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

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R.H.I.P., was piped aboard in the torrid climes «»f Erny, fresh from the old ship Pennsylvania. He braced himself against the blackboard—arms akimbo, feel properly spaced and, after a dramatic moment of studied silence, began to speak. He talked about the weather and occasionally, as the wind blew stronger, he would sway in the breeze. He told us that weather does not mean climate; that it rains more on the north side of Puerto Rican mountains than it does on the south side; and that no matter how much medicine we learn, we never can learn enough. Pediatrics was remarkably unspectacular. All those hours in pediatrics are subdued, greyed almost beyond remembrance, but streaked with the white of an occasional paper airplane. They began w ith Dr. Waldo Nelson who, forefinger on thumb and hand on chin, told us about “The Green Book” and diseases of children in general. As time went on—and we read “ I he Green Book” in lieu of taking notes we realized that, with a few notable exceptions, pediatricians are small, quietly dressed, quietly mannered and philosophers of sorts. Pediatrics provided a restful, a soporific hour, marred only infrequently by brief oral quizzes. By the time tin end of the year approached, however, we realized that we had learned a good bit about children from Dr. High and Dr. Bartram, and a lot about people from Dr. Nelson. In general, pediatrics was comforting; we left it feeling satisfied and relatively competent. On Thursday and Friday mornings we served clinical clerkships at various hospitals in Philly. At PGH we occasionally worked up a medical case to present to the group. It was not remarkable. hut we saw patients close at hand. Episcopal was fun. Each week we took a patient, and presented the case to I)r. Farrar or I)r. Klemm or Dr. Manlove for discussion. Dr. Farrar’s manner did much to make our sojourn at Episcopal pleasant and worthwhile. He is always relaxed and easy-going, ready to smile and to teach. He never lost patience with us. even when we made some inane diagnosis. Up at Jewish, the high point of each day was the conference with Dr. Doane and his janizaries, who obviously had been well-coached the da before. We spent hours with the patients for that presentation, and more hours reading up on the history and the latest advances in treatment of the disease at hand. After the history and physical had been told. 'T nele Joe gleefully pounced with one of his questions. The outcome was usually, Report on that next week, sir. The schedule at Jewish was a surprising two-page affair that accounted for each hour we spent there: pathology with Dr. Inglehy : ward walks on men’s and women s medicine: and surgery observation. We even had a final exam Left: l)r. John Lunsbury . . . longue in check. Right: Dr. Richard A. Kern. Professor of Medicine . . . the wind blew stronger. Left: Dr. Waldo E. Nelson, Professor of Pcdiutrio . . . it’s in tile Green Book. Right: Philadelphia General Hospital ... it uMiall) rained. 29

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the uncomfortable amphitheatre filled before the first hour ended. Dr. Rosemond, assisted by l)r. Hall, showed us an amazing array of stained dressings and incisions in all stages of healing. The front row palpated hernias, tuberculous lymph nodes, and enlarged thyroids; the back row worked crossword puzzles. Here, too, surgery was not up to expectations. The cases seldom were presented with any display of interest they were droned off to us school-boy fashion so that the morning Inquirer was far more exciting. Following surgery there was a brief smokers' break, and then psychiatry. If it hadn't been for the students' presentations and discussion of case material we'd have learned nothing from Drs. Freed and Hammerman—until that day we discussed the shortcomings of psychiatry at PGH. In true Freudian fashion, Dr. Freed seemed to take every statement as a personal insult, refuting them one by one. The last six weeks he spent, didactically, on psychoses and neuroses so that that one hectic- hour was not lost. Dr. Sherman Gilpin and his patients from neurology saved those Wednesday mornings from complete oblivion. We learned more than neurology from him; we learned a kind of humanity, a sympathy for patients that was gratifying to us and to them. He taught us some of the Art of Medicine. Long after we forget the names of myriad neurological signs, we will personalize our contact with patients with something of Dr. Gilpin's warmth. From neurology we went to tuberculosis with Dr. Cohen, or to autopsy with our own pathology staff from Temple. In pairs, we were priv-iliged to disembowel a newly-acquired body, or remove the heart and lungs or the GU tract. This hand to hand combat with gross specimens was only u minor portion of our pathology for the year, for one afternoon a week we spent in oncology. Once again, we amassed voluminous notes; once again, we rushed through twenty slides in thirty minutes; and once again, we groped through a final that was stunning with surprises. Medicine was the big subject of our junior year, seven hours of it each week. Dr. Durant, during his too-brief series on heart disease, reaffirmed our faith in physicians as men. We met Dr. Lansbury again, this time for endocrinology ami arthritides, and acquired a finely-balanced respect for this tnan whose sarcasm, we knew, lay not too deeply buried to flash out witheringly at unsuspecting students. Dr. Lansbury is fun. He is amusing and scholarly, restrained yet friendly. We learned to appreciate his sense of humor and his approach to medicine and to beware his temper. Then one fine morning, “Commodore Richard A. Kern. A.B., M.D., LL.I)., Sc.D.. F.A.C.P., Left: Dr. Rosemond, assisted by Dr. Hall. Center: Dr. Sherman F. Gilpin, Clinical I'rofessor of Neurology . . . sa ed the day. Right: Drs. Freed and Hammerman . . . asked for u critique. 28

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presided over by l)r. Adelman, but one more exam that junior year, when there were so many, meant nothing. Somewhere along the line we had semester exams. There were so many of them that they became a habit and we survived through them by sheer force of will—faculty’s will. The new semester dawned without change of schedule, except for a few minors tucked in to replace others. Syphilology replaced dermatology, and with it fresh interest developed. Dr. Wright had struggled during the first semester to teach us about macules and papules and maculopapular rashes. He did not have too much success, although most of us felt a little itchy by the end of the hour. Those many dermatologic lesions— “You diagnose them by looking at them”—made a confused array of diseases we would rather do without. People do not die of skin diseases anyhow, unless it’s pemphigus—or is it pom-pholyx? Hut with syphilology we were on relatively familiar ground. You could diagnose it. and you could treat it. Syphilology made sense. We ran into urology, too. There was a new department head. Dr. Conger, who looked perfectly at ease with his subject. He had a youthful, bashful air about him that made his first lectures on the disorders of the male genital tract seem a little precious. That is, until the day he discussed the hidden ball play, or . . . cryptor- chidism. We fully enjoyed his lectures, and he seemed to enjoy us, which is a pleasing combination. Near the end of the series. Dr. Mac-Crae told us about the prostate and a few limericks. Urology (lowed past, yielding to the spastic Dr. Bacon and further doings with the nether extremity. We saw sigmoidoscopes and their attachments for each end. We learned about diseases of the colon and anus, sigmoid and rectum. There were always slides, with an occasional bathing beauty sandwiched in between anal fissures and rectal polyps. When the slides were not shifted quickly enough, there would come an acid, “Today, doctor.” from Dr. Bacon, whose many pairs of glasses provided some interesting speculation before each period. One hour on Saturday mornings we spent with Dr. John Royal Moore in the surgical amphitheatre learning about orthopedics and fractures. The amphitheatre is uncomfortable; the lighting is bad; the rows are so close together you don't have enough room to take notes; and it is always hot and always dusty. Dr. Moore tried to teach us about his specialty, but he talked so fast we could neither understand nor keep up with him. Occasionally, he would show slides first, turn the lights off with the last slides, then lecture to us in the dark. When we had learned more of the good doctor’s dialect. Left: Jewish Hospital . . . chez Doane. Right: Dr. Carroll S. Wright. Professor f Dermatology . . . you diagnose thrm by looking at them. Left: Dr. Kyril B. Conger. Professor of Urology . . . one lump, or two? Right: Dr. Harry E. Bacon. Professor of Proctology . . . in a hurry. 30