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

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?

Page 22 text:

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