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

Text from Pages 1 - 312 of the 1971 volume:

LIBRARY TEMPLE UNIVERSITY HEALTH SCIENCES CENTER September11,1967-may27,1971 SKULL STAFF editor: fredric t. serota copy: steven j. peitzman photography: richard a. menin william s. dinerman lewis I. kramer scott I. silver richard k. spaulding layout: sandra s. serota paul b. weisberg business: Stephen ludwig zella ludwig historian: robert m. jacobson faculty advisors: fred b. rogers. m.d. Stanton w. saltzman art and production advisor: larry glazer medical communications staff: otto c. lehmann In this day of evaluation of priorities, it is impossible to rationalize the production of a self-glorifying volume such as a yearbook typically is. Monies have been allocated in the name of public relations. And perhaps that is irony, for with this edition, more was attempted: to express concern and to comment about our training, our existence, and ourselves. We have restricted ourselves to the media of black and white, available light, 35 mm photography (with a few exceptions)—we feel the simplicity of this format serves our purpose best. The camera tells it like it is, and, with the exception of technical imperfections, we make no apologies for the appearance of anything or anyone. This is the way it was and—too often—still is. Limited by a self imposed requirement to include as nearly everyone involved as possible, we were at times forced to substitute content for quality of photograph. If anyone has been omitted, it was not with intent. The content and design of this book were originated and produced by the collective efforts of the staff. Steve and Zella Ludwig gave up much non-free time to tend to the tedious work of balancing the books. Dick Menin edited and with Larry Kramer, Bill Dinerman, and Dick Spaulding took the quality photographs so necessary for this undertaking. With only the help of a few rap sessions, and very few marks of the editor's pen, every word of copy was originated by Steve Peitzman. Dr. Fred Rogers contributed many useful suggestions and added an air of authenticity as overseer of literary efforts. The layout reflects the inspiration and creative sense of design of my wife, Sandy. And lastly, we extend our appreciation to Judy Glazer for giving up her husband, Larry, on Monday nights, so that he could aid us in tending the drawing board. bill verzyl hank bacich lynn kirk lana micenec paula lickman TABLE OF CONTENTS dean's letter dedication September 11, 1967 - may 27, 1971 seniors senior directory underclassmen patrons May 27, 1971 To The Class of 1971: You have had the opportunity to attend Temple Medical School during a period of very rapid growth and great change. New personnel and programs have appeared and old ones have been altered and expanded. You have been a part of these developments and of the evolution of institutional programs to meet the new challenges of a rapidly changing society. It has, and will be for some time to come, a period of tensions. The development of new national and institutional policies at such a time requires an acceleration of the normal evolutionary process. This will always be too slow for some and too rapid for others. It is my personal conviction that the educational process is dependent more on the total environment than on any of the component parts and that individuals will react differently for different reasons. 1 hope that each of you have grasped enough of the total experience to give you a better understanding of human behavior and social interaction. I know you are prepared to continue your education, adapt to a changing society, and meet the challenges the future will bring. It will not be easy to find how you, as an individual physician, can best contribute to the development of a healthier, happier society. William P. Barba, II, M.D. Acting Dean WPBimwm THIS YEARBOOK IS DEDICATED TO THE FACULTY OF THE TEMPLE UNIVERSITY SCHOOL OF MEDICINE WHOSE DIVERSITY WAS A FORCE IN SHAPING OUR CAREERS. The students, stated the Medical School catalog we all received, spend all of the first semester of the freshman year in the department of anatomy. This was no careless exaggeration: following the tedious ceremonies of orientation week we all moved into Room 603 for a long and sober stay, making daily field trips either down the hall or one flight down the stairs. The task was to learn a new and necessary geography: we had moved suddenly into a strange and extensive city and had to acquaint ourselves completely with not only every major street, park, pipe and monument, but even with the detailed structure and furnishings of every house and factory! A frequently satisfying but always frustrating challenge, acquiring anatomy was an ordeal made more than tolerable by several considerations. Firstly, we would all have been oddly disappointed had that first semester not been a struggle—we expected an absurdly impossible workload, endless hours, and devastating odors. These would somehow ally us with all who had already gone through it and who now (we romantically conjectured) put in the absurd hours in truly medical efforts — all-night interns and seven a.m. surgeons. But the primary factor which made anatomy not only sufferable but fun was that uniquely colorful, accomplished, and most genial faculty. Freshmen were always welcome at their coffee-break table (which was actually maintained, in shifts, continuously from breakfast until Dr. Schneck bolted for his train), where the conversation ranged from football to fibroblasts,-a variety surely never equalled by the Algonquin Roundtable! Dr. Huber - chief of the department if not of its coffee-break table - greeted us the first day, seriously discussed the traditions and implications of his science, then paternally pointed out for us the external occipital protruberance — and made the first slice. It was all downhill from there . .. Daddy reappeared periodically to introduce the regions as we slowly probed and scraped our way caudally, and also described for us the larynx and Huber lung in Large Group Presentations based on his distinguished research in these areas. He also contributed an encouraging word at critical points, and generously permitted us some laughs at his own expense, secure in his awareness of our genuine respect and regard. Dr. Schneck based his lucid lectures on fundamentals of anatomy and mechanics, but their clinical orientation pleased and honored us. He proved even more effective a teacher in small groups: a heap of forty-seven or so classmates climbing over each other's ears in the gross lab meant that somewhere in the midst of that throng Dr. Schneck was dressing a cadaver in gems. In the alternate realm of histo and neuro, Dr. Troyer with his random collection of hardware and debris levitated us through ventricles ( . . .chroia plexus hanging down, O.K., now we crawl around.. . ) and most of embryology. In a department rich in friendly raconteurs. Dr. Troyer was outstanding as a wit and consistent nice guy. Deceptively waggish in his own right was Dr. Rodriguez, though his favorite one-liner wearied on too many hearings: iHyou are deesecting now weeth the dynamite? The Peruvian's chromatic interpretation of the Trigeminal Nerve remains for many the singly most memorable and perplexing happening in 603-no question, the Rod had style! So did Dr. Ray Truex. in his personality if not in the pages of his often redundant and forbidding textbook. But the widespread use of this book and its author's election as President of the American Association of Anatomists confirmed our awed appreciation of the mastery this scientist owns of the byzantine pathways of our nervous system. John Franklin Huber, M.D., Ph.D. Chairman of the Department of Anatomy Carson D. Schneck, M.D., Ph.D. J. Robert Troyer. Ph.D. i ' Raymond C. Truex.Ph.D. Steven J. Phillips, M.D. M. Noble fates. Ph.D. A Marvin Sodicoff, Ph.D. Each Noble Bates lecture was a shandean adventure which sporadically got around to retinas, embryos and the like. Bates had pictures of everything; digressions, lascivious fantasies, anecdotes, ob-scure name drops-all were abundantly illustrated with slides. His entertaining ramblings never quite hid his wide and current familiarity with his field. To Dr. Phillips, the electron microscope was almost as important a device as the Carousel projector to Bates. Though just slightly more reticent than the mean for our anatomists, Steve Phillips shared the departmental humor and-needless to say —scientific accomplishment. Drs. Pratt and Sodicoff, the youngsters, already displayed what seemed to be the two main qualifications for residence on the sixth floor—namely, knowing much anatomy and occasionally acting whimsically. Marvin was less interesting in front of the lecture hall than in the audience, where he used to fill pages of notebooks with carefully sketched faces looking in every direction. Finally, Roger Davidheiser was a kind of departmental pineal gland: accepted as part of the structure, his function was never quite clear. Neal E. Pratt, Ph.D. Lorenzo Rodriguez-Peralta. M.D. Gail S. Crouse, Ph.D. Never again, Thank God, did we ever participate in so many exams as during that first semester! The gross practical, a kind of necrotic square-dance, was so choreographed that most got through it, though few gracefully. The pages of the writtens were as distinctive as their authors, with Crouse's and Rod's (the latter forever obsessed, for some reason, with inscrutably anastamosing arteries) always the crunchers. Daddy Huber's picture page, as all the world knows, came at just the right place in the exam, and abject was he who loused it up! Anatomy exams always came on Friday, as surely as the hospital cafeteria's clam chowder. Dr. Fred Rogers, the amiable and scholarly redhead who amazed and amused us with his excellent medical history series, remarked one week that . .. I used to give my course on Saturday mornings, but nobody came; now I have Thursday afternoons—foiled again! Indeed, toward the end of the semester, when exams were almost weekly, the Thursday matinees in Medical History and Psychiatry were pretty lonely sessions. Roger H. Davidheiser, Ph.D. Fred B. Rogers. M.D. Acting Chairman of the Department of Community Medicine As anatomy progressed that initial semester, and the class was together as a whole almost continuously, the 135 faces soon became less random. Definite sub-cultures became discernible: the vibrant Clutch Squad, the famous Northeast Carpool (soon to be demolished by fulminant marriage), the protest group, the Rugby players. Individuals emerged and could be counted upon. We relied on Fletch and Donna for questions, on Mary Scott for answers, and on Izes and Strode for truly funny commentary. A class personality was forming, at least to the extent possible in a large professional school, and it was best on display Christmas-Party Day. Rather than with traditional Carols, this affair more or less began with the peculiar chant, Get out of Fletcher's Chair . . . GET OUT OF FLETCHER'S CHAIR! . . aimed at Dr. Schneck who carelessly sat, well ... in Fletcher's chair. Then entered Stokes from Stage left, comically costumed as a bizarre combination of Daddy Huber and Father Christmas (drunks in the back row: Sock it to 'em, Santa! ), and dispensed the mandatory gifts to the faculty. Stokes was only outmatched by the Rod, a subtle master of stage presence, who somehow left Santa holding the wrappings (the gift was Reed Murtagh's portrait of Dr. Rodriguez as The Original Spanish Fly ). Dr. Troyer's Love Ode to the Class of 1971, delivered by the poet himself in beads and blond curls, and ! some very funnily though mildly murky underground film completed this jolly and traditional afternoon. The first semester officially ended with the final exam, during which Dr. Robert Hamilton—we had by then heard a little about him-came in and actually distributed the first few weeks' schedule for his course, due to begin after an entire weekend off. There is no existing record of how each class member spent that halcyon weekend (it was an uncommonly warm one for Philadelphia in January) which was especially valued coming after five months of leisure deprivation. The problems of finding time to do something other than study-finding it without guilt or disastrous retribution at the next exam—and then of deciding what to do with the precious time, have always plagued medical students and contributed to our stereotype as narrow-minded technicians. “I enjoyed the study of medicine. wrote William Carlos Williams in 1902 when he was a medical student in Philadelphia, but found it impossible to confine myself to it. No sooner did I begin my studies than I wanted to quit them.... This famous physician and writer solved his problem by composing poetry and chasing Bryn Mawr College girl$. Our class members possess a startling range of interests—as we will see later—but those activities most conspicuous to freshman and sophomore years were: getting married, playing rugby, and drinking beer. How can the epidemic of weddings be adequately described? Marriages in early and late summer, at Christmas and Thanksgiving, during musculoskeletal block and hematology; ceremonies in little white churches, in ancient synagogues; in hotels, in war memorials; vows accepted in Philadelphia, in Wilkes-Barre, in Sparta (New Jersey), and in Rome (Italy); our class members spent hours and days going to their own and everybody else's weddings, constructing a fantastic meshwork of mutually-exchanged toasters, salad bowls, and personal checks. We affiliated ourselves with school-teachers, nurses, secretaries, social workers, and moved to Manheim Street to set up house. The few single holdouts continued to take their meals at the hospital cafeteria, a contracting group of bachelors viewed by others with wonder and pity. The other body-contact sport many of us enjoyed was Rugby, a game for some reason adopted by the area medical schools, allowing much running around and conducive to subsequent partying. Although our class contribution to the Temple Rugby Football Club shifted, Larry Romane was perhaps our most zealous representative. The consumption of a certain amount of beer was an accepted side effect of rugby, but we also drank a few at home and in those local taverns quickly pointed out by upperclassmen. Frunzi's, the longtime favorite of the Temple medical community, served cheap and palatable meals during the week, and on weekends was joyously packed and noisy. Down the street from Frunzi's, and down also in the degree of density and decibels, others of us enjoyed the peaceful welcome of Joseph's on Friday nights. Here Frank Au and his familiar clutch of regulars could always be found to lament the week past and anticipate the weekend to come, while the friendly Dr. Paul served his rather tasteless house brew. A good question might have been: was it an insult or high compliment to bring your girl to Joseph's? Leisure was little less rare our second semester than the first. Anatomy had been colorful: latex blue and red vessels in the cadavers, pinks, greens and blues in tiny mosaic on histo slides, dazzling use of colored chalk and pencils, and a bright spectrum of professors. Biochemistry, unhappily, was a faded, slightly turbid yellow. Many found our course in this increasingly crucial discipline demanding of effort yet denying reward, and the most cynical of us saw unwelcome symbolism in the seemingly endless urine experiments. In fact, urinalysis turned out to be one of the particular areas of expertise of Dr. Hamilton (whose reputation in chemistry is mainly attributable to his broad and thorough competence in clinical laboratory instrumentation). The chief delivered a large part of the lecture course, including his rather peculiar introduction to the Citric Acid Cycle: for reasons not clear, Dr. Hamilton started with the cytochrome chain and headed backwards towards glycolysis, which was actually picked up several weeks later by someone else. He put the whole cycle on the board twice —on two successive mornings-first clockwise as a square, then counterclockwise as a circle... or so it seemed. The director of a somewhat anachronistic course and a frankly not too dynamic lecturer. Dr. Hamilton unfortunately remained a rather distant figure. Yet he displayed a great experience in chemistry, and occasionally, a certain sparkle of eye and surprising hint of drollery that suggested perhaps other hues of his personality he sadly chose not to reveal. Jonathan Cilley served as the chairman's most at tentive retainer, gave out locker keys, lectured on porphyrias, and Robert H. Hamilton, M.D., Ph.D. Chairman of the Department of Biochemistry Jonathan H. Cilley. Ph.D. constructed on the laboratory blackboards data grids of truly astonishing neatness. In that lab, we were the last Temple class to perform the notorious twenty-four hour urine series, including the riot-ous Kjedahl determination (throughout the four years we were frequently the “last class to door not do-this or that . . . All but two of us safely delivered our jugs to the lab: Paul Shanahan managed to spill his fluid through his briefcase on a crowded Broad Street subway car-unintentionally accommodating to an old Philadelphia custom—while Fred Serota deftly kicked over somebody else's sample in the old locker room, which from then indeed smelled like a locker room! We were happily the first class to try some interesting and sophisticated en zyme exercises designed by Drs. Hanson and Ballard of the Fels Research division, who walked across one building and about fifty years' time to visit our labs. Other highlights of biochem lab were few: we mainly plodded through cookbook “experiments and plotted data on graphs, all the while with Dr. Cilley-like a circulating nurse-running about, refilling NaOH bottles and answering questions. Productive of much pain and some nausea, and a few alarming curves was the “fingerstick glucose tolerance test, while the suspenseful rat-feeding experiment yielded the comforting result that starved rats don't get big. Richard W. Hanson, Ph. D. 11 r Gerald Litwack, Ph.D. Ronald A. Pioringer. Ph.D. Leonard Norcia. Ph.D. Robert D. Campo, Ph.D. Each biochemistry laboratory was followed by a conference.” usually directed by Dr. Hamilton, at which mainly arithmetic was emphasized. Although there were several useful sessions—including some early attempts to teach us acid-base chemistry—more typical (except more entertaining) was the afternoon Lennie Lipid hooked his Bunsen burner to the air outlet and tried to light it: as with most of our biochemistry lab days nothing much happened. The morning lectures were also mainly uneventful, but there were some exceptions. Dr. Gerald Litwack presented a rigorous and well-organized series on enzyme kinetics, during which we saw real calculus on the 316 blackboard for the first and only time. The problem was that after one week. Dr. Litwack had left at least two-thirds of the class hopelessly behind him. Though it may with much justification be asserted that the story of lipid synthesis is not one of great inherent drama. Dr. Pieringer proved a clear and able lecturer on this topic. Additionally, a variety of other biochemistry department members provided plentiful lectures and laboratory conferences, most neither strikingly good nor awful. Robert C. Baldridge, Ph. D. Raymond E. Knauff, Ph.D. What a deep docility we displayed in those days-actually showing up in Room 316 for endless early-morning lectures, hour-after-hour, six days a week! Even the room itself seemed to suggest that we stay home. Though a handsomely constructed hall, 316 possessed hard, brutal chairs with wobbly, dangling writing-arms. Early in the semester, the frigid room well reflected the unwelcome Philadelphia winter outside, except that it was usually colder and at least no snow got in. And if we brought along a cup of coffee-first to warm the hands, then hopefully to keep the head awake—stern signs assured us that this was verboten. The P.A. system never worked right as long as we knew it: for one stretch of several months it accurately and uninterruptedly hummed at 120 hert2. Next it developed the talent of turning itself off at random times, effectively though arbitrarily censoring all comers. And of course, like shoddy P.A. systems everywhere, it knew how to feedback, and apparently enjoyed doing it. Poor old 316 almost died one weekend our sophomore year, when a steampipe ruptured, scorching and soaking the place, as well as sterilizing and bleaching Russell Conwell and the other hosts of forgotten worthies whose portraits occupied the walls. It was finally dismantled late in 1969, the new building having by then been fully “phased in. Sharing the whimsical 316 microphone and the intricate lab schedule with biochemistry was another large army of lecturers, the Physiology Department, a group mainly accomplished in cardiovascular research. The chief—Dr. Morton J. Oppenheimer—is noted for his research efforts with famous Temple luminaries Ernest Spiegel and Temple Fay, for his clarity in teaching, and supposedly for a hyperactive temper. Legend says that attacks of the latter have in the dim past propelled uncooperative dogs and intimidated medical students out the fourth-floor windows, but these may be only apocryphal flights of fancy-at least we never saw examples of these mythical outbursts. In fact, we didn't see much of “Oppie at all, which was too bad, because his few lectures and laboratory demonstrations revealed a learned physiologist with a facile teaching style. That neuromuscular demonstration with the storage oscilloscope and sidekick Tom was extremely well-done lit actually tours, as a kind of travelling road-show, to other area medical schools and colleges). Who did we see a lot of? Dr. Guido Ascanio murdered volume conduction theory, then proceeded to lecture rather vaguely on the CNS, relying (as most of the class did), on the material in Selkurt's paperback. Dr. Jan Levitt, actually a bright and pleasant woman outside the lecture hall, proved uncomfortable and tedious in front of Morton J. Oppenheimer, M. D. Chairman of the Department of Physiology i Guido Ascanio, M. D. Joan H. Gault, M. D. the large group: she relied more on Ruch Patton than on Selkurt, which would have been admirable had her interpretation been more helpful. Moving on to the cardiovascular system, Dr. Franco Barrera took his turn at murdering volume conduction, in preparation for a nicely-done series on the electrical aspects of the heart. Then Ascanio reappeared and redeemed himself by making the pump's pumping properties fairly clear-Starling's Law apparently accounts for most everything good and bad the heart does. Next (approximately), Dr. Joan Gault took the podium and some kitchenware, for the purpose of elucidating the microcirculation. Dr. Gault had the peculiar and distracting habit of punctuating her narrative with randomly placed chuckles which soon triggered a kind of feedback loop that got us all nowhere. It went something like this: she would make a sober statement about, say, capillary sphincters, then, for no obvious reason, chuckle. The class, finding this juxtaposition of sphincter and chuckle somewhat comic, would in turn itself nervously chuckle. Dr. Gault, her humor now seemingly reinforced, would make a sober statement about, say, arteriolar bifurcations, then chuckle. And so it went. Dr. Mary Wiedeman, of national repute in microcirculation research, presented a truly elegant laboratory demonstration employing her own films and a live bat under-microscope, and-perched on a stool-lectured to us on the eye and later on hormones. Lecture after lecture: we heard from Dr. Barrera again, on the lung (good); Dr. Michie went hopelessly around circles in the renal counter-current multiplier (bad). Dr. Ted Rodman Mary P. Wiedeman. Ph. D. Frank Barrera, M. D. was entertaining for a while and provided wads of handouts; new department member Dr. Elbert McCoy did lots of homework for his gastrointestinal series, claiming nothing in the textbooks was at all satisfactory. He also initiated the custom of greeting each new day with a little quiz; attendance was good. Elbert J. McCoy, Ph.D. In physiology laboratory, we experimented mainly on dogs and each other, though frogs and turtles occasionally showed up for the fun. While half the class no longer remembers it clearly, the other, coin flip-losing half will not shortly forget the exquisite discomfort of the infamous cold pressor test. Pulmonary function evaluation swiftly wiped out Hulac, Jacobson, Lund, Jenkins and Marks, suggestion a defect in either one of the spirometers or the mid-portion of our class alphabet. EKG day found Marc Richmond, ordinarily not an extroverted showman, entertaining us with his extra-systoles, which he can induce on command (a normal variation but neat cocktail party trick). Dogs were approached and attacked in teams of six: surgeon, assistant surgeon, technician, Gilson data recorder, and two kibbutzers. We soon learned the standard and familiar techniques for prematurely sending the beasts to their ancestors: slipping bulldog clamps on carotid arteries, sliding decimal places in dosage calculations, and slightly too high voltage on the stimulator. Sometimes no exogenous error was needed-a dog might merely decide to fade, and there you were with the respirator, Ascanio, and potential disaster. The lessons supposedly to be learned from the racked-out doggies were reviewed in post-lab conferences held in the most uncomfortable room in North Philadelphia. There we learned that there are enough reflexes in a dog to justify most any result except frank canicide. On some particularly lengthy afternoons these conferences presented additional demonstrations, such as Dr. Levitt's decorticate cats, whose ears twitch if you touch them (F letch: So is that the cat ear twitch reflex? Correct). Here also Dave Henley—hopefully for the only time in his life-was called on (by Oppie) as the bushy-haired kid in the back row. All these remarkable scientific happenings were analyzed and recorded by each of us in a laboratory notebook, which was submitted, in traditional grade-school style, to be checked and initialed. Theodore Rodman. M.D. Peter R. Lynch, Ph.D. B-sr Second semester provided its own share of exams, though not quite so many as were contributed by the anatomists. Those of biochemistry mainly required regurgitation of lecture material; this explained the phenomenon of Dr. Hamilton—a gentleman given to rituals—sitting in the back of 316 during every lecture, taking notes. Physiology gave three multiple-choice exams, all rather difficult, and again demanding information covered in lectures. Here our “class notes were useful—at least most of them. For our paid stenographers, though accurate on the whole, dis-played wide variation in authenticity and neatness. The Stokes Ellison series often contained helpful clarifications and references conscientiously added by the authors, while the Lange Pearson issues were paradigms of transcription and tidiness. We be came acquainted with Reed Murtagh's drawing skill and block printing, now immediately recognized whether in the “New Physician or another mailbox flyer. Finally, one notetaking team-we'll not identify them now—displayed the most outrageous vagaries of spelling imaginable, and usually got up-and-down arrows hopelessly mixed up. Class note-taking reached a frantic peak during the second semester of sophomore year, when only those of us with the largest apartments or furnaces could absorb the unceasing flow of knowledge which daily dilated each mailbox. But again we're getting too far ahead in our narrative: most everybody passed enough exams to put one year behind them, and it was summertime. Free hours and days-either granted outright as Christmas and summer vacation, or stolen from school-year study time-were occupied initially as already described, but soon we began to mount old hobby horses for pleasure and join the professional paramedicals for profit. Too many to list became nurses in order to pay for becoming doctors (in-state tuition more than doubled during our four-year stay), and served on the floors of Temple and St. Christopher's. Bob Wenger preferred to put in un-banker's hours at the blood bank, while Glenn Amsbaugh played taxi-squad for the I.V. Team. Jim Padget got an early taste of being a real doctor by serving one summer as a camp physician, but many more chose to spend those months sampling the workings of a research laboratory: Howard Weinstein deftly sliced bat heads, George Pfaltzgraff proved to all that freshwater gastrotrichs do have eyes, Ed Fallon counted mitochondria, and Marc Richmond hooked planaria on morphine. Oddly, in no case did a Nobel Prize ensue. The most unlikely part-time employment of all was that of Dale Sinker, who continued throughout medical school to serve as a free-lance stage electrician! An admirably large number of class members kept reasonably fit through basketball, rugby, tennis, golf and swimming, and a few-Jim States, Pete Van Giesen, Reggie Williams-continued their enjoyment of the trails and hills. Indoors, music served to relax some: Earl Gross, Bill Schlippert and Lance Brown at one point formed at least half of the Temple Medical Choir. Nancy Gettes (viola), Lance (violin) and Paul Weisberg (piano) theoretically could have formed a trio, but generously chose not to. Gary Schnitker just liked to listen, and could be found with his wife at the Philadelphia Orchestra Thursday evening series in their amphitheater season seats; listening at home was perfected by stereo-tinkerers Gary Lund and Bob Penman. Richard Kohler and June Pearson cultivated the quiet beauty of the aquarium (i.e., they raised fish), Fred Serota kept K3BHX on the air, and Steve Peitzman served as one-half of a peculiar little organization which showed Marx Brothers and W. C. Fields movies in Lecture Room A. And finally, David Galinsky maintained his beard: as other ephemeral hairy growths briefly flourished and vanished, Dave's submental monument persisted through the years, lending a dignity and modulation to sensible and witty comments exiting above it. Be not the first by whom the new is tried, Nor yet the last to lay the old aside.' This elegant advice-sound, if perhaps tame-was offered by Alexander Pope, remembered both as poet and as patient, long before the first medical school curriculum committee ever met. Some of our most unhappy, unsure, and unlikely moments at Temple resulted direct ly from violating-voluntarily or otherwise—both ends of that couplet. We have already noted that, as freshmen, we were the last to lay aside twenty four hour urine jugs, but it was during our second year that we were so transitional and tried new things. We were, in fact, the first sophomore class to test the initial abridgements and revisions of courses in pathology, microbiology and pharmacology; the first to do without Dr. Zatuchni's Saturday morning physical diagnosis lectures-and to experience Introduction to Clinical Medicine more or less in its place; also the first to welcome Black spokesmen who appeared in every-which course, including an entirely novel Community Medicine series. Our class was the last to eat a cheap bacon-and eggs breakfast in the old lunchroom and the first (sophomores, anyway) to explore the new Kresge Science Hall; also the first to preselect the junior clerkship sequence (what an unexpected hassle that was!); to challenge all those second-semester finals-to lose the challenge; and finally, the first to write the new format national boards. But it cannot be adequate merely to list so many firsts and lasts: adventures such as these deserve the care of full description. . . . The reduction in total hours available to Pathology and Microbiology suggested to both these departments that the time was appropriate to initiate the curriculum revision that would continue over several years. Pathology, furthermore, was now under the guidance of a new chairman, necessarily less strictly committed to the way his course had always been run at Temple. In the style and tone of the man, Renato Baserga was something we had not seen the likes of so far in the basic science faculties. Almost a hyperbole of modern urban casualness and sophistication, he displayed an intriguing range of interests from pathologic cell division to Medieval history: whoever was responsible for importing Dr. Baserga from Northwestern via Milan was more than whimsically imagining an Italian Renaissance on Broad Street! As Dr. Huber had done twelve months before, Dr. Baserga began the course himself by introducing the purposes and techniques of his science. Joseph Baum, actually the director of the revised sophomore course, drew the somewhat more difficult task of introducing and explaining the new schedule—a transcendental plan with groups, subgroups, cycles with epicycles, and occasionally a double-length lunch period! If a student managed to follow the thing accurately for a whole week (it was best to use the buddy system ), by Friday he should have robin-rounded his way to five lectures, up to five quarter-autopsies, a few conferences and free-times, and one-each visits to the museum, slideshow, slide study, and Dr. Lautsch's famous Kodachromes Correlations. So large a variety of pathologists appeared before us as lecturers that it seems wise now to remember only those who were most memorable. Dr. Baserga's lectures on carcinogenesis were among the very few we ever listened to that were as carefully prepared as well-written essays, both concise and elegant. We won't quickly forget the chairman's convincing argument that cancer cells are not lawless, but rather follow laws of their own-laws hopefully to be someday comprehended and disrupted. And lovers of recondite data will have stored away the unhappy and curious customs of those Indians who smoke their cigars with internal combustion! At least as eloquent a speaker as the new chief was the old: while physicians anywhere can benefit from his excellent textbook, it has been a distinct privilege of Temple medical students and house staff to listen to and learn from The Aeg as he describes the devastating skeletal tumors in a deep and graceful voice worthy of the B.B.C. It was a reflection perhaps of gratitude toward the one without disrespect of the other that when many of the veterans of the pathology faculty referred to The Chief, they still meant Dr. Aegerter, not yet his distinguished successor. We saw quite a lot of The Aeg's bony protege. Dr. Walt ( Now-l-don't-expect-to-make-pathologists-out-of-a -of you.... ) Levy, who lectured near the end of the semester on diseases of the female genitalia. He also provided useful conferences on occasions, narrated half the micro slide projection shows, and prepared a challenging Case of the Week for individual slide study; in each of these tasks he proved a willing and beneficial teacher. fienato L. Baser93, M.D. Chairman of the Department of Pathology Bruce Elfenbein, M.D. John Verger. M.D. More than any other of the pathologists, one lady was the constant subject of praise and devotion in the brotherly advices of our elders: Dr. Elizabeth Lautsch indeed proved to be a true teacher-as well as a delightful woman. Rarely had any of us seen the match of her energy, enthusiasm, or forceful abilities of expression. And what a delight it was to hear her consistently attempt to emphasize the impairments and distortion of normal physiology, rather than only describe the visible changes of disease! Dr. Lautsch lectured, of course, on cardiovascular pathology and displayed once again her informative and strangely beautiful slides of the vasculature and structure of the heart valves. The weekly K C sessions were generally valuable and enjoyable (except when you got called on to answer), though sometimes we were reminded—while staring at the projected image of a seemingly healthy and intact subject-of that game of our childhood, Do You See What I See? It was at one of these meetings that the instructor revealed her diagnostic test for dermoid cysts: Put a bag of ice on the patient's belly and listen for the teeth chattering! Harvey F. Watts, M.D. Travelling from heart to lungs is a short trip anatomically, but the style of Dr. Lautsch was distant indeed from that of the pulmonary lecturer, Harvey Watts. He possessed a cool insouciance and subtle humor which at least some found likeable, and though his lectures on the diseases of the lungs were hardly exciting, he presented clear, able teaching on his autopsy days. Dr. Watts was always friendly and helpful to those who took a clinical block at Episcopal Hospital, when he served as chief pathologist and tinkered happily with his electron microscope. Head slightly cocked, one hand in pocket, the other clutching blackboard eraser, Gus Peale recited once again to us his well-known Nephrotic Soliloquy or Classic Pathology of the Kidney. Curiously, he was about the only of the numerous pathology lecturers who did not employ lantern slides, though for his topic and emphasis, they would have been helpful. Asa class we were fairly evenly divided in evaluating Dr. Peale's contribution: while some awarded him that ultimate med student tribute— He's easy to take notes from! — others found his lectures somewhat dull. Either way, his appearance as lecturer presented only one aspect of a physician who is a microscopic diagnostician of considerable respect, and whose door here at Temple is invariably open to any student or house officer with a slide in his hand. Proctor Child seemed to own a phenomenal broadness of knowledge in his science, and to him were given as lecture topics all manner of things exotic—the strange, the sordid, the semi-tropical. He spoke on Kuru and other, only slightly less unappealing diseases, as well as forensic pathology, highlighting the latter topic with some undeniable macabre slides. In his more conventional moments. Dr. Child presided over CPC's and autopsies. One of his friends from A.F.I.P. (Armed Forces Institutes of Pathology) days was visiting lecturer Bruce Smith, who told us about Bowen's disease and other miseries of the male phallus. Dr. Smith showed about eighty slides (A.F.I.P. men are known to never travel anywhere with less than two-hundred slides). Certain other one topic lectures remain in the memory for some cause or another. Dr. Elizabeth Holmes knew as much about polyps—multiple and single, pedunculated and sessile—as any sane individual anywhere, and provided in her nicely prepared handout a copy of that enlightening piece of doggerel, The Drunkard and the Polyp. Another carefully written lecture outline was Ernest Tassoni's up-to-date review of diabetes; he also discussed diagnostic cytology and chromosomal defects. Finally, we must recall the day when Franklin K. Fite (pancreas) unexpectedly flashed on the room 316 lights, and caught a half-dozen of us halfway through the back door, heels-to-the-stage... Augustin R. Peale, M. D. Ernest H. Tassoni. M. D. Elizabeth J. Holmes. M. D. The teaching hospital and medical school continue to stress the importance of the autopsy, and with valid motive: the correlation of clinical disease symptoms with observable structural changes-first gross changes during the Nineteenth Century, now even molecular-is yet an essential intellectual process of the medical scientist. And, in fact, most class members found our attendance at autopsies educational as well as sobering. We began a semester of viewing post-mortem exams in “shifts''-an opening incision on Tuesday, a denoument on Thursday, a liver-slicing on Friday. Overall, we saw numerous monstrously swollen hearts, blackened and boggy lungs, and livers hosting deadly nodules of metastatic tumor. No class member quickly forgot the maggot-infested wound of one elderly cancer victim, or Dr. Lautsch's fascinating argument for the possibility of Halothane reaction in the demise of one postoperative patient. The autopsy teaching of the prosectors-Drs. Baserga, Child, Holmes, Lautsch, Watts, and Yerger-varied in style with their personalities, but was uniformly excellent. Walter M. Levy. M.D. Other points of interest in our tour of pathology included the old second-floor gross specimen museum and the weekly showing of microphotographic lantern slide on Fridays. Dr. Lautsch had another favorite game, designed to make us think, which she insisted we play in the museum: a seemingly random array of lungs, livers, and other unlabelled specimens was put out on the tables, our task being to divide them into groups, each group reflecting the multi-system manifestations of one disease. Irving Young, from Einstein, shared narration duties with “Walt'' Levy on the Friday micro slide shows, and though evidently knowledgeable, suffered from a moderate logorrhea-the use of a half-dozen words where two or three might have done the job. Thanks to some Kodak engineer who cleverly designed the little cooling fan in the Carousel, no slide, despite spending a half hour in the spotlight, perished during Dr. Young's lengthy play-by-play. k How did the Class of 1971 react to this admixture of lecture, conference, slide shows and “practical study? Individual emphasis varied: some liked to pass quiet, classical nights in the museum, a few found microscopic diagnosis captivating, many attended the scheduled events routinely and devoted extra hours to Dr. Robbins' fat yellow bible and to lecture notes. All agreed once again that there was too much to learn, that we were doomed to failure when mid-term and final exams rolled around. Yet-once again-the end of the semester was to find most everyone at least minimally successful. An almost involuntary hypertrophy of the pathology-learning process led directly to that precocious play at Rounsmanship which we might call Sophomore Syndrome: it meant finding and learning an eponymous disease which, hopefully, would amaze and frighten the next colleague with whom you challenged it (e.g., Dejerine-Klumpke Syndrome, Kugelberg-Welander Disease, and their like). Russ Hess and John Weiler were (unofficially) the class masters of this occult art of dubious value. Not too many obscure eponyms appeared in the National Boards type final exam we wrote, but nearly everything else did; it was our first exposure to the “Boards, and we gained a solemn appreciation of their demands, if not of their hazy photographs. A thorough acquisition of the material presented in our pathology course and texts would have been not only adequate preparation for exams, but a superb foundation for junior year-but that material equalled all of disease! We did as well as we could. Daniel S. Fleisher, M.D. 1 Introduction to Clinical Medicine was a kind of break in the week among the programs of the big courses and so can serve a similar function in our recollections. An odd and sad story to recall, the course of this Intro duct ion was stormy indeed, marked by peaks of self-righteousness and confusion, and dangerous lows of good-will and communication-on the part of almost everyone involved! First, no one at the start was entirely sure what it was all about, although most assumed it had something to do with physical diagnosis, since Dr. Zatuchni's famous and ill attended Saturday morning lectures were finally dropped from the schedule. A list of goals was eventu ally distributed—but not until nearly the end of the year! Added to the uncertainty as to what we were in fact being introduced to was the knowledge that there was something experimental” about the course-every man his own Guinea Pig! Were not the directives coming from someplace called the Health Education Studies Center, from the office, in fact, of a bearded psychiatrist? The latter-not a shrink at all—was Daniel Fleisher, actually a staff pediatrician with special interests in fluid-electrolyte balance, and in medical education. His concern for the improvement of physician training led him to obtain a Master's degree in education and to direct Temple's new Introduction to Clinical Medicine. The experiment —in the strict sense-dealt only with the grouping of participants, and not with the content of the course, though the directed activities of the first eight weeks were innovative and untried. Had this fine distinction of The Experiment from the experimental been made clear, at least some minds would have been eased. But to many the shuffled cards, endless lists and occasional pantomime seemed too gamelike, and the novel ideas were not given an overly willing try. Tempers rose and attendance fell; individuals drifted away and one group bolted en masse. Some returned when the series of structured Monday afternoons was completed, and groups and leaders set about choosing what to do on their own. Those class members who by luck found themselves in groups directed by interested and enthusiastic faculty members at least enjoyed some afternoons of patient contact and others spent practicing physical diagnosis techniques in the presence of experts. In fact, overall unhappiness seemed to wane by midway through second semester, but outrage was swift and severe when we were given instructions to report for-a six hour final! An ad hoc class meeting was held (they were rather common that semester, since we were always in the lecture halls anyway) and the intent, if not precise form of our reply, was, Hell no . . . we won't go! A phone call located Dr. Fleisher in his office and he appeared in a few minutes with a Now what? facies. He quickly pointed out that the first three hours of the pro posed exam would occupy the last regular class day for his course (to which he was entitled) and the subsequent three hour session would fill his alloted final exam slot. The exams, he further argued, would help him evaluate how well the course worked or didn't, and the individual results would—if poor—hardly abort anyone's career. We were effectively squelched. Later Dr. Fleisher, in a kind of peace gesture which perhaps also reflected to some extent his sense of responsibility for less than adequate communications, made the extra three hours optional. The tripartite exam consisted of testing physical examination skills on hired patients many of whom quickly renigged or couldn't be found, circulating and studying about ten-thousand index cards at St. Christopher's, and interviewing actresses and actors; thus the course ended for us exactly as it began-in frank confusion. Lolita D. Moore, Ph.D. Coinciding with the baffling first weeks of ICM and the introductory lectures of pathology, the initial section of Microbiology completed the requirements for putting us all in cultural shock. The material was for many unfamiliar-DNA, bioenergetics, sub-cellular genetics and other avenues of the biological avant garde, and was to be presented in a novel format. Eschewed would be the spoon-fed lecture: like the post-graduate students we technically were, we would individually learn the principles through reading and a few laboratory exer cises. Drs. Leonard Zubrzycki and Lolita Moore would supply reading guides and Q A sessions, while whiz-kid grad student Phil Furmanski would offer optional seminars dealing with the more recondite and recent affairs in cellular physiology. The first problem, however, was that our book store, in their traditional fashion, could not supply or offer Davis, the necessary core and North Star of our new grown-up course! Half the class fell three chapters behind before ever seeing what the book looked like! Finally, in the cooling darkness of an autumn Friday night, President Murtagh and a few selected accomplices pointed their black Packard Clipper northbound, vowing not to return, unless in the possession of enough Davis's to go around. The success of the mission could have turned into political disaster for our cartooning commander-everybody was about as unhappy with the text as without it. Enormous, partly ill-written, sectioned with italics, boldface, fine and finer print, and illustrated to distraction, the tome took some getting used to. So did Drs. Zubrzycki and Moore. The Brick was one of those professors whose flamboyance, energy, and unintentional humor suggest a blend of true brilliance and raging eccentricity, the exact proportions defying evaluation. His lecture-hall use of Rothkopf for punctuation ( Right. Brad? ) and obvious pride in having counted the number of coliforms in a gram of wet stool leant weight to the latter ingredient, while his clear comprehension of the mysteries of new biology urged the former. Affable Lolita Moore, hardly fitting any one's image of a bacterial physiologist, in her answer and review sessions alternately quenched and created confusion, sometimes relying on the amazing Phil to bail her out. A George . Blumstein. M. D. i- £26'A. • W 1-ut-U------ UiA « .� juvtf Walter S. Ceglowski, Ph.D. Though some class members welcomed and thrived on the plan of this first section, a regrettable number were unable to adjust to the lack of a delineated set of lectures, and this, as well as the difficulty of the topics, was perhaps reflected in the woeful scattering of grades in the first exam. At any rate, the remainder of the course was presented more in the conven tional manner. The next part brought Dr. Friedmann and the unit rabbit to help us understand the complex immune reactions, normal and pathological. George Blumstein, one of the area's prominent allergists, came across the street to lecture during this section, as did also Walter Ceglowski. And one must recall the contribution of those sensitized Guinea Pigs, sent along their way in a mildly sadistic confirmation of atopic theory. Mort Klein, a skillful and pleasing speaker, briefly described antibody structure, and made us look forward to his part of the course (virology). Herman Friedman, Ph.D. Kenneth R. Cundy, Ph. D. The classical bacteriology section was under the capable direction of Kenneth Cundy, a gentleman of somewhat labile temper. His scorn was loosed mainly on lecture stay-at homes and Leon’s Meat Market (which butchered his Porsche in some way); most everyone else received his patient help with questions or term-paper difficulties, and his advisees even were treated to some friendly beers. The product of numerous days of work, Dr. Cundy's prepared lecture notes provided a current and concise summary of bacterial diseases. The laboratory exercises in this (and all) parts of the course were attended in a desultory manner, except by one member of the class, whose desire to show up each time had partly genealogical determinants. Most of us did, however, at least try a few Gram stains, some plating (“Pasteur used to recommend flaming the fingertips! —The Brick), and verified that a Pseudomonas culture does smell vaguely grapey. Morton Klein, Ph.D. Theodore G. Anderson, Ph.D. Earle H. Spaulding. Ph.D. Chairman of the Deportment of Microbiology Anthony J. Lamberfi, M.S. What should we do if, next year, a surgical patient smells grapey? Obviously, no presentation of virulent bugs would be complete without some views of the loyal opposition, offered by Kenneth Schreck and Earle Spaulding. Since the mechanisms of antibiotic activity were described, to the extent understood, in the bacterial physiology division. Dr. Schreck added clinical and practical aspects, including two pithy aphorisms: Pus Must Always Be Evacuated, and, All That Crepitates Is Not Gas Gangrene! Actually, his therapeutic suggestions were rational, unbiased and useful: those who managed to stay awake forgave the dormative monotonality of his delivery. An obviously more practiced speaker-a campaigner in fact—was the Chief. Once again, Dr. Spaulding eloquently presented his surprising data on the worth of the surgical scrub, again we as a class would go to other hospitals to find that most everybody accepted his ideas, but kept on using the old, wasteful methods. This and every manner of controversy were informally discussed as the chair man invited ten students each Friday to his office for coffee and homemade brownies, a kind and civilized gesture well reflecting the man. Though Dr. Spaulding was willing to talk over and attempt innovations in his course, at least one tradition seemed inviolate: come December, and off we would go to the College of Physicians Library in search of that crucial paper appearing, unfortunately, in the 1936 Neue Deutsche Zeitschrift fur de gesamte Microbiologie. As in each year, certain topics for the micro paper were fashionable-many tried to show one or another disease to be autoimmune, or wrote about the mysterious slow viruses-yet even the ancient miseries of leprosy and yellow fever were considered. Evaluation of the term paper experience ranged broadly: particularly those who were able to build on an existing interest or summer project—or who just liked to write—called it worthwhile; many others thought it merely an arbitrary exercise, and some veteran science majors, unused to joining words and paragraphs, loathed the business. At least we all learned to navigate the Index Medicus. and became, perhaps for the only time in medical school, experts on something! Meanwhile, the lecture-hall saw the return of some familiar and long-absent faces-most of the class of 1971-as Mort Klein reappeared for an extended encore on virology. The remarkable Dr. Klein is recognized on the Health Sciences campus as teacher, clinical virologist, researcher, and local statesman, and occasionally spotted by class members at the Academy of Music, Dell. movies, or Asia Restraurant on North Broad Street. Moreover, he is an engaging speaker, fully able to inject with an appropriate darkness the sounds of his favorite fevers-the Ohmsk Hemmorrhagic, the Russian Spring-Summer, and the Rocky Mountain Spotted. We were disabused by our virologist of the moral concept of cold acquisition taught by our mothers: scientific experiment demonstrated that going out to play without a hat need not seduce rhinoviruses from the air (or at least, naked, frozen and soaked volunteers did not get more colds than did cozy controls). Dr. Klein did not, however, mention whether the experimental group found themselves with pneumonia or frostbite. Tony Lamberti. our hospital parasitologist and microbiology departmental key-master, was the last act offered by the course, and it was low comedy. An increasingly important study, the worms and their absurdly intricate life cycles-why do they make it so hard on themselves and others?-began for many of us as a blur which has yet to come into focus. Projected clearly, however, was Mr. Lamberti's malaria filmstrip, with accompanying narrative record played on a Civil War Victrola. The record booped at points where it wanted Tony to advance the filmstrip, but some of our impatient classmates, hoping to advance rather the termination of the lecture-day, booped and beeped prematurely and then continuously themselves. .. but the projectionist could not be fooled. Microbiology—a course which took us almost to the ultimate directives of life itself—finally ended with an account of Clam Digger's Itch. YTI3H3VIMU 3J9M3T UAH 30M3I03 3033fl The second semester of sophomore year offered us a collection of lecture courses and a whole new building-the cushioned seats of the latter only a minor amenity of the former. Kresge Science Hall, which the new edifice became following a generous gift of the five-and-dime foundation, also contained the latest in acrobatic blackboards, a stack of comfortable labs with appropriate instruments, a maze of deans' offices, four whimsical elevators, two public telephones which didn't work for seven months, a capillary-shaped mailbox for each student, an either misnamed or misplaced mezzanine in the basement, and an office for Dr. Cilley. The glorious new library provided ample space for all the books and readers, but many of us missed the warmer, clubby atmosphere of those old, crowded quarters where we first looked up gross exams. Many items and institutions were carried over from the old building: the microscopes (by us), the anatomy department marathon coffee-break, one-half of the former morning egg-ladies team (the other vanished with the eggs). tUimi . Elaine Neroni Formerly of the Office of Student Activities the vending machines, the stern wooden chair in which Dr. Burt sipped his solitary morning coffee, the restored portraits of distinguished professors and chiefs, the 316 piano, and of course, all manner of bulletin boards, desks, secretaries and filing cabinets. Also came Ginnie Harr and Elaine Neroni to continue running the school from the new headquarters, but apparently too many things had changed, for the efficient Miss Harr and delightful Elaine were soon to depart. The novelty of a new building was of itself inadequate to enliven the traditional all-lecture semester, but the baseline of boredom was occasionally interrupted by the usual small comedies and some discreet tasting of current conflicts. The giant and urgent Black-White problem-politely present as debates and discussions-we merely attended, while at student self determination we actually tried our hand, creating a few tempests of the teapot-containable size. The substrate for all this was the variety of lecture-courses scheduled, an array we had pre-judged to be oppressive. Virginia A. Harr Former Assistant to the Dean Pharmacology was the “major,'' and almost as soon as we began Dr. Stanley Glauser's initial section, ail were in the grip of bilateral paranoia. It seemed that with each succeeding lecture over the previous year-and-a-half, more and more members of the class of 1971 had decided to their own satisfaction that domestic study of “class notes and texts could substitute fully for lecture hall attendance. Now Dr. Glauser not only questioned the validity of this position-which he had full right to do-but seemed to sustain a fiercely personal injury as he counted each morning the empty seats; (generally numerous) and occasionally loosed mild sarcasms against the unde serving but available objects who showed. His topics-including drug kinetics, mechanisms, interactions, and genetics-were difficult but well-prepared, and constituted almost of themselves a course of material not conveniently available elsewhere. The Glausers (Dr. Elinor spoke later on pulmonary pharmacology and generally shared her husband’s opinions) felt vindicated and perhaps not a little smug when the class performed on the whole poor ly on the first exam. Individual meetings of students with Pharma cology Department advisors helped mollify some hostilities, and in general, the crisis-and in the end, the whole class—passed. Stanley C. Glauser, M. D., Ph. D. Not before, however, the customary sequence of professors lecturing on their favorite topics, and some dog lab experiments were outlasted. Charles Papacostas did his best to organize and arrange the families of autonomic nervous system drugs after Ben Rusy—a soft spoken and thoughtful gentleman—provided a review of synaptic physiology. Dr. Rusy also participated in the analgesia and anesthesia division of the course, as did Jack Scatarige, who eagerly volunteered to main line a sizable dose of morphine sulphate-for didactic purposes. He shivered and showed the complex of expected physiological responses, also played dead, dropped a few wisecracks and behaved in a manner possibly attributable to the narcotic, but more likely merely to Scatarige's endogenous euphoria. At any rate, reports that Larkin and Murphy packed vials of Nalline and an Ambu bag for the benefit of the other of their ski trip trio are probably false. Elinor M. Glauser, M. D. C tfO I E ff£% n iTHQMT Charles A. Papacostas, Ph.D. Leon Salganicoff. Ph.B.. D.Sc. Roger W. Sevy, M.D., Ph.D. Chairman of the Department of Pharmacology Drugs and the C.N.S. occupied time in several sections. Martin Adler, who owns gerbils that seizure, discussed epilepsy, and the inscrutable Leon Salganicoff introduced us to some of the theoretical frontiers of neurochemistry, and burdened us with the discovery that glia-cells whose function we had needed not know because they presumably had none—in fact did things. A workshop” on drug abuse-a valuable but stereotyped affair-featured the usual ex-junkies, a representative psychiatrist, and even managed to introduce the “white man, your're programmed! motif, not for the first time that year. But the ex addicts experiences and accusations were stimulating, and it was worthy that this unhappy aspect of pharmacology was not wholly neglected. Another social issue—the drug industry and its regulation-was represented on the schedule by a guest lecture from Dr. Schrogie of the Food and Drug Administration, and by the annual field trip to the Smith, Kline and French Philadelphia plant. Here the people who offer us Love Cosmetics —and if they don't bring happiness. Thorazine-showed off their assembly lines and laboratories, gave us free painters' caps and chicken dinner, and fronted a panel to answer our questions. Dr. Marc Reidenberg had previously suggested we not be shy with our inquiries, but refrain from generating speeches; this was accomplished, and the S.K.F. delegates in general defended their positions with reasonable honesty and civility. But their answers will hardly remain with us as long as that astonishing image of millions of little orange Thorazine tablets spinning, flying and coasting in a precise and orderly pattern of machines, to end up somewhere taking the edge off madness. The head guide on our S.K.F. expedition-Marcus Reidenberg—displayed his diversity of interests throughout the semester; assisting Pete Hillyer from Medicine, he contributed to our second struggle with renal physiology and pharmacology, on the whole felt to be more successful than the previous year's. Dr. Reidenberg also discussed chemotherapy, endocrinology, antibiotics, and devised a session to test our caution in evaluating journal articles; his presentations were always unusually clear, selective, and often imaginative. When Roger Sevy wasn't arbitrating the chronic empty seat crisis or tending to other duties of a respected professor and chairman, he lectured on cardiac pharmacology and supervised one of several teaching demonstrations that semester which surrounded a supine dog with an impressive collection of stacked dangling oscilloscopes, operational amplifiers, transducers, patch racks and human assistants. Other odds and ends of the formulary were filled in—capably, for the most part-by Connie Harakal (one of the nicest ladies of the faculty)— G.I.; the vibratory Carmen Bello— hypertension and asthma; Sol Sherry-anti coagulants and, obviously, urokinase; and some of the departmental fellows and medical residents on several topics. Marc Reidenberg was before us again during the final week of the course to show us Careers in Pharmacology. a theater-of-the-absurd recruiting film, and to describe the anti-helminthic agents, worms once again occupying their fitting, half-forgotten slot at the end of an agenda. Marcus M. Reidenberg, M.D. Concetta D. Harakal, Ph.D. Ronald J. Tal arida, Ph.D. Peter A . HU Iyer. M.D. Martin W. Adler. Ph D. Carmen T. Bello, M.D. The business of sophomore hematology ranged from the subtleties of erythrocyte biochemistry to the brutalities of venopuncture. Dr. H. James Day and his group soon impressed us as learned and willing teachers. Drs. Lawrence Naiman and Rosaline Joseph were already familiar to some of us from I.C.M., and contact with the others during the “clinical years would be frequent. All met for the first time the remarkable “Herb Waxman, recently arrived from Harvard Medical School (“Next slide please. Mahther.. who not only lectured to sophomores, but went on to skillfully moderate the Wednesday mortality conference, pinch-hit on Professor's Rounds, advise us on internships, and even moonlight in the A.D. Dr. Waxman seemed to know something about any conceivable diagnostic or therapeutic difficulty-except why his old Rambler wouldn't start on rainy nights. Drawing some blood from a vein into a little glass tube is no great enterprise-unless one has never done it before. Starting with syringes and graduating later to Vacu-Tainers, we were instructed in the art by several hematology technologists, who in hospitals would always be better at it than we, yet ask us to draw when they failed—an enduring paradox. Class veins ranged from rope like, through the obscure, to Peg Schreiner's: her's were accepted to be present only as an anatomical lemma. These were valuable sessions; with almost two years of medical school behind us we could now all take blood pressure and blood (under optimal conditions). The other courses that semester managed to provide only sporadic fascination or entertainment. The enthusiastic Stanley Schor worked hard in a potentially good cause. He taught enough statistics to confuse those who never had it before, yet not enough to avoid confusing those who did. The goal-that we acquire some foundation in evaluating published data-was worthy, but our general spasticity in the presence of numbers and equations a hindrance. Sophomore surgery gave us Leonard Goldman's useful fluids guidelines, and some novel sights and sounds. One afternoon, Vincent Lauby, who requires full P.A. volume to project his mumbling delivery, sneezed point-blank into the microphone, announcing the arrival of his cold at 120 DB. Another day saw Dr. Maier puzzled and even speechless when, after merely pushing one small button, an entire set of electric blackboards crawled noisely upwards, raised a lintel, then crashed mightily-in sequence-to the floor and silence. It was a clever way to gain our attention. Stanley S. Schor, Ph. D. Chairman of the Department of Biometrics Alan D. Conger. Ph.D. William A. Steiger, M.D. Pediatrics forgot to show up for a few weeks, but Friday Medical Clinics opened with a case presentation by the Chief. and later displayed Sugar Charlie Shuman's diabetes scoring system (two points needed to qualify), William Birtwell's color slide of Co chicum autumnale, and other selections from the vast collective knowledge of internal medicine. Dr. Elmer Gardner began the semester's psychiatry, but a few weeks of these lectures provoked so much unhappiness that the department revised the program, maintaining the full-class presentation for one hour, then distributing us into small groups —which became in that year-for an hour's discussion. Later, when the Community Mental Health Center self-destructed around him. Dr. Gardner probably looked back at our mild insurrection as the least of his troubles at Temple. By mid-semester, Victor C. Vaughan had appeared with his customary guest mothers and babies, hematology treated us to a difficult exam and then faded as Alan Conger took over the marrow-grabbers' time. The radiobiologist seemed to possess an unusually carefree attitude toward the collective life of laboratory rodents, but his concern was the safe and effective use on people of a powerful tool. Thus we learned all about doses: the maximum permissable dose, the doubling dose, and those lyrical quantities, the weensie dose and the whopper dose. Dr. Conger's course was felt, in general, to have been a whopper dose. Among the last remnants of Nineteenth-Century medical education, the traditional clinical lectures semester was marked our year by only one truly novel course: the revised program devised by Community Medicine with the help of several students, including Meredith Hand. This particular innovation was only one manifestation of the recognition in the late Nineteen-sixties of the social issues in American medicine, a recognition itself reflecting a larger question of poverty and racism. Yet as freshman in 1967 many of us were still being sincerely advised by upperclassmen that if you wear your white coats, no one on the streets will bother you. This comforting, if wholely false axiom sums up the changeless state of medical student— community relations for close to a hundred years: in the 1890's young men studying at St. Bart's and St. Thomas's were similarly counseled that their black bags would assure safe travel anywhere in the vanguard slums of Victorian London! In 1890 Philadelphia, however. Broad and Tioga lay neither in nor on the edge of a slum. Occupying the large, three-story semi-detached homes of Tioga, Nicetown, and Franklinville were many families in the Philadelphia Blue Book, middle-class merchants, and numerous physicians, including the small group which, with the help of the Rev. Russell Conwell, began Samaritan Hospital as a true community effort. Temple Medical's first students-the night and weekend classes of the first decade of the century-saw around the old Samaritan buildings (later Temple University Hospital) the meeting roads of these suburban towns, several more churches being built, and numerous open lots and estates. The unpleasantly crowded neighborhoods occupied by the poorer Italians, Jews and Negroes of Philadelphia were tiny and miles south; besides, the 1895 Tenement Law passed by Philadelphia-one of the best in the country-was felt adequate to check this incipient congestion. Of course it did not; nor did similar statutes elsewhere. But institutions enlarge and stay put as the patterns of city dwellers change, creating the accidents of urban history which now leave our great teaching hospitals and universities surrounded by masses of poor and often hostile neighbors. A very few of us tried to participate in the response to the end stage of this agonal process at Temple. Several worked with Dr. William Steiger in planning the Community Medicine guest lectures. Robbie Morris served as the Temple liaison for a program of the Philadelphia and Montgomery County Tuberculosis and Health Association which sought to recruit medical students to help Gratz High School pupils create public health education programs for the schools system. Steve Berman and others involved themselves with the endless hopes and disasters of the Community Mental Health Center, and Nancy Gettes spent part of a summer looking into the doctor-patient relationship (or lack of one) in the A.D., our de facto neighborhood clinic. But the majority of our class, like those before it, limited our contact with the North Philadelphia people to the dealings of the clinical years. In fact, the graffiti, broken glass, real and imagined dangers and depression of the immediate Medical School environs sent most of us west to Germantown, north toward Logan, and even south to Center City. By our senior year, it seemed only those on night call could be found in the cafeteria, or those doing profound research, in the library. We were all commuters. But if talking and listening count—many think they don't-we were also activists. Dr. Donald Cheek of Lincoln University, the first guest speaker in Community Medicine, told us not merely of slavery and prejudice, but constructed a broad picture of American whites and blacks both mutually trapped in a locking pattern of programmed misconceptions. He supported his thesis and answered our questions ( But hasn't there been some progress? ) by effectively citing both the data of sociological studies and his own individual experiences and attitudes. Father James Washington of the Advocate Church later sounded again the same tone, but sought to discuss the specifics of Temple University Hospital and its neighbors. About the same time in Pharmacology, a young Black member of the panel on Drug Abuse Workshop day attempted to use the same theorem (whites are programmed) to explain narcotic addiction, but by then we were all a little full of half-baked sociology, and his argument was merely cant. Near the end of the semester, Psychiatry listed a session called The Psychopathology of the Op pressive Society, and we knew exactly who and what was coming. Did all this do anything? At least until boards approached. Black admissions, life in the wards and A.D., and race relations in the hospital were almost constant themes of lunch and dinner cafeteria conversation, often stimulated by one of the presentations mentioned. Talk rarely changes opinions greatly, but perhaps we became a little less smug and a little more easy. At least we were warned ahead of time that the Black patient and white coat is not a simple working model. Leroy E. Burney, M.D. Former Vice President William P. Barba. II, M.D. Acting Dean-School of Medicine As the summer approached, perspective directed our attention less to the racial crisis and more to the immediate— though less ponderous—concerns of finals and Part I of Boards. Since the National Boards was a crucial and tangible component of the system while many of the local finals seemed no more momentous than the miniature, casual courses to which they were affixed, our elected representatives were urged to petition those in charge to relieve us of some of these quizzes. Seen in the startling context of students elsewhere capturing libraries and deans to further outrageous and unpleasant demands, our request for this dispensation seemed modest and reasonable, though the motivation might have been more lazy than lofty. Dr. William P. Barba, II, the Acting Dean, appeared one afternoon to answer our suggestion. Many in the class could not recall seeing him before. This was not, of course. Dr. Barba's fault: in the course of being a medical school first or second yearman, unless one fails or suffers some personal misfortune, there is little need to visit the dean. Even his Hour is usually symbolic; he was generally present like the rest, as an interested member of the audience. An office perhaps more often entered was that of the Assistant Dean for Student Affairs -at least this was so after Dr. John Coles abandoned it. Leaving this position late in our first year, Dr. Coles is remembered mainly by those unhappy sufferers of his odd admissions interviews who nevertheless came to Temple. And of this group, the true losers were later able to renew the acquaintance on the OB-Gyne floors. But his successor was an admirable choice: a decent and humorous man (also, of course, a skilled clinician and researcher). Dr. M. Prince Brigham was not always able to solve what major and trivial difficulties we brought to him, but listened with interest and the intent to help-one of the few habits equally appropriate to physician and deanl M. Prince Brigham, M. D. Assistant Dean for Student Affairs Our contact with Dr. Robert Bucher was minimal. On sabbatical leave during our second year, he resigned shortly after returning to his Temple duties, so we had little opportunity to develop any personal evaluation of this administrator and surgeon. We mainly noted the tributes paid to him by others and joined them in attributing many of Temple Medical's recent gains in faculty and facilities to his efforts. As outsiders to the complex politics of the Health Sciences Center and its relationships with Main Campus and government, and-with only several exceptions-not acquainted well with either Drs. Bucher or Barba, we noted with no particular emotion or opinion the latter's reappointment as acting head. But this changed following Dr. Barba's peculiar and disturbing reply to our call for fewer finals. His closing, almost mystical inscription of a large dollar sign as answer to our request was interpreted by some of us as indicating a condescending and not serious response to what we considered a valid though not urgent problem. Certainly no one sensed ill-will or total unconcern in the man, but he did seem weary as an administrative leader. What we perhaps could not appreciate were possible problems on his mind which were urgent, or circumstances of his appointment and duties unknown to us. All had adopted the classic academic model: the deans didn't know what the students were thinking, and the students didn't know what the deans were doing! Hugo Dunlap Smith, M.D., Associate Dean Robert M. Bucher, M.D. Former Dean-School of Medicine Then during our junior year, another pediatrician-turned-dean appeared: Dr. Hugo Dunlap M y ■ door-is-always-o pen —Smith, a sophisticated mid-westerner channeled through Boston. The new Dean of Curriculum” brought with him an enthusiasm and activity impeccably genuine—though occasionally disconcerting. By no means did everyone like him: a visit to H.D.” Smith could be fun or fatiguing, depending on whether the Dean was of a mind to talk merely his usual great deal, or to outdo himself in an extravagance of observations, anecdotes, and opinions. For his part, he seemed to enjoy ragchewing with us, and not in that patronizing way we had all found offensive in old college deans who liked to talk to students.” Dr. Smith was mildly unpredictable when we presented to him our selections for senior electives: a whole slate might be accepted immediately with 'Swell!!” (an interjection revealing the midwest through the Boston), or a defense was demanded for each clerkship desired. Hugo Smith wanted to do good things for Temple, was vivid, and was welcome. Paul R. Anderson. Ph.D.. LL.D., L.H.D.. Litt.D.. D.Sc. President of Temple University But it was in the end not the deans, but several of the department heads who modified their exam requirements in anticipation of the Boards, giving us more time to review. And what an overwhelming task that would be! Each course in its period had effortlessly filled the volume of our time: the inexhaustible detail of anatomy, the multiple drug actions and side-effects of pharmacology, the structures and cycles of biochemistry. All of them together was inconceivable; we faced an exam seemingly covering all of existence-even biostatistics! Less than two weeks were available to retrospect and, where possible, resurrect the tired and tangled facts. As an adjunct unpleasant ness-a kind of meteoro-logic metaphor-the Philadelphia weather turned prematurely and unrelentingly hot and sticky. By Memorial Day weekend, temperatures were in the nineties and many of us had established residence in the air-conditioned corners of Kresge Hall, an occupation which produced another small altercation with Dr. Barba. The building, it seems, was officially closed for the holiday weekend, and Bill Eliot, our dirty-old keystone cop who mainly guarded the lunchroom, sought to chase the scholars out. In exchange for permission to stay. Jim Padget was asked over the phone to assume full responsibility for the contents of Kresge! After a few moments consideration and consultation with the other squatters, he returned to the line with the Dean and assured him that he would undertake to guarantee the welfare of Kresge Hall, its walls, its outfittings, and above all, its enormous air-conditioner. Finally, the anatomy department (professional exam proctors for the school), minus the avuncular Daddy Huber, and our class appeared at the mutually agreed upon place and wrote the exam. As promised, the questions were all intermingled rather than classed by academic subject as in years past. We had been told that the new rules provided only two alternatives: pass or fail the whole thing as a gestalt; no more repeating one part alone. The possibility of failing wafted up particularly from that one glossy booklet which contained a ghastly catechism constructed of graphs, drawings, and the usual National Boards hazy photographs. But by the end of the second day, we left with a sense of relief so profound and filling that the abstract question of pass or flunk could find no space in our awareness. Then off we went to spend in vacation or work our last free summer. ■ Preparations for our third year clinical and lecture sequences actually began during the second. Many in the class accepted then the invitation to join the interdisciplinary subject committees (two students were asked to sit with each committee) which were readying the new systems-oriented courses. Busy Steve Berman served as the unofficial director of the student contributions, while Mike Emmett, Ron Mattson. Gene Shatz and others from our class-close to thirty at the peak of enthusiasm—worked with various subject groups. The extent to which the students were welcome and functioning varied strongly with the different committees and their chairmen, but many of us obtained some insight into the minds and behavior of faculty. We saw some innovate and others clutch the reins with fist and teeth; some met often and energetically planned, as others (renal group) met once-to officially disband! Of course we would see only the third-year installment of these courses, and even these were looked on as respites separating the six clinical blocks, the meat of our basic clinical training. And although we had nothing whatsoever to do with determining the contents of these blocks, our class was responsible for a major advance, a shining blow for freedom, in picking the order of the rotations. Always before at Temple the flow was strictly alphabetical-the M’s scrubbed with the N’s, the C's delivered babies with the D's, the R's shrank heads with the S’s. Several of our class suggested it would be a simple matter to allow each to pick his own sequence, thus permitting cliques and friends to ride together. It was, however, not a simple matter. Most of us had never thought much about the theoretical advantages of having, say, surgery in the spring, but suddenly given the possibility of choice, all manner of determinants and angles were generated. The most widely held was take psychiatry in the summer... more time for tennis, though, as Dave Galinsky pointed out, the really subtle people opted for OB-Gyne in the warm months (still many afternoons and weekends off, yet without identity as the blatantly lazy conniver). The actual mechanics of the rotation selection was first a headache then a thorough fiasco. The first system agreed upon, the Russ Hess Plan, looked fine, but turned out to be mathematically insoluble: it would have required some of us to take imaginary clerkships. The Ray Bracis NFL Draft seemed reasonable, but too elaborate to practice. The plan finally accepted worked in the end, but not until an astonished Reed Murtagh spent several angry nights on the phone, rejecting bribers, beseechers, and bearers of new plans. Gerald Lemole, M.D. WillisP. Maier. M.D. Leonard I. Goldman. M.D. John H. Hall, M.D. George P. Rosemond, M.D. Chairman of the Division of Surgery Vincent W. Lauby. M.D. There were 720 (six—factorial) possible sequences. Some of us began on surgery. After a preliminary briefing by Dr. Vincent Lauby, assignments were made to the several hospitals, but the surgical personality, surgical scrub, and noontime conferences were common findings at all three. Surgery was, of course, more than the others a spectator clerkship, so we carefully watched the surgery and the surgeons. Many looked for the so-called personality and of course, being looked for, it was found. Indeed Dr. Lemole could yell loud enough in the Temple O.R. to be heard at Einstein, where Drs. Ben Greenspan or Gerald Amsterdam were simultaneously screaming at a slow scrub nurse, tiring retractor-student, or miscreant hemostat. Rarely was any true malice or lasting anger implied-it was merely a style. Always easy-going and gentlemanly, inside or out of the O.R., were the chairman. Dr. George Rosemond, as well as Drs. John Hall at Temple and Aaron Bannett at Albert Einstein. Humor was evident—in Drs. Maier, Goldman, Bobby Somers—with surprising frequency, though an occasional smile would have been welcome in the competent and caring face of Dr. Robert Tyson. We noted also in our surgical teachers an active fondness and perpetual discussion of golf, and often a visible patriotism, though only Germantown's Dr. James Harris wore a red-white-and-blue armband on Moratorium Day. Surgeon-watching was accomplished best during the actual morning business hours. In the ancient way of the chirurgical apprenticeship, we scrubbed a full ten in order to tug for hours at one or two broad Deavers while our professors and their more immediate aids divorced troublesome gall bladders, stomachs and colons from unhappy owners. Predictably, we clumsily committed all the faux pas of O.R. neophytes. Tangled in his own rubber gloves, contaminating the pristine purity of the sterile field, or tumbling off the observation footstand, the junior student in the operating room was as necessary as a third nostril. R. Robert Tyson. M.D. So by noon we were often fully ready to excuse ourselves from the operating table in favor of the lunch table. Unfortunately, a conspiracy had provided at each post-Temple, Einstein, Germantown—a noon conference each day. Fortunately, the scheduled lecturers frequently were tied up in the O.R., but, just in case, many of us didn't show up anyway. Afternoons were for new admissions and, of course, that vertiginous foundation of hospital working-rounds. Some services competed even with the medical men for frequency of rounding. The Einstein G-B-S group, with its three surgeons, two residents, intern and students, had the manpower for almost continuous rounds from six-thirty in the morning til after dark. Sometimes, like trolley cars backed up behind a traffic jam, the fourth rounds of the day would just catch up with the third, the latter perhaps barely visible at the other end of the floor, advancing toward the stairway. Night duty involved getting to perform an occasional cutdown, excursions to the emergency room, and walking from the Brown Building to 10 PP to give intravenous heparin. Just as some class members had looked for, and to their satisfaction confirmed, the existence of the surgical personality, others verified some of the favorable cliches about the specialty. The surgeons did seem able to accurately diagnose on the basis of physical findings and history, and dealt with problems quickly and directly. Though the surgical men read their journals as did the medical, the solid surgical feeling of doing something was appealing to many of the students. A large number of us as seniors later elected additional surgery at Episcopal or other hospitals. Robert D. Harwick, M.D. William P. Lightfoot, M.D. Frederick A. Reichle, M.D. Thomas C. Deas, M.D. One of the six surgical weeks was spent in the department of anesthesiology, a largely distaff staff including that eternally-arrested lass in the pants suit, Rescuit-Anne. More talkative and attractive a group were Drs. Mary Reardon, Carol Flythe, Sandy Karetas, Gertrude Pruckmayr and Carmen Montaner; it was almost invariably a treat to work under one of these ladies. The Chairman, Dr. Leroy Krumperman, also proved a worthy teacher with uncanny epidural aim. Field block was the specific craft of Dr. Thomas Deas, one of the more difficult anesthesiologists to find oneself trailing, while new department member Henry Strenge seemed always on the verge of a ketamine high, or marching to the tinnitus of his own arrhythmic drummer. Unlike the surgical clerkship, the week given to anesthesia gave us the opportunity to actually do something, and most everyone cramped a hand with one or two generals and guided the hand to place a spinal. The nice people, chance-to-do, civilized pace and quitting time made the week spent at the patient's head for many the highlight of junior surgery. Carol D. Witherspoon, M.D. Mary R. W. Reardon. M.D. H. John Strenge. M.D. Carmen Garcia Montaner, M. D. Gertrude Pruckmayr. M.D. Meanwhile, another group had been at St. Christopher's Hospital for pediatrics. Here, the spontaneity and energy of the little kids produced a soft and informal atmosphere in this academic institution. Farm and circus animals in crayon jumped from the walls, while tiny patients and their I.V. poles dashed or peddled about the quadrangular hallways, unmindful of the supposedly scintillating and gemful rounds also circling, much more slowly, for the benefit of the big kids in the white jackets. The little kids wore hospital gown and NPO signs (one child ate his during the third rotation!) and carried toys and cups of Cool-Aid; the big kids wore name-tags and stethoscopes and carried small black bags and giant green books (a new edition of the pediatric Bible had just been issued). We poked, prodded, auscultated, stuck, bribed and coaxed the children; who in turn screamed, kicked, and ran away. Occasionally members of the two generations found the time to play together in the halls, the Doctors' desk, or the children's own playroom. Dr. Victor C. Vaughan, III had told us we were welcome in these rooms as the guests of the kids, only to play—no stethoscopy. Dr. Victor Vaughn, Chairman of Pediatrics, brought experience, achievement and excellence to the realm of little people. It was in fact the impressive Dr. Vaughan who was so much responsible for blending the world of children into a hospital whose staff is well-known in the world of science. That this mixture was per haps not always properly balanced was the chief complaint of a few medical students at Chris's: some felt there was too great an emphasis on the likes of Jervell Lange-Nielsen Syndrome or the eight varieties of bird-faced dwarf. Yet with the esoteric fantasies came many useful guidelines, data and ideas from a talented faculty. Victor C. Vaughan, III. M.D. Chairman of the Department of Pediatrics V •� J. Lawrence Naiman, M. D. David S. Smith, M.D. SPECIAL ISOLATION VISITORS: REPORT TO NURSE BEFORE ENTERING SINGLE ROOM : Yes GOWN: Yes HANDS : Wash forcugfy tn enters? and leasts ARTICLES ! nwaut taistet u ei? In arnatai NOTE: Dr. David Smith circled the floor with an inexhaustible amount of pediatric information. The trick was to keep him talking and try to retain as much as possible (this also prevented him from directing too many questions downwards to the residents and students). Dr. Nancy Huang, of course, discussed with us childhood respiratory problems and cystic fibrosis. Almost as familiar at St. Christopher's as this charming lady were Marie, Clyde and others of her little tow-headed patients, their carbenicillin dripping in, a brave group, not nearly as sad as our projections. Courage was revealed too in parents. Some of us had the opportunity to join Dr. Lawrence Naiman as he compassionately and honestly talked with the family of a newly diagnosed leukemic child. Maarten L. Sibinga. M.D. Nancy N. Huang, M. D. Immersed in the study and teaching of the genetic, biochemical and immunologic disorders were Drs. Angelo DiGeorge (of the syndrome), Victor Auerbach (of the bowtie) and Harold Lischner (of the hyperkinetic deportment). These three, in particular, offered a plethora of instruction on the more improbable diseases and, more important to us, of the underlying physiology incriminated. Less recondite pathological changes were described by the familiar voices of Drs. James Arey and Marie Valdes-Dapena. Dr. Arey used his prominent role in the C.P.C. exercises to continue his struggle against pandemic abbreviation, gently interrupting a presenter to ascertain the meaning of A.L.S., D.T.R. or S.L.E. One afternoon he could accept not one trio of letters more and made a speech: .. of course you and I know what S.O.B. is, but some people might actually think we mean 'shortness of breath'! Harold Lischner, M.D. Marie Valdes-Dapena, M.D. Dale S. Huff. M 0. Victor H. Auerbach. Ph.D. mm m «■I HL X' Angelo M. DiGeorge. M.D. , J0 James B. Arey. M. D.. Ph. D. Norman Kendall, M.D. Philip S. Barba. M.D. Though there was no shortage of learned instructors, a frequent complaint on some floors of St. Chris was an inadequate number of patients relative to the army of medical students (there were juniors, seniors, and externs from Jefferson and Women's Medical Colleges). Indeed there were numerous hours on the rotation with really nothing to do; the snack room and library were engorged with unemployed medical students. The daily conferences absorbed some of this floating time, and were often excellent. The staff offered twice-weekly lectures specifically for the students, as well as subspecialty conferences and two Grand Rounds a week. What other hospital south of Boston gives you two Grand Rounds a week! Then late Wednesday afternoon came the locally famous Sidney Sussman Slide Show, where the producer demanded correct labels for his photographic museum. Even Toms and Todhunter were occasionally confounded during the round-robin run for the mythical wine bottle. Rarely, during our workup on a new admission, Dr. Sussman would briefly interrupt the interview to snap his camera, thus providing the means—probably the only means— for a startling correct answer sometime in the lucky future. Thomas R. C. Sisson, M. D. Sidney J. Sussman. M.D. Anna C. O'Riordan, M.D. C. Robert E. Wells. M.D. Alan B. Gruskin. M.D. Mary Louise Cote. M.D. Warren D. Grover. M.D. Anthony J. Pileggi. M.D. Henry W. Baird. Ill, M.D. Dr. Sussman also helped direct the busy St. Christopher's outpatient department. As juniors we did not spend much of our time in the clinics and emergency room, but did see there-as well as on the floors-the more common childhood afflictions, including those maladies epidemic in the inner city:” malnutrition, anemia, lead poisoning, beatings. We saw children as victims of their environ ment when they should have been explorers of it, and it was a sad and troubling vision. It provided part of the stimulus which disposed so many of the class of 1971 to select pediatrics 3S their choice of work. wm Normund Wong, M.D. John K. Thomas, M.D. With an abundance of talented faculty members at Temple and far-flung affiliates, the Department of Psychiatry constructed a complicated, detailed agenda which sent us now here, now there, to meet the shrinks and the shrunk of every imaginable description. One weakness of the block was this very diversity: showing up only once a week—or once a rotation—we were at many places blatant spectators and strangers. This was not so, however, at the clinic, where continuity and participation were limited only by our own concern and efforts. Patients were chosen for the juniors by selecting those whose problems seemed reasonably amenable to some palliation in five or six weeks. Most were younger persons, many undergraduate students from Main Campus, and frequently they were soon able to talk freely with the young doctor who. nervous and unsure, was at least not an authority figure! And as they talked, an unsuspected depth of disturbance was not unusually uncovered, as we heard stories of fear, fantasy, perversions, and depression—sadness unprovoked, unyielding, and undeserved. Many times no one else had heard the stories before (in contrast to every other junior service!) and. because of the implied trust, we accepted them as burdens and gifts. Actually, the first week's history was not heard only by the two nervous ears: microphones, tape recorders, and the trick mirror window allowed classmates whose patients didn't show, and the instructors, to eavesdrop. The preceptors varied with rotations, but for most Drs. Normund Wong and John Thomas shared the supervision of this part of the program. Dr. Thomas was unusually likeable and helpful, and dreyv that paradoxical tribute of the materialistic medical student, He seems too sane to be a shrink! The individual supervisors assigned by case varied in their technique, some joining the interview and seeing the patient each week, others content to lightly advise and permit the junior student to appeal to his fund of book-learned psychiatry and inherent intuition, as he struggled with a jealous homosexual or Temple coed unhappy about nearly everything. Drs. Raul Vispo and Oscar Stern were contacted less on 5 PP than the residents, and the experience not extremely valuable. Depending on the prevailing mood of Dr. Vic Burt, consult rounds could be enjoyable. Dr. Burt claimed excellent training in both internal medicine and psychiatry, and was capable of teaching both. He could also talk about cello sonatas, Camus and Dostoevski, or most anything else, but seemed to delight most in his illustrative story of the febrile lady who won a psych consult by conversing with her I.V. bottle, whose name was Floyd. Victor fir. Burt. M.O. Raul H. Vispo. M.D. Half the class drew a weekly assembly at St. Christopher's Hospital for seminars on, obviously, child psychiatry. The loquacious Dr. Gabe d'Amato directed these sessions, while Philip Band, like a forgotten uncle in the corner chair at Christmas, sometimes fell asleep with the rest of us. Dr. d'Amato did, however, grow on some: his interests and experiences were varied and extensive, and his sensible attitudes toward children and their development were refreshing. Other odds and ends included in the child psychiatry pageant were field trips to the Birney and Eastern State Schools (both worthwhile), some Erik Erikson flicks, and visits by a lady psychologist and (lady) audiologist. Dr. d'Amato also interviewed some children when they showed up on time, and Cindy F., a St. Chris nurse, when one didn't (she was picked, somewhat inaccurately, as a random adolescent”). Allan H. Cristol, M.D. John M. Dunn, M. D. Neil J. Yorkston. M.D. All Fridays and one whole week were given to the several divisions of the Community Mental Health Center. With so many bright, concerned—and stubborn-community and professional persons involved, the prototypal Center had even more than a predictable number of catastrophies. Especially through the first few blocks, this turmoil did not allow proper supervision of the junior student programs, and many of us appeared for non-existing activities which had looked exciting on the schedule. Particularly distressing was showing up first thing in the morning, completely unexpected, at Byberry! But once things were better organized, we saw on Fridays an interpretation of “psychiatry” not yet mentioned in the textbooks. Our Place“-the day program-was set up as a therapeutic community;” staff and patients blended to form the community, and active trust and support were the bases of therapy. As in similar efforts elsewhere, physical touch and much yelling and screaming were emphasized, and as one-day visitors, in ties and jackets, we participated only shyly and clumsily. Fred Glaser, the M.D. member of Our Place,” met with each succeeding group to explain the purposes and plan of the program. Dr. Louis Harris was stationed at the frontier, Temple's unit at ''Byberry (Philadelphia State Hospital), a program housed in two overaged buildings. Set up on a modified token economy, the unit claimed a shorter average patient stay and less dismal tone than most of Byberry's other divisions. Our half-day visit was totally inadequate to learn anything about the large state mental institution, or our unit specifically; this was obvious, but Dr. Harris made sure to point it out in his unwelcoming speech. Some of Dr. Harris's patients had started out in the Crisis Center, which provided a chance to observe acute psychiatric care available at few medical centers. Spending a full week here, we were slightly less outsiders than in the neighboring Day Care Center, and more or less eagerly interviewed the crazy people who wandered in. Many were regulars, who, for lack of any better facility, were casually followed by the Crisis Center, at least to the extent of keeping Thorazine prescriptions up to date. There also walked, staggered, or were carried in acute psychotics, drunkards, epileptics, dope fiends, one eclamptic, and many of the poor and lonely who occupy countless flats and rooms in all the giant cities of the country, yet can find no one to talk with. We listened to them, and when the Crisis Center was quiet, to Ken Draper, who filled the empty hours with opinions and anecdotes on any current or obscure topic. If one kept in mind that Dr. Draper was, presumably by choice, the full-time shrink at a North Philadelphia Crisis Center, his personality was not nearly so odd as might be expected. Of course, others of the psychiatric staff and residents had duty, as did the hard-working non-degreed therapists and aides, including the comforting Cecil. When the cops deposited a two-hundred pound customer, beaming craziness from the eyes and anger from everywhere else, it was nice to recall that there was a Cecil, on your side. Robert L. Sadoff. M.D. Gerald D. Klee. M.D. John R. Benson. M. D. Richard K. Green bank. M.D. Max C. Pcpernik, M.D. Kenneth Draper. M.D. Herbert L. Needlermn, M.D. Dr. Herb Needleman allowed his Friday afternoon groups to define psychiatry as almost anything extraordinary or merely interesting in human behavior; thus seminar themes included aggression, violence, drugs, women's lib, and a sprinkling of other fashionable and topical issues. So that we could salt with a few facts the inevitable oatmeal of opinion, all were requested to do some reading, and some of us looked forward to each week's session as a change of pace and nostalgic reminder of half-forgotten afternoons in college. Dr. Needleman, who has been described as both humanitarian and guilt-ridden liberal -depending, obviously, on whether the describer agreed with him-was notable in several remarkable ways: he served as national director of the Committee on Responsibility which brought injured Vietnamese children to America for treatment, and also held the distinction of almost being on the Philadelphia regional interview panel during President Nixon's 1968 campaign. He was disinvited at the last minute! Publicly linked with a controversial point of view, Herb Needleman obviously could not be the hero of all, but few would deny that he was uncommonly well-read, and though confident in his data and conclusions, expressed them with rare modesty. Looking back and summing up the fragmented psychiatry clerkship, many of us found it impossible to arrive at a score. Few got to know any of the shrinks more than superficially (in contrast to some other services where six weeks might be spent under the same house officer and attending), so the nurtured distrust and disregard for the specialty shared by so many were not touched. Our learned reliance on facts and lists in other areas ( Charlie .. . what are the forty-seven etiologies of elevated serum cadmium? ) was frustrated by the psychiatrists, despite their obsessive concern with the appropriate diagnostic category. R. Bruce Sloane, M.D. Chairman of the Department of Psychiatry Yet when they did offer their theory and guidelines, including what we generally (and narrowly) referred to as “that Freudian stuff, often we too swiftly rejected them as jargon and trivial. We couldn't grasp well who the psychiatrist was and what he meant to do: how could R. Bruce Sloane and Fred Glaser both be practicing the same art? As promised, it was a relaxed service with ample free time, and as true on any clerkship it was a privilege to even meet some of the instructors-but few of us gave the block rave reviews. Many of those in the class with a priori leanings toward the field were the most dissatisfied, and onfy a handful elected for senior psychiatry at Temple. Herman Hirsh. M.D. Thanks to the informal but functioning grapevine-each class passing its impressions and warnings to those below-little in medical school comes as a shocking surprise. Still, most of us maintained enough good-will and grinning innocence to be left fully aghast at the antics and attitudes of our Obstetrics-Gynecology Department. Probably the most well-balanced faculty in the hospital, it had gaping deficiencies from top to bottom. Spending a week in each division (two in the clinic), we got caught in them all. Dr. Darryl Townsend, director of the junior clerkship, delivered the customary introduction in person, or-for one lucky group-on a tape entrusted to Dr. Tchilinguirian. It was probably the most defensive such briefing we were to experience, actually verging on the apologetic. Dr. Townsend traded indulgence in his tired, contemptuous stance to students for a reciprocal lack of love, yet-out of habit, obligation or ennui—managed to deliver more useful teaching than most others on the staff. His series on the gynecological tumors was soundly organized and lucid, and among the better of the conferences. Dr. Michael Daly, the acting chairman, was busy with the resident program, the grand rounds, and. in general, keeping his quivering troops together. One predawn hour in the delivery room, while waiting with some students for a private patient to proliferate, he presented as a hail-fellow-well-met, cooling his coffee with old John Royal Moore stories; and. though that was no doubt one true image he could project, too often— like a player in Pogo, he growffed and spronkled, dumped students and threw things. Michael J. Daly, M. D. Acting Chairman of the Department of Obstetrics and Gynecology Nubar G. P. Tchilinguirian, M.D. mmm It was Dr. Russell Ramon deAlvarez, of course, who claimed the most national fame and local notoriety. The former chairman, now freed of administrative headaches, was supposed to spend most of his time on rounds and teaching, a plan viewed with some solid apprehension by the residents and students. For us, the Dee-A was sponsor of that weekly quiz-kid affair in which each sub-group researched and discussed one to five revolving topics. Dr. deAlvarez, needless to point out, was at least a minor authority on all of them, and-as Nate Sklar too late discovered—had published papers which not infrequently challenged the conventional textbook views. Russell Ramon deAlvarez, M.D. He often stretched the remaining minutes after the students were done to recapitulate or offer his own outlook, but during the presentations actually paid attention and took notes. He even had the courtesy to occasionally commend a particular group for a good job— and praise did not exactly flow as freely as the Lub-fax on 08-Gyne service! Yet as with others in the department, it was Dr. deAlvarez' distinctive affect which subtracted from his contribution: his mysterious distance, disarming gravity, and strange vocal modulation gave this professor an aura which seemed inassociable with mamas and babies. There were, fortunately, some favorable exceptions in this “rebuilding” department, including two quality foreign models imported via Canada. Leslie Iffy enjoyed teaching and, even though he was actively gathering fetal feet for some research project, owned humor and humanity. Dr. Michael Arrata, the new departmental endocrinologist, so startled us with his enthusiasm, a quality seen rarely in Ob-Gyne among the mothers, doctors or students, that we at first guessed he had merely gotten off the elevator at the wrong floor. His eagerness was evident in his rapid though musical delivery, sparkling eyes, and impossible exam. Drs. James Batts and Jerry Shulman were decent and helpful, but assumed somewhat minor, sporadic roles in the junior program. Dr. Martin Wingate gave a few lectures then retreated back to his machines; Nubar Tchilinguirian ran about, twaddled modestly, contributing to the department entropy. L J V IN CRATEFUL -CKKUWLEOCMENT OF « --- FREE BEDS — ESTABLISHED IN THIS HOSPITAL CATHOUNC 0 WENTZ. CKAKIZS JACKSON M'CLARY. MARGARET WILLIAMS. THOMAS W. EVANS GEORGE W. ENORiSS. PMIjvlOrtftO No2,RRO t. ELIZABETH I). BARCLAY. CHI VBA BIKtIR CMCCIM. CYRUS S.DCTRC GEORGE A. COTTON. FRANK W. HOYT JOHN Lnr.VCRMX. CHARLES J MATTHEWS. HARRIET ■ GROSS. BIIUHACOOI'LKSMITH. FLORA MAE ALBRIGHT ROBJRT BARKER. o iw« N«aurr Aa JW tow Ann v ••ayiAvMi hi mu Lmk 3 Martin 8. Wingate, M.D. W. S. Michael Arrata, M.B.B.Ch. James A. Batts. Jr., M.D. Jerry J. Shu I man. M. D. Leslie Iffy. M.D. Alfred L. Kalodner, M.D. All these instructors were contacted to varying degrees in the framework of the rotating schedule. Gynecology ward and private service offered a good sampling of the common problems, plus an increasing number of therapeutic abortions -procedures which, though legal and apparently desired by patient and doctor, seemed to make no one too happy at the time. That these patients occupied beds and required pinks and blues did not increase their institutional popularity! Most of the women, however, were in not for D E but for D C, that magical scooping and scraping which can both diagnose and treat, a tonic for the despondent uterus. Though the staff did most of the actual procedures, on the floors we tagged along with the residents on rounds. There was Cho and there was Cha (or vice-versa); there was Angel Fingers Omana and Dr. Ghandi, and-standing out like a silver dollar in a tray of old subway tokens— Dennis Lucey, a bright and generous young man about to give up obstetrics for urban studies. The group on the last rotation during the summer were fortunate enough to meet the incoming first-year residents, a seemingly talented group; one wonders what they were promised! JohnMo-uneM o. Clinic was a demeaning horror show: the women had their private parts tickled each visit by a different young stranger, and only sometimes gained a small revenge, looking on as the stranger was himself in turn verbally tweaked by a bored-looking resident or Dr. Townsend. What skill we obtained in doing a pelvic exam, however, was probably learned more in the clinic than other services. We also did countless pregnancy tests, a simple determination, although it was difficult to interpret what pregnancy meant in a control drop of Philadelphia tapwater. Least exciting of the out-patient divisions was Tumor Clinic: mostly longterm follow ups, the ladies coming to tumor clinic naturally lacked tumors. (Cannot the medical profession. so fluent with euphem.sms, find a less woeful name than Tumor Clinic? ) Benito Tancor, M.D. As Darryl Townsend had promised, the week in the Delivery Room was more stimulating and fun than any of the other subdivisions of the block (though by this comparison, so would have been a week in the east elevator). Finally at Temple, junior medical students were not asked to spend entire nights timing contractions; unfortunately, this educational advance, mixed with a regression in staff, left no one doing it. Until we got out the books, we assumed it was normal and universal for the women to deliver in bed, in transit on the stretcher, or acrobatically in mid-air. It was a busy D.R., and if one's timing was lucky, he got to do two or three deliveries during the week. It was not, however, a good place to learn about obstetric anesthesia and analgesia, which were so often given too late, or not at all. Nor was it an ideal place to observe or partake in the joy and miracle of birth: the infants were too often unwanted and unwelcome. Many of us with fixed opinions on abortions had to go back to start and think it out again (though this could occur the other way around after watching one's first D E). Most bitterly depressing of all, however, was filling out the tower of official forms; some of the veteran mothers agreed with us that this paper task was far more troublesome than having a baby. So Obstetrics-Gynecology was not the highlight of the junior year, and when Dr. Townsend's individual evaluations rated almost everyone average, we often had to accept them as truthful: we perhaps too easily spent the six weeks humming along in the mediocre key to which the department seemed tuned. We could forgive to some extent the failings attributable to the process of reconstructing the faculty, but the listless attitude of our obstetricians to patients and pupils was disappointing. Though a sizable part of the class elected for senior obstetrics gynecology. most chose Einstein, Episcopal, Philadelphia General, or some other hospital. L 1 Medicine I was to the junior year-regardless of when taken-what anatomy was to the first years: the initiation experience, the auto-da-fe. Though some other junior and senior services might have demanded more hours or assigned greater responsibility, medicine at Temple threw us into a constant whirling motion, feet and brain. The velocity was of course angular: we made rounds. We sometimes made our own rounds first thing in the morning, monotonously checking all moving lungs and pulsating hearts (all medicine patients are presumed on Lasix and dig until proved otherwise), and inquiring hesitantly for new complaints. Then came work rounds with the intern; if this were completed by nine o'clock, there would be time to present problems and new patients to the team resident just returning from morning report. By afternoon the attending would show up and the team-now five-strong in its entirety-would trot around again. Meanwhile, the other two teams on the floor would be doing the same (The Big Red Team, The Yellow), a few sub-specialty clumps would drift by (staff-man, fellow, resident, intern and two seniors), a girl would guide a por table X-ray machine down the hall, knocking over an IPPB unit. Then a stretcher would appear on the floor to carry someone off to bronchoscopy. as the elevator deposited an IV technician, the newspaper man, a priest, the barber, fourteen visitors, and a half dozen each of four-year and three-year nursing students. Everything in white made rounds, and all the rounders would contribute a little scribble or scrap to each patient's chart. Then, after things quieted, the little team would sit down together and sort it out- Chart Rounds! Leroy Shear. M.D. Grand Rounds each Wednesday meant an hour to sit, relax, perhaps learn something, and often watch a visiting fireman discuss his identifying interest. But Professor's Rounds could be-despite all reassurances and devoted preparation—frightening in its anticipation, even if the show itself went well. The bedside presentation of the case-intellectually equivalent and in fact reminiscent of reciting How Happy Is The Little Stone to your fifth grade class-was the easiest part, only terrifying the patient, who wondered if the sudden grave interest in his case portended an imminent rejoining of Herbert S. Wax man, M.O. Felix Cortes, M. D. Sol Sherry. M. D. Chairman of the Division of Medicine his ancestors. After adjourning to the back room, we faced the chief {or one of his designates), a chief resident, the other floor team, and whatever visiting house-staff applicants were seeing the sights. Often Dr. Sherry was of a mind to teach, and served as discusser himself; other times he sat back and listened, interrupting with detailed questions. Presenting to another of the staff could be even more hazardous than meeting the chief, if one of us ended up teaching Dr. Leroy Shear about nephrosis. Dr. Waxman about leukemia, or Dr. Felix Cortes about cardiac arrhythmias. With some support from the intern and resident, Professor's Rounds was, nevertheless, usually survived. Between rounds on Medicine I, we did our first, primordial work-ups-complete and neat-until subsequently annotated as we learned from our teachers that the stony-hard lymph node was the hyoid bone, or the pulsating abdominal aneurysm, likely the normal aorta. Too often these hypertrophied pinks-and-blues were not reviewed with us-the interns had so little free time—though some of the private attendings, particularly Dr. Albert Finestone, made an effort to go over them. By taking these histories and searching stacks of old, orderless charts (the “Lawrence Weed is Right sign), we soon learned that medicine service patients, like all others, sometimes fit classic stereotypes: the diabetes-hypertension-heart disease group, coming in for long stays and consuming “dig and EKG forms; the elderly stroker whom literally nobody wants; the ulcer sufferer, tap-dancing precariously between the Maalox counter and Dr. Maier's waiting room; and, finally, the seventy-two year old burned-out alcoholic with nose-to-toes body weariness. Occasionally somebody showed up with gout, a delightful disease: the diagnosis was specific, and a few little pills made him well. Richard D. Berkowiu. M.D. Isadore IV. Ginshurg, M.D This is Miss Almohada 6PP. I have 5:00 A.M. heparin to give, also patient who is maybe not breathing. Such alarms and entertainment as IV heparin, midnight chest-pains, and random patients falling out of bed were our first night-call concerns. There were also I.V.'s” to start or not to start, depending on one's luck and aim, plus workups of emergency admissions. We were the last class, again, to enjoy the free nine-thirty hospital snack for all night crewmen, and our gluttonous abuse of this gesture no doubt contributed to its elimination from the budget. | Rounds workups, night call were all mechanisms for learning, but the guidance had to come from those with the polished experience and knowledge, and here was the strength of Med l -one of the strongest departments and house staffs of the hospital. Though our direct contact with Dr. Sol Sherry was perhaps minimal, his presence and hard work in creating a first-rate internal medicine program benefited us by attracting many valuable additions to the staff and highly qualified resident and intern candidates. Emanuel M. Weinberger, M.D. 1 I Harold Hyman, M. D. Thomas C. Michaelson, M.D. Walter J. Levinsky, M.D. Guenther Boden, M.D. Robert M. Stvenson, M.D. Oliver Eton Owen, M.D. Charles R. Shuman, M.D. Norman Learner, M.D. Bertram J. Channick, M.D. Alan D. Marks. M. D. E. Victor Adlin. M.D. Dr. Sherry's efforts were feasible and successful partly because he built on an already strong faculty, and on the medicine service, we saw both the veteran and recent internists and subspecialists as attendings and consultants. Drs. Finestone, Shuman. Walter Levinsky, and Norman Learner became familiar faces as we followed their house patients. Dr. Levinsky continued to mix his nuggets with lengthy derivations of Latin terms (he loved explaining angina pectoris) as he has always done, to the consternation of students. John H. Martin. M.D. The hematologists whom we had already met in lecture halls again amazed us with uniform mastery of their chosen system, as did our trio of steroid titraters, ''Birtwell, Martin, and Tourtellotte. Dr. “Lee Shear, a quantity still new and unknown, though preceded by his ample fame, was consulted at first cautiously, and by some, never. He enthusiastically stuck all previously abiopsic sick kidneys, and needled house staff and students alike with questions easily revealing our poor grasp of the renal mysteries. His senior elective was nevertheless fully subscribed. It was a pleasure and privilege to join Dr. Gunter Haase as he came in to see our newest stroke catastrophe; he even drew over a score of weary class-men to the Saturday morning lectures! With a delivery always as elegant and balanced as a string quartet, the chief neurologist discussed meningitis, headache, and Thunderbird wine at the Saturday services and physical signs of tumor and “CVA at the bedside. William Birtwell. M.D. Charles D. Tourtellotte, M.D. rmiiiiii I N 1 VJ 1 J TV e rerv � (MT SoA'ur 1 (vJ S clo sts Mve been Cancelled. There, tu M he -f r al r tfns course. Reed ‘Morfagk Joseph U. Toglia, M.D. Gunter R. Haase. M.D. Chairman of the Department of Neurology jfi Herbert Waxman, M.D. Lyndall Molthan. M.D. The academic power of the medicine department at Temple was not easily matched at the affiliates, where we enjoyed a usually more relaxed though generally duller second medicine rotation. Germantown Hospital was perhaps the most “community flavored of the group, and those who went there after “Med I could not easily adjust to two P.M. rounds, and the dispensing of digitalis leaf and yeast tablets! At “Einstein Northern some had the opportunity to meet Dr. “Tom Durant, one of the grand men of Philadelphia medicine, whose percussive demonstrations remain astounding even in this era of X-rays and echoes. One of the educational, if not social, advantages of drawing Med II at Albert Einstein Medical Center was the week passed in greater Brown’s Mill, New Jersey, studying heart patients and their many murmurs at Deborah Hospital. Episcopal Hospital offered free lunch, a fine gastroenterologist named Harris Clearfield, and the sometimes spleenful chief. Dr. William Gefter. The Episcopal ward service, housed in the dismal Tower Building, allowed us more responsibility than we were accustomed and, probably equal to. Dr. Jake Zatuchni also called Episcopal home, and bored us with home movies (mainly coronary artery flicks), though it was Med I where his little yellow book on physical diagnosis proliferated. Medicine, like each of the other specialties we tasted, had well known characteristics which we either loathed or leaned to. It seemed apparent that the internist spent hours speculating, discussing, reading, charting and graphing, with little obvious immediate gain. Yet, for a certain bent of mind, this mental jogging is its own income (it must be, for medicine patients seem to never get better); for a different personality, academic internal medicine appears as the surrealistic school of healing art. Whatever the merits of this interpretation of medicine, during our years it was developed at Temple into an excellence which attracted and converted those among us, predisposed already by subtle shapers, who would be content in contemplation of the rising BUN. . . . Michael T. McDonough, M.D. Louis A. Soloff, M.D. Howard Warner, M.D. Harold L. Ru ten berg, M.D. Spring of junior year brought us tidings of the future in our mailboxes: letters to visit advisors about choosing senior electives, and recruiting brochures from such desirable internships as those at Woonsocket Mercy, or the Moline Polyclinic. Some of us combined senior electives with investigation of other hospitals by taking away” rotations; others took off to pursue a particular interest or department, or merely to avoid Philadelphia for some weeks. Of course the West Coast was the prime destination, the magical California melting-pot, stirred by an occasional earthquake. continuing to attract an unrestricted variety of young people in search of sunshine, education, or a new inning of identity. Others of us made it as far as Europe, (Steve Berman and Steve Ludwig studied in London) and Spaulding at one point was sending out postcards from New Zealand, though it is hardly clear what he was doing there. Joe Lichtman elected Medicine in Israel while Chet Chmielewski spent a long period in Rhode Island and several others journeyed to nearer centers in New England, New York, and Pennsylvania. Stanley H. Lorber, M.D. William Y Chey, M.D. At home, certain (senior) electives were exceedingly popular. Both the medical and surgical subspecialties deservingly attracted full quotas. Cardiology service at Temple introduced the new young chief, Dr. James Spann, and provided weeks in the cath lab and reading EKG's. Those of us on nephrology were recognized by the -flow sheets in one hand, centrifuge tubes in the other, and dazed stare in the eyes. Though few took general surgery at Temple, urology, neurosurgery, and E.N.T. usually had a few white pants on the team, and these smaller services allowed individual attention, making them usually enjoyable. Dr. Leroy Stahlgren's excellent associates and residents provided at Episcopal Hospital a general surgery service which for some years now has been a favorite of Temple seniors; the heavy caseload, enthusiasm for teaching, and vacuum created by the lack of interns all contributed to an optimal setting. Dermatology and radiology were both frequent choices: though these were essentially clerkships spent looking over a shoulder, the shoulders supported capable heads, and much was learned despite the passive participation. Bernard J. Ronis, M.D. Max L. Ronis, M.D. Chairman of the Department of Otorhinology r Charles M. Norris, M.D. Chairman of the Department of Laryngology and Bronchoesophagology CTHILON oOKtini.0 . Gabriel F. Tucker, Jr., M.D. Kyril B. Conger. M.D. Lester Karat in. M. D. A. Richard Kendall, M. D. BVJ' ' Frederick Murtagh. Jr., M.D. Chairman of the Division of Neurological and Sensory Sciences Michael Scott, M.D. Chairman of the Department of Neurosurgery William A. Buchheit. M. D. Hortfort M. Stauffer, M.D. Co-Chairman of the Department of Radiology Rena to L. Soulen, M.D. Jose L. Gimenez, M.D. Robert Robbins. M. 0. Co Chairman of the Department of Jan N. Safer. M.D. Radiology Gustavos C. Bird. M. D. iVl Henry J. Wotoshin, M. D. N. David Charkes, M.D. Everyone served three weeks on the A.D. -also known as the emergency room, though some of us put in our weeks without ever seeing an emergency! The surgical calamities-victims of knives, guns, bottles and trolley-cars-often got shunted directly to the back sewing room where one of the self-sufficient corpsmen handled the affairs, or up to the main O.R. Medical disasters—pulmonary edema, drug overdose, coma—were often hidden from view by a ring of house staff. We were kept busy, nevertheless, by a variety of infections, conceptions, and depressions, and most of our gravest fears about the A.D. were confirmed. Some patients did come in at four A.M. with a twenty-eight year old pain, drunks dozed or raved, asthmatics were forgotten in back rooms, and the Crisis Center sent down a reject for medical evaluation for each irrational specimen we shipped to them for psychiatric consult. What kept us going was the coffee, the knowledge that many of the people were, if not true urgencies, at least ill enough to justify seeing a doctor, and the obvious fact that we had to be there. How long we had to be there varied with the cleverness of the group: some of us chanced our health on fourteen-hour shifts, while others connived this down to eight. Howard H. Steel, M.D. IKE FOLLOWING R£GULATICWS A i EfftaiVE lHtOIATELV WO AffLY TO MY KALE ENTERIK T OPCRATIilG WT1: AlYOfiE MHO HAS: SIDE MIMS - HIST WEAR DOUBLE MSKS LO-JG HAIR - I VST WEAR VJRSES' CAPS HIS fACHES - HJST WEAR DOUBLE IWSKS BEARDS ARE MOT PEW11TID. EQkV OPERA! IK ROM COfHTTEE John W. Lachman, M.D. All during the first electives of the year, we were also busy with our latest academic application exercise, an egocentric chore which, like elections, comes up every four years and threatens horrible defeat. This time, we generally began in Dr. Hugo Smith's office, seeing how others saw us, and trying to select likely writers of fulsomely laudatory letters. These would be sent, along with a transcript, list of publications, A.O.A. declaration, Dean's letter, little photograph, and anything else hopefully capable of selling the favorite product, to the hospitals whose location, salary, night schedule, or even program, enamored us. In return, we received brochures with inevitable pictures of the newly built ICU or a Grand Rounds attended by twelve-thousand people, interview and tour with free lunch and occasional night's bed, and often a follow-up letter announcing a six-hundred dollar raise. The interviews were commonly pleasant, but this depended on the questions: What do you want from an internship? or Why do you want to come to Port Moresby Medical Center? were anticipated and manageable; Tell me what you know about Disseminated Intravascular Coagulation and its diagnosis presented certain difficulties. Theodore R. Lammot. Ill, M.D. When the tidy little matching program lists were submitted, relatively few of us had applied to Temple or other Philadelphia hospitals. The house staff programs at our own hospital were good, drawing applicants from every medical school, and getting better; but so many of us were weary of Broad Street, of the big city, the big center. As seniors, we looked on at the mud holes which the new hospital and student buildings would fill, and assumed, despite the tight money and other threats, that they would rise more or less on schedule. The medicine and pediatrics departments were already superior, as were some of the basic sciences, and the weaker divisions would most likely slowly catch up. But these were inadequate enticements. More powerfully than the newspapers, our work in the wards and A.D. and our short motor trips to Lehigh Avenue and back filled us with awareness of the grave sadness and far-gone necrosis of the city. We had been taught to care for the whole patient, in detail, one at a time, and we were beginning to care in this way. But the city's troubles were always described in huge, dismaying numbers. So for most of us, the manifestations of the problems-again, the rubble, the graffiti, the smog, the ignorance, the fear of thief and thug—repelled us far more than the challenge of solving them attracted us. As always, some leaned toward academic centers, others sought positions at community hospitals, but the common guideline was get out of Philadelphia. Though the ward patients had not been Guinea pigs, though Temple had perhaps cheated us in some few specifics, we had undeniably used both, and not paid greatly for the use. Payment would be. in fact, as with our college loans-deferred. But like few loans, the debt would be shifted—collected by strangers in California, New England, York and Reading, even the guarded Philadelphia suburbs. How well we paid back would be a fair test of not only our medical school training, but also of our personal honesty and good-will. ■ f JOHN ABRAMSON, M.D. GLENN A. AMSBAUGH, M.D. CHARLES B. BLACKSHEAR, III, M.D. WILLIAM H. BOYLE, M.D. LANSING E. BROWN, M.D. ROBERT T. BROWN, M.D. VINCENT BUTERA, M.D. JOSEPH A. BUTERBAUGH, M.D. HERBERT M. CADY, JR. , M.D. WILLIAM W. CADY, M.D. ROBERT C. CAMPBELL, M.D. STANTON F. CARROLL, M.D. CHESTER A. CHMIELEWSKI, M.D. ROD J. CHRONISTER, M.D. DONNA E. CIRILLO, M.D. MARC S. COHEN, M.D. MURRAY S. COOPER, M.D. ALLEN R. CRISWELL, M.D. JUNE A. DERRICKSON, M.D. WILLIAM S. DINERMAN, M.D. JAMES A. ECKENRODE, M.D. - T MICHAEL EMMETT, M.D. SANDRA L. EPPLEY, M.D. ALAN B. EVANTASH, M.D. EDWARD C. FALLON, III, M.D. EUGENE C. FLETCHER, JR., M.D. COLEMAN F. FUNK, JR., M.D. DAVID E. GALINSKY, M.D. NANCY J. GETTES, M.D. KENNETH G. GILBERT, JR., M.D. CHARLES D. GILLILAND, M.D. HOWARD H. GINSBURG, M.D. JOHN L. GINSBURG, M.D. GALE L. GORDON, M.D. r 1 a w 'noinvh r Nor RUSSELL O. HESS, III, M.D. DONALD W. HIEMENZ, M.D. WILLIAM G. HOFFMAN, M.D. ROBERT M. JACOBSON, M.D. JAMES J. JAKUBCHAK, M.D. RUSSELL H. JENKINS, M.D. JOHN J. KANE, M.D. HOWARD B. KOFFLER, M.D. RICHARD B. KOHLER, M.D. MICHAEL K. KOWALSKI, M.D. LEWIS L. KRAMER, M.D. LEROY W. KRUMPERMAN, JR., M.D. JAMES B. LANE, M.D. KEITH E. LARKIN, M.D. JAMES J. LEVIN, M.D. J JOE M. LICHTMAN, M.D. RICHARD LIPPIN, M.D. IRA F. LOBIS, M.D. HARRY J. LONG, III, M.D. STEPHEN LUDWIG, M.D. JONATHAN K. MALONE, M.D. JAMES G. MARKS, JR., M.D. RONALD J. MATTSON, M.D. ROBERT L. McGUIRE, m.d. I BRIAN A. MILLER, M.D. WILLIAM L. MULCHIN, M.D. CHARLES B. MULHERN, JR., M.D. JAMES G. MURPHY, M.D. HETHERWICK M. NTABA, M.D. ROGER D. OWENS, M.D. JAMES W. PADGET, III, M.D. ROBERT J. PATTERSON, M.D. STEVEN J. PEITZMAN, M.D. ROBERT A. PENMAN, JR., M.D. FRANCIS C. PLUCINSKY, M.D. MARC RICHMOND, M.D. PHILLIP R. ROBINSON, M.D. LAWRENCE D. ROMANE, M.D. BRAD M. ROTHKOPF, M.D. JOHN C. SCATARIGE, M.D. WILLIAM C. SCHLIPPERT, M.D. GARY E. SCHNITKER, M.D. EUGENE R. SCHNITZLER, M.D. MARGARET R. SCHREINER, M.D. FREDRIC T. SEROTA, M.D. PAUL A. SHANAHAN, M.D. SCOTT L. SILVER, M.D. HARRIS S. SILVERMAN, M.D. DALE V. SINKER, M.D. NATHAN R. SKLAR, M.D. ROBERT D. SLAMA, M.D. RICHARD K. SPAULDING, M.D. CHARLES C. SPIELMAN, M.D. GARY W. STEINKE, M.D. JOHN B. STOKES, III, M.D. MARSHALL D. STRODE, M.D. £ RICHARD B. TODHUNTER, M.D. H0WARD E. WEINSTEIN, M.D. PAUL B. WEISBERG, M.D. DAVID G. WELCH, M.D. ROBERT E. WENGER, M.D. MARY E. WILCOX, M.D. REGINALD G. WILLIAMS, M.D. PAUL R. WOODY, JR., M.D. WILLIAM L. YINGLING, M.D. SENIOR DIRECTORY David Marine Abbott. Jr. (Anital Franklin and Marshall College, B.A.. 1067 University of Hawaii, Affiliated Hospitals Honolulu. Hawaii Psychiatry John Abramson Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Temple University. A.B.. 1965 Abington Memorial Hospital Abington, Pennsylvania Rotating Glenn Allan Armbaugh (Jane) York. Pennsylvania Lehigh University. B.S.. 1967 York Hospital York. Pennsylvania Rotating Francis Chi-Sun Au Hong Kong. 8.C.C. LaSalle College. 8 A.. 1967 Phi Chi Fraternity Temple University Hospital Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Straight Surgery Stephen Berman Kingston. Pennsylvania Wesleyan University (Connecticut) Student Council Vice-President 1968 1970 University of Colorado Medical Center Denver, Colorado Straight Pediatrics Charles Bryan Biackshear, III Radnor, Pennsylvania Colgate University, A.B.. 1967 Wilmington Medical Center Wilmington. Delaware Rotating Jeffrey Mark BUtt (Marilyn) Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Boston University. A.8.. 1967 Germantown Dispensary and Hospital Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Rotating William Hugh Boyle Forty Fort. Pennsylvania Villanova University. B.S., 1967 Phi Chi Fraternity Geismger Medical Center Danville. Pennsylvania Rotating Raymond 8enjamin Bracts (Jean) Philadelphia. Pennsylvania LaSalle College. B.A.. 1967 Phi Chi Fraternity Doctor's Hospital Seattle. Washington Rotating Lansing Eugene Brown New Concord. Ohio Muskingum College. 8.A.. 1964 Alpha Omega Alpha Phi Rho Sigma Fraternity Maine Med.cal Center Portland. Maine Rotating Robert Theodore Brown (Sally) Pennsauken. New Jersey Lehigh University. 8.A.. 1967 Alpha Omega Alpha Student Council St. Christopher's Hospital for Children Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Straight Pediatrics Vincent Butem (Kathryn) York. Pennsylvania LaSalle College. B.A.. 1967 Phi Chi Fraternity York Hospital York. Pennsylvania Rotating Joseph Albert Buterbaugh (Nancy) Oil City. Pennsylvania Mount Union College. B.S.. 1967 Hunterdon Medical Center Flemington. New Jersey Family Practice Herbert Milts Cady, Jr. (Susan) Paoli, Pennsylvania Ohio Wesleyan College. B.A., 1965 St. Christopher's Hospital for Children Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Straight Pediatrics William Walter Cady (Jan) Mansfield. Pennsylvania Pennsylvania Slate University. B.S., 1965 Robert Packer Hospital Sayre, Pennsylvania Rotating James Patrick Cain (Patty) Pottstown. Pennsylvania LaSalle College. B.A., 1967 Phi Chi Fraternity. President 1969-1970 The Reading Hospital Reading, Pennsylvania Rotating Robert Coulter Campbell Lancaster. Pennsylvania Franklin and Marshall College. B.A . 1967 Phi Rho Sigma Fraternity Secretary of Junior Class Gemnger Medical Center Danville. Pennsylvania Rotating Stanton Franklin Carroll (Shelley) Bala Cynwyd, Pennsylvania Lafayette College. A.B.. 1967 Ph. Delta Epsilon Fraternity Thomas Jefferson University Hospital Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Straight Surgery Chester Alfred Chmielewski Pawtucket. Rhode Island Tufts University. B.S.. 1967 Rhode Island Hospital Providence. Rhode Island Rotatmg-Mcd'cine Major Rod Jay Chronister (Dorothy) Wilmington. Delaware Swarthmore College, B A.. 1967 Alpha Omega Alpha Babcock Surgical Society York Hospital York, Pennsylvania Rotating Donna Elizabeth Cirillo Springfield. Massachusetts Springfield College. 8 S . 1967 Babcock Surgical Society Alpha Kappa Phi Sorority Springfield Hospital Medical Center Springfield. Massachusetts Rotating—Surgery Major Jay Sylvan Cohen Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Urnnus College. B.S.. 1967 Rugby Team 1967-1970 St Mary's Hospital San Francisco. California Rotating Marc Steven Cohen (Carol) Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Temple University, A 8.1967 Phi Delta Epsilon Fraternity Beth Israel Hospital New York. New York Rotating Murray Stephen Cooper (Eileen) Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Droxel Institute of Technology. B-S., 1965 Abington Memorial Hospital Abington. Pennsylvania Rotating Eric Harris Cramer (Janet) Hartford. Connecticut Cornell University. A.B., 1967 Tuscon Hospitals Medical Education Program Tuscon. Arizona Rotating-Pediatric Maior Allen Ross Criswell (Joy) James Creek, Pennsylvania Buckneil University, 8.S.. 1967 Phi Rho Sigma Fraternity Hermann Hospital Houston. Texas Rotating Robert Irving Dennis (Linda) Philadelphia, Pennsylvania University of Pennsylvania, A.8.. 1967 Abington Memorial Hospital Abmgton. Pennsylvania Rotating June Pearson Derrlckton Sun City. Anzona Muhlenberg College, 8.S., 1965 Lankenau Hospital Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Rotating William Steven Dmerman (Judy) WVnnewood, Pennsylvania Muhlenberg College. B.S.. 1967 Photography Staff of SKULL Abmgton Memorial Hospital Abmgton. Pennsylvania Rotating James Andrew Eckenrode Johnstown. Pennsylvania University of Pittsburgh. B.S.. 1967 Alpha Kappa Kappa Fraternity Conemaugh Valley Memorial Hospital Johnstown. Pennsylvania Rotating James Haines Ellison (Susan) Lancaster, Pennsylvania Franklin and Marshall College. B A.. 1967 Freshman Class President Student Council Vice-President Phi Rho Sigma Fraternity New York Hospital New York. New York Straight Surgery Michael Emmett (Rachael) Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Pennsylvania State University. B.S., 1967 Alpha Omega Alpha - President Babcock Surg-.cal Society Alpha Kappa Kappa Fraternity Yale-New Haven Medical Center New Haven. Connecticut Straight Medicine Sandra Lee Eppfey Marysville. Pennsylvania Marietta College. B A.. 1967 Babcock Surgical Society Abmgton Memor-al Hospital Abington. Pennsylvania Rotating Alan Barry Evantash (Marsha) Overbrook Hill . Pennsylvania Cornell University. A B . 1967 Thomas Jefferson University Hospital Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Rotating Edward Chester Fallon, III (Cheril Harnsburg. Pennsylvania Oickmson College, B.S.. 1967 Reading Hospital Reading. Pennsylvania Rotating Eugene Carl Fletcher, Jr. IBonme) Washington. Pennsylvania Washington and Jefferson College. B A . 1967 Alpha Omega Alpha Babcock Surgical Society Phi Rho Sigma Fraternity University of Colorado Affiliated Hospital Denver. Colorado Rotating David Crawford Frame Mt. Lebanon, Pennsylvania Washington University. A.B . 1967 Evanston Hospital Evanston. Illinois Straight Surgery Frederick Coleman Funk, Jr. (Betty! Lancaster. Pennsylvania Gettysburg College, A.B.. 1967 Alpha Kappa Kappa Fraternity Reading Hospital Read-ng Pennsylvania Rotating David Elliot Galtnsky (Jeannel Elkins Park, Pennsylvania Columbia University. A.B., 1967 SAMA-Pres 1970 1971. Treas. 1969 1970 S.U.N.Y. Upstate Medical Center Syracuse. Now York Straight Medicine Nancy Jane Gettes 8ala Cynwyd. Pennsylvania University of Pittsburgh, A.B.. 1965 Montefiore Hospital New York. New York Straight Medicine Kenneth Gordon Gilbert. Jr. (Ruth) Malvern, Pennsylvania Bucknell University, BA. 1967 St Joseph Hospital Denver. Colorado Rotating Charles Donald Gilliland (Judy) New Wilmington, Pennsylvania Bucknell University. B.A.. 1967 Alpha Omega Alpha Babcock Surgical Society - President Temple University Hospital Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Straight Medicine Howard Harvey Ginsburg (Alice) Wyncote. Pennsylvania LaSalle College. B.A.. 1967 Abington Memorial Hospital Abmgton. Pennsylvania Rotating John Lawrence Ginsburg (Marshal Montgomery, Pennsylvania Franklin and Marshall College, B A , 1967 Alpha Kappa Kappa Fraternity Conemaugh Valley Memorial Hospital Johnitown, Pennsylvania Rotating Gail Lynn Gordon San Francisco. California Vassar College. A.B.. 1967 Alpha Omega Alpha Children’s Hospital of Los Angeles Los Angeles, California Straight Pediatrics Earl George Gross Trumansburg. New York Dennison University, B.A.. 1965 Alpha Kappa Kappa-President 1968-1969 Mayo Graduate School of Medicine Rochester. Minnesota Straight Medicine Jon Jerold Hanlon Detroit. Michigan Dartmouth College. A.B., 1967 U.S. Naval Hospital San Diego. California Rotating Brian Louis Hayes (Carol) Philadelphia. Pennsylvania St. Joseph's College, B.S., 1967 Phi Rho Sigma Fraternity Hahnemann Medical College and Hospital Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Straight Medicine David Donald Henley (Ketstml Garrett Park. Maryland University of Maryland. B.S.. 1958 Philadelphia General Hospital Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Rotatmg-Pediatric Major Russell Otterbein Hess. HI iPamelal Springfield, Virginia Haverford College. B.A.. 1967 Alpha Omega Alpha Babcock Surgical Society University Hospitals Madison, Wisconsin Straight Pediatrics Donald William Hitmen (Marge) Lancaster, Pennsylvania University of Scranton. 8.S.. 1967 Phi Rho Sigma Fraternity Allentown Hospital Allentown. Pennsylvania Rotating William George Hoffman (Susan) Allentown. Pennsylvania Muhlenberg College. B.S., 1967 Alpha Omega Alpha Treasurer of Student Council Vice-President of Junior Class Phi Chi Fraternity Hunterdon Medical Center Flemmgton. New Jersey Family Practice Peter Hulac Abington. Pennsylvania Muhlenberg College. B.S., 1967 St. Joseph Hospital Oenver, Colorado Rotating Sylvan Jay Hurewitz (Gail) Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Temple University. A.8.. 1967 Alpha Kappa Kappa Fraternity Pennsylvania Hospital Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Straight Medicine Jay Martin Izes (Lois) Philadelphia. Pennsylvania University of Pennsylvania. A 8.. 1967 Babcock Surgical Society Ph. Delta Epsilon Fraternity Montefiore Hospital New York. New York Straight Pediatrics Robert Morns Jacobson (Joyce) Williamsport. Pennsylvania Purdue University. 8 .S. 1967 Class Historian 8aylor University Medical Center Houston. Texas Rotating James Joseph Jakubchak (Paula) Johnstown. Pennsylvania University of Pittsburgh Presbyterian—University Hospital Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania Straight Medione Russell Hayden Jenkins (Mary Anne) Phoemxville. Pennsylvania W.ikes College. A B-. 1967 Allentown Hospital Allentown. Pennsylvania Rotating John Joseph Kane Pittsburgh. Pennsylvania University of Notre Dame. 8.A.. 1967 Alpha Kappa Kappa Fraternity - Secretary Mercy Hospital Pittsburgh. Pennsylvania Rotating Howard Barry Koffler (Linda) Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Temple University. 8.A., 1967 Phi Rho Sigma Fraternity Memorial Hospital of Long Beach Long Beach. California Rotating Richard Bruce Kohler (Anne) Pon Royal. Pennsylvania Pennsylvania State University. B.S., 1967 Alpha Omega Alpha Babcock Surgical Society Phi Rho Sigma Fraternity Indiana University Medical Center Indianapolis, Indiana Straight Medicine Michael Kenneth Kowalski (Carol) Humlocks Creek. Pennsylvania King’s College, B.S , 1967 Walter Reed Army Hospital Washington. D.C Rotating—Surgery Major Lewis Laurence Kramer (Joyce) Newton. Massachusetts Drake University. B.A., 1967 Photography Staff of SKULL Rhode Island Hospital Providence, Rhode Island Rotating-Medidne Major Leroy Wright Krumperman. Jr. (Christmel Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Washington and Lee University. B.A.. 1967 Phi Chi Fraternity Good Samaritan Hospital Portland. Oregon Rotating James Bennett Lane Philadelphia. Pennsylvania LaSalle College. B A.. 1967 Rugby Team Phi Chi Fraternity York Hospital York. Pennsylvania Rotating Beverly Jane Lange Boon ton, New Jersey Bryn Mawr College. A.B.. 1967 Philadelphia General Hospital Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Straight Pediatrics Kaith Edward Larkin (Adair) Abmgton. Pennsylvania Tempi University. A.B., 1967 Alpha Omega Alpha Babcock Surgical Society Temple University Hospital Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Straight Surgery James Jay Levin Newark, New Jersey Boston University, A.B.. 1967 St. Mary's Hospital San Francisco. California Rotating Joe Michael Lichtman Haddonfield, New Jersey Muhlenberg College. B.S., 1966 Graduate Hospital of the U. of P. Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Routing Richard Arthur Lippm Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Temple University. A.8., 1966 Chestnut Hill Hospital Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Rotating Timothy Fouch Livengh! Philadelphia. Pennsylvania University of Pennsylvania, B.A., 1967 Philadelphia General Hospital Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Rotatmg-Pediatric Major Ira Fred Lobis (Cynthia) Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Temple University. A.B . 1967 Temple University Hospital Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Straight Medicine Harry Joseph Long. Ill (Louise) Tarentum, Pennsylvania University Of Pittsburgh. B.S.. 1967 8abcock Surgical Society U.S. Naval Hospital Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Rotating-Medicme Major Stephen Ludwig (Zdla) Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Pennsylvania State University. 8.S.. 1966 Business Manager of SKULL Phi Delta Epsilon Fraternity Children's Hospital Washington. D.C. Straight Pediatrics John Gary Lund Johnstown, Pennsylvania University of Pittsburgh. B.S.. 1964 Phi Chi Fraternity Parkland Memorial Hospital Dallas. Texas Rotating- Anesthesiology Major Jonathan Kay Malone (Karen) Clarksville. Pennsylvania West Virginia. A.B.. 1967 Alpha Kappa Kappa Fraternity Washington Hospital Washington. D.C. Rotating James Garfield Marks. Jr. (Joyce) Newtown. Pennsylvania W.lkes College. A.8., 1967 Alpha Kappa Kappa Fraternity Geismger Medical Center Danville, Pennsylvania Rotating William James Martucci Brodheadsvilte, Pennsylvania Lehigh University. B.A., 1967 Allentown Hospital Allentown. Pennsylvania Routing Ronald Joseph Mattson (Mary Ann) Holmes. Pennsylvania St Joseph’s College. B.S.. 1967 Secretary of Student Council 1970-1971 Phi Chi Fraternity 8tyn Mawt Hospital Bryn Mawr. Pennsylvania Straight Surgery Robert Lee McGuire (Linda) Vera Cruz, Pennsylvania Muhlenberg College, 8.S.. 1967 Allentown Hospital Allentown. Pennsylvania Rotating Richard Alan Menin (Mans) Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Temple University. A.B., 1967 Alpha Omega Alpha Babcock Surgical Society Photography Ednor of SKULL Phi Delta Epsilon Fraternity - President Medical College of Virginia Hospitals Richmond. Virginia Straight Medicine Brian Allen Miller Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Franklin and Marshall College. B.A.. 1967 Phi Delta Epsilon Fraternity Lankcnau Hospital Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Rotating Michael Wolf Miller Philadelphia. Pennsylvania University of Pennsylvania. A.B.. 1967 Mercy Hospital San Diego. California Rotating Robert Edward Morris Pittsburgh. Pennsylvania Georgetown University. 8.S., 1967 Babcock Surg.cal Society Phi Rho Sgma Fraternity - President Aevculapian Staff Children's Orthopedic Hospital Seattle. Washington Straight Pediatrics Robert Allen Morrow (Phyllis) New Kensington. Pennsylvania Bucknell University. B.S., 1967 Western Pennsylvania Hospital Pittsburgh. Pennsylvania Straight Surgery William Lloyd Mulchm (Mary) Titusville. Pennsylvania Allegheny College. B.S.. 1967 Germantown Dispensary and Hospital Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Rotating Charles Borromao Mulhern, Jr. (Jane) Uppei Darby. Pennsylvania St. Joseph's College. A B., 1967 Phi Xi Fraternity Children's Hospital Cincinnati, Ohio Straight Pediatrics James George Murphy Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Coe College. B.A., 1967 Phi Rho Sigma Fraternity Christian Medical Society U.S. Naval Hospital Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Routing-Medicine Major Frederick Reed Muriaugh (Oe Del Wynnewood. Pennsylvania William and Mary College, B.A., 1966 Clast President 1968 1971 Editor of Sama Newsletter Phi Chi Fraternity North Carolina Memorial Hospital Chapel Hill, North Carolina Straight Surgery Hctherwick Maruice Ntaba I Jane) Blantyre. Malawi Hamilton College. A.8.. 1967 Strong Memorial Hospital Rochester, New York Straight Surgery Roger Douglas Owens (Marty I DuBoise. Pennsylvania Houghton College Alpha Omega Alpha Babcock Surgical Soc.ety Strong Memorial Hospital Rochester. New York Straight Medicine James William Padget. Ill Broomall, Pennsylvania Ursmus College. B.S., 1967 Chestnut Hill Hospital Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Rotating Robert James Patterson (Patricia) Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Temple University, A.B.. 1967 Alpha Omega Alpha Germantown Dispensary and Hospital Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Rotating Steven Jay Peitzman Philadelphia, Pennsylvania University of Pennsylvania. A.B.. 1967 Literary Editor of SKULL S.T.E.V.E.S. Hospital of the Medical College of Penna. Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Straight Medicine Robert Alexander Penman. Jr. (Rosemary) Amherst, Ohio Massachusetts Institute of Technology Mercy Hospiul San Diego. California Routing George Hackman Pfaltzgraff (Cynthia) LaGrange. Indiana Louisiana Slate University. 8.A.. 1965 Good Samaritan Hospital Cincinnati, Ohio Rotating Francis Christopher Plucintky (Pincilla) Cementon. Pennsylvania Bloomsburg State College. B.S.. 1965 Reading Hospital Reading, Pennsylvania Rotating Marc Richmond (Carol) Philadelphia. Pennsylvania University of Pennsylvania. A.B., 1967 Phi Delta Epsilon Fraternity Hoag Memorial Hospital Presbyterian Newport 8«ach. California Family Practice Phillip Roy Robinson (LindaI Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Temple University. A.B.. 1967 Phi Delta Epsilon Fraternity Temple University Hospital Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Straight Medicine Lawrence Donald Romane Hiivertown. Pennsylvania Ursmus College. B.S., 1967 Chestnut Hill Hospital Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Rotating Brad Michael Rothkopf Wyncote, Pennsylvania Johns Hopkins University, B.A.. 1967 Alpha Omega Alpha Babcock Surgical Society University Hospital Boston, Massachusetts Straight Medicine John Charles Scatarige Roslyn, Pennsylvania Pennsylvania State University Medical Choir Abington Memorial Hospital Abington. Pennsylvania Rotating William Charles Schlippert (Callie) Shillington. Pennsylvania . Ursmus College, B.S., 1967 Alpha Omega Alpha Babcock Surgical Society Alpha Kappa Kappa - President 1969-1970 Good Samaritan Hospital Portland. Oregon Straight Medicine Gary Edward Schmtkcr (Claudia) Toledo, Ohio Oberlm College, A B., 1965 Phi Chi Fraternity Abington Memorial Hospital Abington, Pennsylvania Rotating Eugene Robert Schmtzler Bethlehem. Pennsylvania University of Pennsylvania. A B.. 1967 Phi Delta Epsilon Fraternity University of Illinois Hospital Chicago. Illinois Straight Pediatrics Margaret Rose Schreiner Lansdale, Pennsylvania Ursinus College, B.S.. 1967 Abington Memorial Hospit.il Abington, Pennsylvania Rotating Fredric Tobin Serota (Sandy) Philadelphia. Pennsylvania University of Pennsylvania, A.8., B.S.. 1967 Editor of SKULL Children's Hospital of Philadelphia Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Straight Pediatrics Paul Andrew Shanahan I Deborah) Wilmington. Delaware Pennsylvania State University Alpha Omega Alpha Temple University Hospital Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Straight Medicine Gene Mark Shat (Connie) Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Temple University, A.8.. 1967 Phi Rho Sigma Fraternity Children’s Hospital Columbus, Ohio Straight Pediatrics Scott Lewis Silver (Cathy) Philadelphia. Pennsylvania University of Pennsylvania, A.8 , 1967 Alpha Omega Alpha Babcock Suigicjl Society Photography Staff of SKULL Abington Memorial Hospital Abington. Pennsylvania Rotating Dale Victor Sinker (Mon.cal Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Temple University A 8 1967 Phi Delta Epsilon Fraternity-V.P 1969-1970 Albert Einstein Medical Center Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Straight Medicine Peter James Van Giesen flego Park, New York Queens College. B.A.. 1967 Alpha Kappa Kappa Fraternity - Treasurer 1969-1971 York Hospital York, Pennsylvania Rotating Nathan Robert Sklar (Sharon) Bala Cynwyd, Pennsylvania Muhlenberg College, B.S.,‘1967 Alpha Omega Alpha Babcock Surg-cal Society Phi Delta Epsilon Fraternity U.S. Public Health Service Hospital Baltimore, Maryland Rotating Robert David Slama Narberth, Pennsylvania Cornell University. A.B., 1967 Alpha Omega Alpha SAM A - President 1969-1970 Ph. Chi Fraternity Boston City Hospital Boston, Massachusetts Straight Medicine Richard Knapp Spaulding (Polly) Jenkintown, Pennsylvania Temple University. B A.. 1966 Photography Staff of SKULL Gcismger Medical Center Danville, Pennsylvania Rotating Charles Chris Specimen I Diana Lynn) Huntingdon Valley, Pennsylvania Drexel Institute of Technology. B S.. 1967 U.S. Naval Hospital Chelsea. Massachusetts Routmg-Surgery Major James Henry Sutes. II Wexford. Pennsylvania Bucknell University. A B.. 1967 Deaconess Hospital Spokane. Washington Rotating Gary William Stemke Cavalier. North Dakota University of North Dakota. 0.A . 1967 University of Michigan Affiliated Hospitals Ann Arbor. Michigan Straight Medicine John Bispham Stokes. Ill IJackquelynl Moorestown, New Jersey Gettysburgh College. A.8., 1966 Alpha Omega Alpha Babcock Surgical Society Student Council President 1969 1970 8arnes Hospital Si Louis. Missouri Straight Medicine Marshall Darlington Strode (Pat) West Chester, Pennsylvania Ursmus College. B.S., 1967 Alpha Kappa Kappa Fraternity Wilmington Medical Center Wilmington, Delaware Rotating Barry Edward Swartz Atlantic City, New Jersey Dickinson College. B.S.. 1967 Phi Delta Epsilon Ben Taub General-Methodist Hospitals Houston. Texas Straight Surgery Richard Boyd Todhunter (Lynee) Williamsport, Pennsylvania Bucknell University, B.A., 1967 St. Christopher's Hospital for Children Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Straight Pediatrics Alan Richard Varraux (Maigaretl Sharon, Pennsylvania Youngstown University B.S., 1967 Phi Chi Fraternity Mercy Hospital Pittsburgh. Pennsylvania Routing John M. Weilar Erie. Pennsylvania University of Michigan. 8.S., 1967 Alpha Kappa Kappa Fraternity Indiana University Medical Center Indianapolis. Indiana Straight Medicine Howard Eugene Weinstein (Myrna) Philadelphia. Ponnsylania LaSalle College Phi Rho Sigma Fraternity Buffalo General—E. J. Meyer Memorial Hospital Buffalo. New York Straight Medicine Paul Beniamin Weisberg (Joan) Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Temple University. A B . 1966 Phi Delta Epsilon Fraternity Thomas Jefferson University Hospital Philadelphia. Pennsylvania Straight Medicme David George Welch (Mary) Wexford. Pennsylvania Cornell University. B.S.. 1967 St Peter's Hospital Albany. New York Rotating Robert Eric Wenger Philadelphia. Pennsylvania University of Pennsylvania. A B.. 1967 Alpha Omeg3 Alpha Phi Delta Epsilon Fraternity San Francisco General Hospital San Francisco. California Rotating Mary Elizabeth Wilcox Beaver Falls. Pennsylvania Geneva College. B S., 1967 Kaiser Foundation Hospital Oakland. California Straight Pediatrics Reginald Gaylord Williams. Jr. (Karen) Ishpemmg. Michigan Drake University. B A., 1967 Deaconess Hospital Spokane, Washington Routing Paul Richard Woody. Jr. (Jane) Wyncote. Pennsylvania University of Pennsylvania. A.8., 1967 Phi Chi Fraternity Mercy Hospital San Diego. California Rotating William Leonard Yingling (Lois) York, Pennsylvania Susquehanna University. A.B., 1967 Conomaugh Valley Memorial Hospital Johnstown, Pennsylvania Family Practice Hams Stanley Silverman Lancaster, Pennsylvania Franklin and Marshall College Alpha Kappa Kappa Mt Zion Hospital San Francisco. California Rotating Mary Eleanor Toms Haddonfield. New Jersey College of St Elizabeth. B S.. 1962 Children's Hospital Medical Center Boston, Massachusetts Pediatric Pathology I X Terry Angstadt Jerry Aquino Kenneth Baker William Bakken Peter Barbour James Berman Michael Bernstein Douglas F. Berry Richard Blum Kenneth Borow Charles Bova Hugh Brallier Gary Brazina Thomas Burkholder Jerome Buzas Gergory Call Elaine Carrol Samuel Clayton Thomas Cliff Daniel Coller Anthony Comerota James Conklin Mark Creager Charles Cutler Elizabeth Danish David Deibert Liberatus De Rosa John De Triquet Michael Dietz Richard Ditlow, Jr. Michael Dolchin John Duda Lynne Dumin David Eppehimer Arthur Ersner Michael Ervin Ted Eshbach Frank Famiano Gary Finkelstein David Fischer Pau Fong Alan Forstater Barry Friedberg Ralph Gallo Joseph Gastinger FRESHMAN Charles German Robert Ginsburg Steven Goldberg John Gottlieb Edward Grant Bernard Grossman Juergen Haase James Haley Robert Hallermeier, Jr. Sandra Harmon Kenneth Harris Robert Harrison Peter Harveson Jack Henriquez Paul Hermann Bruce Hershock Deborah Heverly John Hoeveler Bruce Hoffman Gerald Honigman William Hooper Robert Houlihan Steven Israel Carol Jakubowski John Franklin Jones Herbert Katz John Kean Stuart Kendall Peter King William Knorr Glenn Kratzer Joel Kremer Kenneth Kreye John Kristofic Joseph Kurtz, Jr. Frederick Kurtzman Geoffry Kusch Jonathan Lawrence Mark Leadbetter Ronald Lebman Michael Leicht Robert Levitt William Lombard Robert Long John Marcello William Markmann Thomas Marsland John J. McCormick Brian McIntosh Rosemary McIntyre Delphine McMaster Scott Melnick Paul Metzger Robert Meyer J. Harold Mohler David Moll Vernon Morris Frederick Nahas Robert Nitzberg Daniel Norman Wilson Otero Samuel Palpant Pete Panzer John Pappas John Parenti David Peet, Jr. Patrick Pellecchio Janet Perry Richard Peterson James Pressler Peter Racciato David Rafalko Donald Renaldo Ellen Rigterink Leroy Roberts Stephen Roman Michael Romash Randy Rosenberg Jeffrey Rosett Stephen Rossner Charles Rost Victor Rudkin Francis Salerno Sheldon Zitman SOPHOMORES � ! un jnl Lawrence Albert James B. Albrecht Florida G. Aranda Robert J. Baird William A. Baldino Ronald E. Ballek Jacqueline D. Barbour Michael S. Barnett John F. Barnoski Michael R. Bartos Dennis M. Beck Robert N. Belasco Stephen C. Belich Jean P. Bello Thomas P. Bern Robert Benjamin Peter H. Bennett Jack M. Bert Jeffery I. Blake Herbert L. Blatt Cynthia K. Boice David S. Brody Warren A. Broocker Paul E. Brubaker Robert D. Burgess David R. Campbell Michael D. Caplan Blase A. Carabello Raymond J. Casciari Dora 0. Chizea William A. Colom, Jr. John A. Contino John M. Daly Kenneth J. D'Appolonia Louis A. DiNicola Thomas H. Dittman Bruce H. Dobkin Harry Drasin Howard L. Elefant David M. Englander Anthony J. Fedullo James W. Feussner Richard D. Fields Jay G. Friedberg Neal M. Friedman Marian Garcia Thomas L. Garthwaite Lawrence A. Gilbert Anthony R. Giorgio Lawrence Gordon Ronald C. Goren Gary P. Gottlieb Ronald C. Gove John L. Grady Geoffrey E. Greene Michael B. Gross Linda A. Haegele John J. Harding Douglas P. Harr James E. Heder David E. Herman Lawrence M. Hoepp Thomas V. Holohan Joel A. Horowitz Jonathan E. Hottenstein Thomas A. Howe Douglas A. Howell Gary C. Jackson John C. Jageman Jerry D. Jamison Angela F. Jannelli Linda Joe Craig H. Johnson Howard J. Johnson George A. Jolly Sheldon B. Kali Terry Kanefsky Norman P. Karmilowicz Michael Kastenbaum Christopher J. Keats Rhonda M. Kessler Vance E. Kilmore, Jr. Michael J. Klein Neil S. Kostick Clark E. Kramer Paul S. LaFollette, Jr. David B. Larson Robert LeBow Roy J. Lehman, II Larry W. Leininger Joseph B. Lennert Michael A. Leopold Larry M. Litt Jerry C. Luck, Jr. Wayne Y. H. Lum John W. Lyons, III Clifford N. Mickens Beverly A. Mikuriya Clarke T. Miller, Jr. Keith R. Mills Charles R. Minehart Vincent J. Moffitt Morry Moskovitz Matthew B. Naegle David D. Newcomer Steven F. Noskow Matthew E. Ochs William F. Owen John J. Pell David A. Piacente Edmund P. Popielarski Leif Rasmussen Grafton D. Reeves Neal R. Reisman Ty A. Salness Ralph S. Sando Gregory L. Saue Richard A. Schollaert Marjorie E. Schramm Joseph Scornavacchi Judith J. Shallow William Dayton Shelly Barry Shurman Mollie M. Shoop Bruce J. Silverberg Morton L. Silverman John Skiendzielewski Erastus Smith, Jr. Randall N. Smith David J. Spurrier Thomas K. Stempel Craig R. Sussman Martha Turner A. Lewis Vadheim Paul I. Valove Terry E. Wahl Albert A. Weiss Burton S. Weiss Jack S. Weiss Stephen M. Weiss Laurence D. Wellikson Otha E. Williams Arlene Yong Ronald A. Zerofsky Vaughan A. Allen Verne E. Allen Robert A. Anderson Ronald F. Asper Robert D. Baker, Jr. William F. Ballay David A. Baram John D. Becker John G. Bennett James W. Berry, Paul A. Bluestein Joseph A. Blum Danielle B. Boal Richar J. Boal James R. Bollinger David Bromberg Lee W. Buckwalter Thomas J. Casey Leslie E. Cashel Richard A. Close David L. Cohen George S. Cook Gerald R. Crabtree Richard A. Crass Joseph J. Curci Douglas D. Ditmars Richard G. Dudley Valdis A. Dzintars Jon Michael Eager William J. Elberson Joseph L. Eremus John L. Esterhai, Sr. Roy G. Farrell Alan J. Feldman Arthur E. Feldman Mark Feldman Francis W. Ford Harvey R. Forman Steven Fox Leo G. Frangipane, Jr. William O. Frank Clarence L. Freed Bennett N. Gaev Arnold K. Gash Stephen J. Gergatz David Getson Thomas J. Gibson Paul M. Goodman Charles T. Grad Ronald B. Greene Kenneth R. Guistwite Thomas H. Gulick Gregory D. Hall John S. Halsey Terry L. Haney E. Keith Hansen Cynthia Harrison John C. Heisey, Jr. Gerald L. Helinek, Jr. Eileen C. Helzner Clarence A. Holland, Jr. Robert D. Hower Patricia B. Humphries Richard E. Johns, Jr. David S. Johnson Raymond A. Johnson, Jr. Bruce A. Kaiser Donald R. Kamens Joseph J. Kandra Daniel M. Kane David S. Kim Philip J. Klemmer George M. Kosco Sonia M. Kowalski Richard A. Krause Eric Kraut John J. Kravitz Robert Kricun Beryl B. Lawn Arthur N. Leibowitz Leonard S. Lichtenstein James E. Lockey Joseph M. Lynch, Jr. John R. Maloney Walter H. Maloney, Jr. Stephen C. Manus Harry G. Markow Qarlos R. Martinez Barbara E. Marzocchi Eugene M. Mayer Raymond J. Mayewski Mary J. McDowell Michael H. Mellon Hugh D. Melnick Bruce J. Menkowitz Ralph S. Milner Steven N. Mink Richard A. Mones David G. Mong Walter L. Mulchin Geoffrey S. Mwaungulu Anthony M. Nespola Daniel L. Newhall Nathan M. Noznesky Joseph T. O'Flaherty John P. Pagana Robert W. Page Charles E. Pappas Helene Pavlov John L. Pennock Stephen R. Permut Steven A. Pickert Arthur H. Popkave Robert R. Raskowski Ronald W. Reed Roger A. Rockower Robert A. Roethe Michael Relnick Anthony J. Ross Ralph A. Rossi, Jr. Ronald N. Rubin Lawrence M. Russell Carol A. Sachs Jerome Santoro Alan J. Schwartz Susan E. Sestini Frederick T. Sherman Robert L. Silverberg Kenneth R. Sladkin Jay M. Sosenko Robert Stanek Manfred E. Trostel Thomas W. Tucker, II Wilbur C. Tucker Barry F. Uretsky John T. Van den Bosch Robert B. Wagner William C. Waterfield David K. Webb Kenneth H. Wells Nathaniel Wiesenfeld Barry S. Wilderman Donald J. Williams Robert S. Wimmer Brooke M. Wolf Lawrence Y. Young Charles Zugerman JUNIORS underclassmen HERBERT M. STAUFFER, M.D. APRIL 26, 1914 DECEMBER 18, 1970 FACULTY, PARENTS AND FRIENDS Dr. Mrs. Henry Baird Dr. Mrs. Emil Bartos James A. Batts, M.D. C. T. Bello, M.D. Dr. Mrs. John R. Benson Richard D. Berkowitz, M.D. Milton Berman Gustavus C. Bird, III, M.D. Mr. Mrs. William K. Boice Dr. Mrs. John K. Bradlier, Jr. James D. Brown Mr. Mrs. Liborio Butera Rev. Mrs. H. Carl Buterbaugh Dr. Mrs. Charles A. Carabello William Y. Chey, M.D. May M. Cliff, M.D. Robert V. Cohen, M.D. Harold L. Coller K. B. Conger, M.D. Mr. Mrs. Kenneth R. Cundy Dr. Mrs. James Day Sharon Denny Dr. Mrs. Angelo M. DiGeorge James B. Donaldson, M.D. Thomas M. Durant, M.D. Mr. Mrs. John L. Esterhai, Sr. Patricia A. Eyrich, M.D. Mrs. Anthony J. Fedullo William G. Figueroa, M.D. Dr. Mrs. Albert J. Finestone H. Keith Fischer, M.D. Eugene G. Fletcher Milton Friedberg Mrs. F. Coleman Funk, Sr. Dr. Mrs. Morris D. Galinsky Mr. Mrs. Charles Gallo Dr. William F. Gefter Bernard C. Gettes, M.D. I. W. Ginsburg, M.D. Harry Goldberg, M.D. Dr. Mrs. Richard R. Grove, Jr. G. R. Haase, M.D. Dr. Mrs. Robert H. Hamilton Dr. Mrs. John J. Hanlon Mr. Mrs. Michael Harakal Dr. Mrs. J. S. C. Harris Mr. Mrs. Gerard Helineck Mr. Mrs. V. T. Holohan John Franklin Huber, M.D. Mr. Mrs. Leo Hurewitz Dr. Mrs. Philip Jacobson Waine C. Johnson, M.D. Mr. J. Joseph Kandra Edward J. Kane Mr. Mrs. John J. Kane Dr. Lester Karafin Max Katz, M.D. Norman Kendall, M.D. Dr. Mrs. A. Richard Kendall Dr. Richard A. Kern John A. Kirkpatrick, Jr., M.D. Morton Klein Raymond E. Knauff, Ph.D. Paul A. Knorr Irena Koprowska, M.D. Amile A. Korangy, M.D. Mr. Mrs. Theodore Kraut Charles H. Kravitz, M.D. Mr. Mrs. Martin Kremer Dr. Mrs. L. W. Krumperman John W. Lachman. M.D. Paul S. LaFollette, M.D. Lillian Landau R. Laverne Landis, M.D. Dr. Mrs. Marc S. Lapayowker Mr. Mrs. Harry J. Larkin E. V. Lautsch, M.D. Norman Learner, M. D. Mr. Mrs. Louis Levin Walter J. Levinsky, M.D. Mr. Mrs. Maurice J. Lichtman Mr. Edward L. Lombard Mr. Mrs. Harry J. Long Stanley H. Lorber, M.D. Dr. Mrs. Jerry C. Luck Mr. Mrs. A. E. Ludwig P. C. Lund Donald N. MacVicar Victor J. Marder, M.D. Dr. Mrs. John Martucci Mr. Mrs. John J. McCormick Dr. Mrs. Stewart McCracken Dr. Mrs. M. McDonough Mr. Mrs. John C. McDowell Mendelsohn-Lubeck Co. C. O. Laura Meng Dr. Mrs. Mon Doo Fong Family Roger D. C. Morris Frederick Murtagh, M.D. Mr. Mrs. Warren L. Newcomer Leonard N. Norcia Chas. M. Norris, M.D. Mr. Mrs. Quay Owens Mr. Mrs. Harry C. Page Dr. Mrs. Charles A. Papacostas Morton D. Pareira, M.D. Mr. Mrs. John Parenti Dr. Mrs. A. R. Peale Lorenzo Rodriquez Peralta, M.D. Max L. Ruth E. Permut Dr. Mrs. Steven J. Phillips Mr. Mrs. L. S. Popkave Robert S. Pressman, M.D. Dr. Mrs. Marcus M. Reidenberg George M. Rhodes Mr. Mrs. Jack Robinson Theodore Rodman, M.D. Dr. Fred B. Rogers S. Rolnick George P. Rosemond. M.D. Dr. Mrs. Ralph A. Rossi, Sr. Dr. Mrs. Henry Rothkopf Mr. Mrs. Samuel Scatarige Mr. Mrs. Robert Schlippert Dr. Mrs. Maurice A. Schnitker H. M. Schreiner, M.D. Dr. Mrs. Michael Scott Catherine B. Scully Mr. Mrs. Samuel Serota Mr. Sam Shtofman M. S. Sibinga, M.D. Sidco Paper Co. Hano A. Siegel, M.D. Henry R. Sklar, Esq. Dr. Mrs. Richard V. Smalley Dr. Mrs. Hugo Dunlap Smith Renate L. Soulen, M.D. Dr. Mrs. Earle H. Spaulding Mr. Mrs. Sterling Spielman Dr. Mrs. Leroy H. Stahlgren Section of Plastic Surgery Sidney S. Sussman Mr. Mrs. Martin Swartz Dr. Mrs. Daniel Tenenberg A Friend Charles W. Thompson Dr. Joseph U. Toglia Mr. Mrs. William E. Toms Dr. Raymond C. Truex Dr. Thomas W. Tucker R. Robert Tyson, M.D. P. M. Wapner, M.D. Dr. Sidney Weinhouse Mr. Mrs. George A. Welch Mary P. Wiedeman, Ph.D. Naomi Wimmer Lewis R. Wolf, M.D. Dr. Mrs. Leonard Zubrzycki Congratulations on achieving your M.D. Degree Wc arc indeed happy and proud that you are about to become fellow members of a most exclusive organization. Our medical school has an outstanding teaching staff, curriculum, and student body, and the single most important source of energy for sustaining that fine edge of excellence is that group of M.D.’s who appreciate the distinction of being Temple University School of Medicine alumni. The Medical Alumni Association of Temple University Compliments WITH BEST WISHES TO THE CLASS OF 1971 FROM THE FACULTY OF THE DEPARTMENT OF MEDICINE THE BOARD OF MANAGERS AND STAFF OF ST. CHRISTOPHER’S HOSPITAL FOR CHILDREN continuing medical education Springfield Hospital Medical Center Springfield, Massachusetts ZAMSKY STUDIOS 1007 MARKET STREET PHILADELPHIA 7, PA. OFFICIAL PHOTOGRAPHERS Negatives of portraits appearing in this annual are kept on file. Photographs may be ordered. Partners in Health You... QUAKER CITY VENDING COMPANY, INC. CHESTNUTANDWATER STS. COLWYN-DARBY, PA. Your Hospital... Your Doctor... Blue Cross... Blue Shield... Blue Cross of Greater Philadelphia Pennsylvania Blue Shield COMPLIMENTS OF STRODE’S AUSAGE CRAPPLE CONEMAUGH VALLEY MEMORIAL HOSPITAL JOHNSTOWN, PENNSYLVANIA 1970-HOUSE STAFF-1971 William H. Bowers, M.D Dwight A. Kauffman, M.D. Nathan 0. Thomas. M.D. Dorryl Lee Buck, Jr., M.D. Robert Cantor, Jr.. M.D. Gerald L. Meester, M.D. John J. Vecchio, M.D. Robert H. Tomhave. M.D William M. Cseh. M.D Gregory Sobczak. M.D. William R. Wynert. M.D ROTATING INTERNSHIPS Best Wishes DEPARTMENT OF PSYCHIATRY TEMPLE UNIVERSITY HEALTH SCIENCES CENTER THE WASHINGTON HOSPITAL WASHINGTON, PA. 15301 Internship (general rotating) organized as a year of teaching experience, both clinical and didactic. Strong planned program plus regular Departmental and Staff meetings. Over 16.000 admissions-2,000 births per year All Patients in Teaching Program Large Out-Patient Load Attractive working conditions and policies. Modern facilities provide 629 beds including Neuropsychiatric Unit, Intensive Care Unit and all other Departments and equipment and an Extended Care Facility Unix of 92 beds. Adequate remuneration; attractive furnished quarters for both married and single interns. For more information, write the Chairman of the Intern Program. Personal visits to the hospital are welcomed and encouraged. ucrv A I From its beginning, the purpose of Temple University has been to furnish an education to deserving young men and women. The visionary and dedicated work of the founder. Russell H. Conwell, alone led to the founding and early growth of Temple University. When 3 small group requested his help in securing an education, Russell H Conwell embarked on the purposeful course of work and self-sacrafice that led to the great university of today. His words and deeds through the years serve still as guideposts of Temple University. Many fields of study lead to the businesses and professions of our country. Temple University has contributed to these with distinction, and with the realization that a university is great only as its graduates are great. The obligations of a university to its students, the community and the nation are many, and Temple University strives always to fulfill these obligations. The well-trained, conscientious studont of Temple University may go forth confident of his ability to meet the challenges of his chosen career. Temple University congratulates the men and women of this graduating class. BEST OF LUCK TO THE CLASS OF 1971 FROM THE SKULL STAFF ITS OVER. WILL TOMORROW BE THE SAME? library TEMPLE UNIVERSITY HEALTH SCIENCES CENTER DEAR DIARY BY RAY THOMAS. copy 2 1971 library temple university HEAITU SCIENCES CENTER TCMrLC IjNIV l-ftSI TY SCHOOI Of Ml niciNt