Philadelphia Dental College - Class Book Yearbook (Philadelphia, PA)

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i , 'rx as e 53-wh Ri? ,L V' f 'f ' Ll- ' ,J A qgfvslf if ill' N.. 'JDS' ij Z .gp av ' A 'gk I Q ,Q A 4 no 4, 3 Q nex t- ., im ' , , , - , ,ffszti E' .::1.--,,,-QY'HTiF:-:F- M- '--::.- -11+ ix .:Y ST. -' V POET is born, not made, they say. But I am not one of the fortunate fewg For it takes a born poet to make a good rhyme, A fact you will discover before I am through. I have here no tale of classical lore, Neither sing I of hero great, But in a few words-I'll try not to bore- You will hear of this famed '98 Three years ago, in the Fall of the year, As innocent Freshmen so childlike and green, We began as a class our college career. And to be guyed by the students of loftier mien. Scarce two months we had passed in our course, When by deep sorrow was P. D. C. o'erspreadg For a man whom all men may be proud to have known Our esteemed and beloved Dean Garretson was dead. When the end of our Freshmen year came round, Few hailed its dawn with heart of cheerg For it marked the departure of Flagg and Dorr, Whom we had learned to love so dear. 203

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and article, the deeds and accomplishments of the various mem- bers of the Class of '98, They say it is best to pay a man back in his own coin, and as this is a good opportunity, a few words may be said to Mr. Schenck, the class poet, in his own recently assumed style: To him who poses as the poet of this class, Schenck, large in girth, and plenteous in brass, I would suggest this small prescription takeg It may of him a better dentist make: Ii When once your literary task is o'er, Drop it, and invoke the muse no more: For plugging gold and singing rhymes don't gee, Till you've a youngster riding on your knee. M. ' Sig. Take twice a day and never mind the fee. And now the history of the Class of '98 is completed. It remains but to say that we left the halls of our Alma Mater, after three memorable years, as full-fledged dentists. It was as if a gust of wind lifted us, carrying us silently and mysteriously away, until we were dropped here and there over the broad sur- face of the earth, to plow our several furrows in the Held that we had chosen. To all intent and purposes, this history is honest. History was very truly spoken of by Carlyle in his history of the French Revolution as a distillation of rumor. Rumor is like the rolling ball of snow, gathering to itself and becoming exag- gerated as it passes on. So if, in this history, fellow classmates, there are any who don't recognize themselves, lay it to the pranks of Rumor rather than to any untruthfulness on the part of the historian. H. H. liE'l'NliT,. '98, Historian. 202

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In our own .estimation we great were and more, When we as Juniors returned next Fall: For most of us had our greenness outgrown, And at our successors Fresh --might call. But soon, when we to work did get, Found how little we really knewg For when in lectures we were quizzed, The questions answered were, Oh, how few! From Stellwagen we learned how to live to be oldg From Guilford were taught to work with precision, And from our silver-tongued orator, Boenning, H. C., To let out the pus with a bold, free incision. With Burehard, as captain, we fought microbes by theory lfVith Howell, Nature's secrets we loved to exploreg And Grcenbaum, how with heart fastly beating, Did we wait 'till his exam. of each Filling was o'er. When we at length our last year began, And beheld the Freshmen who were just starting in, We gazed with contempt on each as they passed by, And wondered, their like could we ever have been. But we are a modest class and do not care to dwell Upon our many virtues, you k11ow them now full wellg In clinic we're a wonder, with our athletes none compare For on the gridiron, in the rushes, '98 was always there. Three years have passed since we first begun, And we our childness have outgrowng For now we moult our college gowns- We have made good friends, and studied-some. And now into the world we come. How we'l1 miss those naps taken quick on the sly, While Burehard, by logic and eloquence great, To prove he's the greatest pathologist, did try. Oh, Guilford, poor Guilford! What now will you do, Since no more can you revel in fiendish delight? For never, thank goodness, will we more COI116 to you To answer that confounded roll-call at night. No more will we assemble at the call of the bell In those old lecture rooms where each year we received From Burchard and Boenning, whom we all know so well Inspirations and microbes every time that we breathed. 204