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

Page 19 text:

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.

Page 18 text:

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 !

Page 20 text:

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?