Temple University School of Medicine - Skull Yearbook (Philadelphia, PA)

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improvement: we went from cracked-pot resonance to Dupuy Iren’s contracture. But something new was added as we discovered Episcopal and Jewish Hospitals. Each Wednesday afternoon found eager groups of sophomores converging on real live patients. White coats sprouted conspicuous stethoscopes, flash lights, and other medical paraphernalia. Diagnostic points were shown in amazing profusion, with the constant admonition that. “Once you see. hear, and or feel this, you'll never forget it. Dr. Giambalvo presented a rather frightening introduction to surgery, with his piquant expressions—“buttermilk pus. and “wait till it turns black, then whack it off. We learned minor surgery our junior year. Dr. Quindlen started us on the rough road to the delivery room, namely, obstetrics. His lectures were sure to be full of laughs—jokes, tales, personalized mannikin demonstrations using a vest for a uterus. Tall, soft-spoken, red-headed Dr. Thomas Durant began our series on medicine. His gentlemanly mien inspired a universal respect for him as a person, and his well-organized lectures established a respect for him as a teacher. Suddenly, there was a blurred impression of exam on exam, and, almost before we knew it, we were on the third and last lap of our sophomore year. We ran headlong into pathology one morning in late winter when Dr. Aegerter appeared before us to talk about the changes in tissues incurred by physical disease. He rushed vigorously through the hour, missing not a detail. Then, while we tried to rub life and health back into our cramped and exhausted hands, he suggested that we hurry right up to microscopic lab. There we were presented with a terrifying list of four hundred twenty-nine slides, and a schedule that gave us something different to do each hour. We began to feel that maybe Dr. Aegerter had been right when he'd said. “You won't be able to go to the movies on Saturday nights while you're taking pathology. Maybe he hadn’t meant that as a joke, after all. Our first autopsy was one of the events of the year. Goalless, we raced across the street to the morgue in the basement of the Brown Building. It is a gloomy place—one bright light over the table holding the body; a bunsen burner and a galvanized tub overflowing with water, a rubber sponge half sinking in it; grey-white sheets shuddering over the door to the outside: dark shadows in the corner by the ice box that holds four shrouded humans. We wondered what manner of men could do this sort of thing; but, as the autopsy began, a tone of scientific investigation was set so that soon we were aware only of a consuminglv-deep interest in the case before us. Before the hour was over, two men dressed in black appeared from behind the sheets to announce that we were holding them up; we were behind schedule, as usual. Who were they to interrupt so rudely? The next hour we rushed back to the pathol- Left: Dr. Eleanor Steele . . . the hack row moved. Center: Dr. George E. Mark, Jr. ... a long hour. Right: Dr. Gioacchino P. Giambalvo . . . waits until it turns hlack. 22

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Medical correlation cropped up once more at this point. I)r. Kolmer again acting as guide. Once more we heard that “the laboratorv is no short-cut royal road to diagnosis, and watched patients quail under his scathing tirades on diabetics and alcoholics. Clinical immunology revealed another facet of Dr. Kolmer’s versatility: we ladies and gentlemen were instructed to use syringes for injections, guns for shots. Without doubt, the second trimester’s piece de resistance was intended to he pharmacology, still guided by Dr. Livingston. The unassigned pages in Goodman Gilman became fewer, the unread greater. A Livingstonian classic was the mouse who dipped his tail in a barrel of alcohol and went on to the cat-defiant stage. Prospective chauffeurs take warning, no more than 0.01% blood alcohol one shot! Dr. Larson gave some of our lectures in his own booming, ponderous way, and Dr. Fellows sprightly efforts were entirely too few and far between. After much procrastination, the marks from the first test appeared, computed to the nearest tenth—the number of grades posted exceeded the number in the class. Lab sessions presented an amazing series of experiences, from burning rats’ tails to catheter-izing rabbits. Excellent equipment aided our efforts, but ether was a problem. Despite Dr. Livingston’s unique and heroic measures, the anesthetist often succeeded in ending the experiment prematurely, but not unhappily. Dr. Fellows supervised the filling of our prescriptions— and it came as quite a surprise when some of us were told, ‘‘Here’s a teaspoon—let’s see you take it. At last the widely-heralded conferences took place—eighteen hours' worth of cross-examination or bull, varying with the instructor in charge. Then the never-to-be-forgotten final. It started at two on a Saturday afternoon, but long after dark the light still burned in 510. Dr. Larson munched his sugar cubes while the rest of us sweated and starved. The anticlimax came main months later when our careful!) worked lab books were returned without a single mark or comment. Two hours a week of anatomy served to pick up a few loose threads from our freshman vear. and to add several new ones. Drs. Huber and Weston aided in the picking-up process: Dr. Bradley did noble battle in behalf of medical genetics, but it remained a bafiling subject. Dr. Moyer presented a whirlwind review of the extremities. In two hours the arm and leg had revealed their every secret. We reached a | eak in our medical careers when psychiatry introduced us to Dr. Eleanor Steele, who radiated a unique psychic t ? I attraction which caused the back-row-hoys to migrate forward. Where the chronic front-rowers sat during psychiatn class has always remained somewhat of a mystery.) Another new face in this second trimester was Dr. Baker, who told us all about public health. Dr. Mark’s weekly sessions in physical diagnosis continued without appreciable change or Left: Dr. Eleanor H. Valentine ... a principle was discovered, by Kracke! Center: Smith and Stubenrauch with Dr. C»ault . . . the mirror didn't work. liifiht: Dr. Mfred E. Livingston. 21

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ogy museum for slide projection. It was warm and dark. We tried to see what the prof was pointing out on the slide, and. after awhile, watched the patterns that cigarette smoke, floating languidly upward in the beam of light, made on the screen; then, imperceptibly, our heads fell to our shoulders. We spent the first few weeks in complete confusion. We were confounded by strange cells and patterns that appeared under the microscope. I he pace of the course was so fast we were sure we'd never he able to keep up, let alone catch up. Each lecture, in itself, provided a small hook to learn. Then there was Boyd to furnish details and the green gross manual that, by adding more material, munaged to correlate it more, too. It began to appear that pathology must be learned in systems— which seemed to be the only way to remember all the possibilities. The staff helped us study at night. They gave us a quiz every Saturday morning, sometimes written, sometimes gross, sometimes micro. Concerning quizzes, there was always something of a rivalry between the staff and the class. A kind of out-guessing contest. It required very little imagination on our part to picture them, huddled in a Machcthian group, picking out questions or specimens for us. It was easy to imagine their saying. “No. they know all about that, let’s ask them something else!” Two days a week we had oral “discussion groups, intimate little affairs with one of the profs. The Chief, it seemed, would never take “1 don’t know” for an answer. If he were getting no results, he’d ask leading questions until he finally got an answer. Occasionally he had to admit defeat though, and ask the next man in the alphabet. We took our quizzes with I)r. Aegerter in his office, perched on stools or relaxed, more or less, in stiff green chairs. If The Chief lost patience with us. he only rarely showed it. He’d smile pleasantly the whole time we were being stupid, never showing anger or disappointment. W e left those sessions knowing more pathology and feeling that, somehow. The Chief always was pushed for time. Dr. Gault's quiz hours were fascinating for the fiendish questions he asked, and for the equally fascinating answers he got. e could always tell, by the expression on his face, that the next one was going to he a fooler. He’d have an inward grin that seemed to make his black hair blacker, that made us remember the way a cat toys with a mouse. He’d sit there, contentedly, puffing on a cigar, listening to the answer. Then, just when you thought. “By golly. I've got him this time!” Dr. Gault would repeat the same question ami say. “Now, suppose you answer that one.” But we liked Snuffy ; we liked the way he sucked little black tablets to soothe his voice; we liked the way he laughed with us when he could have laughed at us. The youngster on the senior staff. Dr. Pietro-iuongo, remained slightly more uloof from us than the others. His contact with us was strictly professional. Not that he wasn’t friendly—he was, hut in a restrained, yankee way. There was Left: Stunton, Siekerl. Stewart . . . llu sulfur granule is pathognomonic. Center: Dr. Augustus R. IVule. Ill . . . In tipped u off. liighi: Dr. Earnest E. Aegerter. Professor of Patholog) . . . Saturday night movies are out! 23