumstances and conditions under which we were obliged to carry on our curriculum, it was necessary to seek out a strong and efficient leader for president. Within a few short weeks was held our premier social function, a banquet at Keen ' s Giop House. For the first time, the Students, Faculty and officers were thrown together ex curriculo. Then was started that series of friendships which must now of necessity be somewhat interfered with. Peace, Christmas. Spring, followed in rapid succession. To break the routine by which we had already become absorbed, there was another affair ; a real gala affair — a dance at the Marie Antoinette. Another link had been added to that chain of happy associations and pleasant memories of our college career, to which we shall ever look back with leaping hearts. Vacation and the successful termination of the Freshman Year. That year had seen us come into the college strangers to one another and to the great work which lay ahead of us. That year had seen us emerge from the first lap of our long upward journey, not much wiser in the intricacies of our profession, but bound together by ties of friendship and companionship, which after all, are the biggest things in our lives. The Soph year saw us healthy, vigorous and prepared to assimilate that slight additional knowledge which we felt would complete our wisdom ' s store. Of course the Freshmen had to be shown their place. In the tie rush that was held, some one (our good taste prevents us from mentioning names) was hauled down from a lofty perch. Our history would he quite S 22 M. fttyiiD Page Twenty

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D° 5 lr. Menrg Harrington Sannuay Strii 3?b. 1, 1921. Dear Beloved Soul! Thou are gone — snatched away when your seeds began to blossom forth into rip- ened fruit just when Southern breezes of Summer were melting away j ' our icy past of Winter What unripened secrets left with you, may never be known Great Heart! The tide of Time has torn you away from us just when you befriended and endear- ed us To see you die at a moment when you weathered the drought — at a moment when you were needed most, made the sorrow more painful to bear Noble Spirit! Deep dark clouds of darkness have hovered over you for several years, threatening to burst any moment In spite of that, you stood at your post. Like a brave and noble sailor, to his sinking craft, you stuck fast to your scientific and angelic work, even to the last moment — till finally — the waves have passed over your head Endeared Friend! Your death has been a great blow to us It has congealed our hearts with frozen • pangs of grief It has left us floating over the stormy waves ' without a master Tears filled our eyes — sorrow, tightened our hearts... .The very trees were w r ailing with the lonely cries of mourning Geat Beloved Teacher! Your noble self sacrificing spirit shall live within the recesses of our hearts It shall be an inspiration to us when the road of Life ' becomes narrow and strewn with rocks We shall draw refreshment from it as a flower from its dew-drops Great Faithful Man! We think of you Your name shall always be fresh on our lips Your image mingle with our thoughts We shall remember your kindness and politeness It has been a fire-side to us when we were cold and hungry Beloved Soul! Sleep in peace. In our memories you shall always be Oh Nature! Keep green round his resting place. Deck yourself in splendid beauty round his grave. Let flowers bloom throughout the year — birds ' sing sweet arias over his bed Gone is 1 our teacher, comrade, brother and endeared friend Your great body is dead, Your noble face gone away ; Still, your spirit lives instead Urging us onward every day A. G. Silverman It ' UlWliV Paae Twenty-two IS 22 a.