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Page 32 text:
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History of the Class of 1964 “There can be no history of the past as it actually did happen; there can only be historical interpretations, and none of them final; and every generation has a right to frame its own. But not only has it a right to frame its own interpretations, it also has a kind of obligation to do so, for there is indeed a pressing need to be answered . . Karl Popper Freshman Year “The smaller the head, the bigger the dream ” — Austin O’Malley No one can say for sure where the history began. It began maybe years ago when we decided or when it was decided for us that we should become physicians. That first Sunday night was stuffy and uncomfortable, and the incline- of Emy Amphitheatre was vertiginous the first time up. The air was heavy with academicism; we still hadn’t begun, but we had passed the point of no return. Why am I here? What am I seeking? Why is she here? What is she seeking? This amorphous matrix of faces, facts, physicians, and fears would soon evolve in phase and gel into an ordered structure. See you in 603! The day after Labor Day found us with sand particles falling from our hair, with beer and baited breath, and soon to be “Bated” ears. Starting with the ovum, an appropriate beginning — Dr. Troycr. The air was tense and filled occasionally with the thundering sound of colored pencils falling to the floor. A week of orientation, meeting, 28
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Page 33 text:
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rushing, talking, comparing, sizing up; a week for the living soon to give way to weeks with the dead. The free floating anxiety of Sunday night soon localized to a writer’s cramp. After we bought that first flood of Protck, probes, atlases, and aprons, it was down to the microcosm of the fifth floor where for some it was only a rehash of Ham, and for others a new baptism in oil. That first histology test — oh, lost at 43X. Names gave way to numbers, and the cryptic sym-IjoIs S, X, and U were soon equated with the vacant spaces of the previous year’s composite. Skin flaps reflected, oversized atlases for undersized stands, blowing pages soon to be grease-smudged. The blur of the first two weeks . . . As the body turned prone to supine, the kaleidoscope of events of the first month — memorizing, compiling, sifting, and more sifting, ingraining the ephemeral to permanence ... A dizzying whirl, a maze filled with 2,000 pages of plates, a decisive night before the test . . . Grant had too little, Gray had too much, perhaps Woodburne would be just enough ... a phantasmagoria of flying fascia, layers never to lx? seen again — Student No. 1: “How much have you studied?’’ Student No. 2: “Not enough.” Student No. 3: “Did you see the anomaly at Table 5? It may be in the test.” Student No. 4: “I can’t I'm still two regions behind.” Ah, the faucets and oh, no paper towels. C3 completed in a hectic manner, but . . . miles to go before we sleep. . . . Evenings that darkened quickly brought elections, local and national; an honor system, favored or foisted; a rash of transistors: victories for deans, Democrats, Pirates, and Gordie Snyder. Lights out with Dr. Stauffer offered a welcomed respite. You got what you wanted, sleep or knowledge, benefit for all. Lights dim ... six screens flash on . . . demonstration thusly. Wide-tied led wide-eyed, building confidence whether aiding in dissection with his self-devised, complex instrument — the probe — or consoling and encouraging you when U’s occurred. The master of the visual aids, from a personally narrated film short on the pulmonary segments to personal appearances on one-channel TV, including Bwana Devil glasses and anatomy-in-depth. Dr. Huber attempted mass anatomic transference. The nights with Troycr — tired from learning, tired with learning, tired, but learning. The able Carson Schncck dismissed his lectures on the breast, genital tract, and hand as “fortuitous,” but for us they were fortunate. The long-aw-aited, downhill fall after head and neck was tediously delayed by an car lecture, a long list of references, and inappropriate hissing, followed by a meeting on hissing. Although correlation of lecture and lab was the desired ideal, dissections were occasionally too gross, and the desired effect was sought at other tables. It was about this time that Dr. O. Spurgeon English as an aside to his maturity and achievement lecture, informed us that we would never be happier than we were at that moment. Happiness was a snow of opportunity on the day of the gross final. Choice dissections and anomalies went untagged, soon to be consumed in the fires of Russell’s raging ovens. Christmas was a joyous event for the last time. On return the dissecting room was the same, but the table tops were clean, and once familiar sights
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