Wake Forest School of Medicine - Gray Matter Yearbook (Winston Salem, NC)

Page 9 text:

ILLN ESS The Voice of the Turtle led us from the land of the living, and our greasy fingers turned forty pages a day while they performed the most thorough strip show on earth. Spirits ran high as we excavated the gore of the dead, for this was the true initiation Pleasure soon became a serious pursuit, and among Phi Chi, Phi Rho, and Saturday Afternoon Drinking Society members the word 'biochem- istryu meant an emulsion of sex and alcohol. This was the Colden Age of beer barrels and cigar swallowing and improvised poems by Holland. The Thomps was at large, and now respectable scholars then answered to Hungry, 'KLappy, Poochy, and Dad, The Demon Docs was a team that wore academic supporters and won Pity trophies. Yeah, I know it's working. but where does the gin come out?,' I dc Roosevelt 8llf'KVLlf'.l, vnlt knowg mavlw l woulalnt recognize Klrs. Restful moments of relaxation were always greatly cherished. ! K 4' J e, 'Z . , .- Y f X ,,, . P XI X vi -4 3 f 2 I .4 s - , , s 1 5. xx! X. . . 7 C , X Nr- 1 !S,X

Page 8 text:

rf ka? 'fl gusto and fire. 'AHere coachg take our money. PRESENT This is the last willful admission of the Class of '59-a body of full term fetal physicians about to precipitate upon the outside world. Onset of this condition dates to about four years ago when with our own hot, sweaty little hands, trembling with enthusiasm, we planted ourselves in this Womb of the Medical Arts. First came the pre- cynical years. Solemnly we busied ourselves urinating in large brown bottles, starving little white mice, and muttering wisely about the in- feriority of the sodium ion. This academic serenity was temporarily broken when young John Hines breathed himself into alkalosis-a medical reality in our world of ping pong and polypeptides. VVatch it, Hines! How about holding that Wh it does it say on the next page, Kimel? I think I see bone. bottle a little closerlv S

Page 10 text:

In the OPD, things once held inconceiv- able quickly became routine. At last! A classic case of the dreaded navel lint diseaselu As Sophs we leamed to tell which end of Mrs. Roosevelt resembled a josh Tumage cell, and other more specific matters. The blight hit us all, Claude had Hodgkins, Quinn had heart attacks, and Kimel became a Giant Wheal-curs- ing Flemming all the way. We suffered through treadmills, tilt-tables, and dog- blood baths to the tune of guffaws from down the hall. It was a very bad year for rabbits, and our flawless surgery sped many a bunny away from the cares of this world. Suddenly we had reached the age of clinical puberty, and were cut adrift on the wards, seemingly without a paddle. The pa- tients were real and ours to poke and ponder. Having extracted all their juices, we withdrew to the joys of smearing blood, boiling urine, poling about in feces, and all such manner of sport. The natural history of history-taking: As sophomores . . . As juniors . .