I clearly remember my parents dropping me off at college for the first time in Fall of 1961. As we drove up the driveway leading to the campus I was very nervous. Little did I know I would be driving up that same road 30 years later with my oldest son as he began his college career. I laugh now at all the preparation that students and parents go through choosing a college. Campus visits and interviews all over the country are commonplace now, but for me, that day was my first sight of the college. There would be no choices or discussions; this was it and like it or not I would have to make the best of it. With my own sons we toured New England several times looking for the right school for them. We then began to unpack the car and deliver my bags to the dormitory. It was there I would meet my roommates and their families for the first time. We would get to know each other very well over the next four years. Once my things were unpacked, we headed to the car for our goodbye. My parents were strong people, but I could see the tears in their eyes and mine as they drove away and I would have the same feelings again with my son in the future.
I initially had two other roommates and we all were Pre-Med majors. Another roommate joined us the next day. He was a tall, seven foot boy from Massachusetts. When we asked him what his major was, he told us he was there to play basketball. Our college was well known around the country for having great basketball teams. I imagine the school had placed him with us so he might see that there was more to college than playing basketball. And fortunately for him, he did and he eventually would graduate with a degree rather than most of his teammates who just receive certificates of attendance.
Our first few days were filled with getting to know each other and finding our way around the campus. We all were confused and homesick and it showed. We were from different states, different backgrounds and had never been away from home before. I found it a little more difficult because I was the only one who did not have brothers or sisters. So I was used to living alone and I initially felt that my space was definitely being violated. Our room was small, dirty, barren and something we would definitely have to work on. The bathroom was down the hall and that was another community situation I would have to get used to.The next hurdle was to find our way around the campus and its many buildings. Classrooms were scattered all around and our maps of the campus were put to good use. But after a few days, we eventually found out where we had to go to eat and where the classrooms were located. Our first major accomplishment was done.
After a few days the loneliness really set in. I knew I would miss home but I didn't know how much. I was confused, lonely and frightened that this college thing was not for me. Many nights I cried myself to sleep wondering why I left my family and friends. Then our classes began and I really got frightened. My first class was held in an amphitheater in the science building. We were addressed by the chairman of the biology department who promptly told us to look at the student on either side of us and that only one of us would graduate from the department. The rest of us would eventually switch into different programs or leave college all together. And he was right. He was a stern man with gray hair and we knew he would not tolerate any nonsense. I left the room wondering what I got myself into and whether I was going to be the one of the three left after four years. I was really scared. For the purpose of the story I will refer to him as Father Righteous. Over the years, I would get to know this priest very well and his hardshell began to dissolve. It was his way of weeding out those who did not have what it took to succeed and he did a very good job of it in a short period of time. He and I would have a run-in after the first semester that would help to shape my life and I am forever thankful to him. So there I was in a strange city, hundreds of miles away from home, lonely, and frightened to death. Welcome to college son .
In order to fulfill my obligations to the track team my days began very early. At 5 AM we were out running around the campus just to develop our stamina. Stamina? What I needed was sleep. Then back to the room to shower as my new friends were just getting up. All except for the athlete who didn't see the light of day usually until around noon. Classes began around 8 AM and went until 4 PM. After that I was off to the track for more running for another two or three hours. Following dinner it was back to the room or library to study until around midnight. The schedule would take a toll on me and the first to suffer was studying. Several nights I fell asleep in the library and spent the evening there until it closed and I was awakened to walk back to my room.
My freshman year classes consisted of botany, chemistry, algebra, English, religion, and psychology. It now seems just as painful writing about it as it was studying it. By the end of the first semester, I was just floundering in my major and I was then that Father Righteous and I had our memorable meeting. I got a D+ in Botany and I was called to his office. As I sat across from him, I knew this was not going to be pleasant. He had a scowl on his face that I can still see today. He looked up from the papers in his hand and said "Pieter, I think your interests lie in something other than this major." I think you should switch into some other major now before you waste more of your time and mine. I was devastated and my hands began to shake. I said "Father, you are mistaken and I will show you I can do better." After a few minutes of trying to compose myself, I told him that I was not going to quit. He said okay, but I have warned you. “I think you are putting off the inevitable. However, I am going to give you a second chance. Good luck, my son,” he said as I walked out of his office. That meeting has lived with me my entire life. It gave me the determination I needed to fight for and succeed at what I wanted. Eight years later, I sent him a copy of my diploma from medical school and I received a short note back from him. "Pieter, occasionally I make mistakes, congratulations and I'm very proud of you." I can't begin to tell you what that man did for me and what it meant to me to receive his response. He passed away several years ago and I cried when I heard the news. He was one of the first of many special people in my life and I am so grateful even to this day to have met him. May God rest his soul.
I knew I had to concentrate more on studying now and I did. I was beginning to settle into college life but, most of all, I was learning how to study for the first time in my life. The second semester went by quickly and my marks were better in every subject. Thank God, no further invitations to meet with Father Righteous. I would occasionally meet him in the halls and he would tell me to keep up the good work I was doing. "I'm still watching you, young man," he would say. My roommates and I were getting along very well by now and our friendships grew over the years. I would even go on to room with one of them in medical school. All three of us went on to become doctors, but I'm sad to say I don't know what happened to the athlete.
The rest of my college years went by quickly. I also did well running track until sophomore year when I fell through our outdoor wooden track and severed the Achilles tendon in my foot. So my running career came to a dramatic sudden ending. So did the scholarship, which meant that my parents would have to pay the entire tuition themselves. They never complained, however, just worked a little harder to pay the bills. The studying was coming much easier as I progressed through such subjects as Anatomy, Physiology, Biochemistry, Physical chemistry, and numerous other liberal arts courses. I remember being so diligent about studying that, for Christmas break, I decided to bring my little sand shark home to study and get ahead with its dissection. I came home from New England on a Greyhound bus and you should've seen the face of the bus driver when he opened the baggage compartment and a rather horrible smell came out. I didn't have the heart to tell him what was in the bag, but he said that he thought whatever was inside had died. How right he was! The remainder of my sophomore and junior years were uneventful except I was really starting to enjoy college life as you will see maybe a little too much. Our basketball team, including our roommate, had very successful seasons and went on to win the National Invitation Tournament (NIT) my junior year. I was able to attend the final game in New York City and the celebration afterward was just wild, I think. About the only thing I remember was being asked to come down off a traffic light pole by a police officer in Times Square. I'm sure my children will love reading this and a few other stories I am about to relate.
There were other episodes in college that for the sake of you not thinking my life was dull I feel I must include. The first of which is the bowling ball story. The floors in our dormitories were very long with rooms off the main hallway. At the end of the hallway on both ends were rooms for the priests who were in charge of that particular floor. We had one particular priest who was quite rotund and, frankly, was not well-liked by most of us. He was very strict and insisted on enforcing curfews. Now, mind you back in those days it was an all male institution. That has changed now and, several years later it became co-ed. Thankfully, for my son but too late for me and my friends. Anyway, because we were not going to be future candidates for the priesthood, we spent weekends searching for girls at nearby colleges. And when we were occasionally successful in meeting someone 11 PM was much too early to go back to campus. Well that priest would stake out the dormitory and he was notorious for catching us coming in late, sometimes sober and sometimes not. So one night we were going to reward him for all the times he would confine us to campus after one of our little escapades. We took a bowling ball and a billiard ball to the opposite end of the long hallway from his room. After we had ascertained that he had returned to his room, one night we decided that it was payback time. First the billiard ball was launched down the hall followed shortly thereafter by the bowling ball. It worked beautifully. After that billiard ball struck his door with a loud crash, he opened it just in time to have the bowling ball collide with his legs. He went down like a rack of bowling pins. So you are probably wondering what the punishment was for that little fiasco. Well, we were laughing so hard we forgot to run and hide therefore we were caught and confined to the campus for a month. It was well worth it for I still can picture him going down to this day. Actually he loosened up a little after this and I kind of think he got a kick out of it himself, if you’ll pardon the pun.
The next story is in honor of the Mad Screamer. I am sure that all college campuses have their own local traditions and folklore but this one I feel is quite amusing. Here is the revelation about one of ours. Around midterm and final exam time, the campus for weeks is very silent with everyone studying. The tension is quite thick and some wonderfully bright student came up with an idea to help lighten things up a little. There was a tradition that was passed down through the years that a person or persons known as the Mad Screamer would suddenly be heard around the campus, yes, you guessed it, with a bloodcurdling scream at the top of his lungs followed by “I can't take it anymore." That late-night event had become a well anticipated occurrence on our campus. Now, I'm not sure who came up with this wonderful tension breaker, but I know firsthand that it was perpetuated while I was at the school. I know that the upperclassmen were aware of it so, undoubtedly, it had been going on for a while before we arrived on campus. Those who were involved considered it their sacred duty to make sure this tradition would live on. Those involved also had to go to great lengths to make sure that they would not get caught. The priests who were in charge of discipline must've gone out of their minds trying to find the person or persons who were guilty of this heinous offense of the college's behavior code. As one particular Dean of Discipline personally got very involved, he actually was bestowed the honor of receiving a phone call from the Mad Screamer one night. He was so incensed he actually went so far as to include it in the student handbook that this type of behavior would not be tolerated and, if the person or persons would be caught, they would be dealt with severely. I know for a fact that several of the priests made it their personal crusade to catch the Mad Screamer and bring the heathen to justice. They probably competed among themselves over who would actually apprehend the screamer. However, as far as I know, the heathen or heathens were never apprehended. My son informed me the Mad Screamer could still be heard on campus at exam time during his years at the college except it was now called the Civ Scream. I was very happy to know that the tradition was carried on. Some things are so sacred hopefully they will never die. If this leads you to the conclusion that I was personally involved, I will neither confirm nor deny any knowledge of it. I will leave it to you to form your own conclusions as to whether I was or was not the Mad Screamer, one of his faithful assistants, or not involved at all.
As with most college students there was a time when I began to experiment with alcohol. Yes I mean experiment because, after all, I was studying to be a scientist and experiment we must. I think before I arrived on campus I had actually taken one sip of beer but that was it. Now it was time to become more familiar with the Spirits de Fermenti. While I don't want you to think that I became a drunk, though that may be open to debate, I did make sure I was very familiar with how much alcohol it would take to make me feel good and also how much it would take to make me sick. There were times when I either intentionally or unintentionally overshot the mark. I distinctly remember spending much of an evening becoming good buddies with a toilet bowl. Fortunately my stomach usually would remind me when I overdid it. I eventually learned when to stop before the heebie-jeebies set in. Some of my friends who also were away from home for the first time did not learn when to stop and many definitely had alcohol problems or, eventually, I would imagine became alcoholics. Fortunately drug use at the time was almost unheard of. There was some marijuana use, but it was pretty rare. My one memorable night with alcohol excess occurred in my junior year. A small group of us decided that after midterm exams we deserved to celebrate. For several hours God only knows how long we celebrated. We were smart enough to bring along a designated driver to get us back to the campus first of all safely and, second, before the dreaded curfew. The parking lot where we were allowed to park our cars behind our dorm was quite a bit lower than the entrance. There was a stairway from the lower parking lot to the dorm which was very narrow and probably around 20 or 25 stairs in all to get to the top. I was the last to exit the car and I knew I was not going to make it up the stairway. While I sat and deliberated how to get to the top because my friends had already gone up, I must've fallen asleep. So much for meeting the curfew. When I awoke, I had the brilliant idea to try and scale the slope instead of the stairs to get to the dorm. Slowly I began to work my way up the hill on all fours. After quite a while and several attempts, mind you I was thrilled to make it to the top. At that point I was met by, you guessed it the Dean of Discipline. I was shocked that he just helped me up and took me to my room where he found several other bodies strewn on the floor and in beds. When we awoke from our drunken stupor we thought for a minute we had escaped any punishment. Our hopes were dashed when we discovered a note on the inside of the door that we were to report to the Dean's office at 9 AM. Again, I was sure that my goal of becoming a physician was over. Together we all reported on time and even a little early to find out what our punishment would be. I was the last to be called in, so I had plenty of time to reflect on my fate. As I walked in, I was told to sit down and he said that I was moving a little better than the night before. He told me he was appalled by my behavior. Here you are, a bright Pre-Med student, who I found slithering along the ground like some reptile. I fought to hold back a chuckle as I imagined what a great sight it must've been. He told me he was disappointed in my behavior and he personally was going to inform my parents. I thought the next words were going to be adios from the college because drunken behavior was not tolerated. Instead, I was again confined to campus for a month and told if I was caught again I would be asked to leave the school. So much for experimenting with alcohol. One of my friends was not so lucky as he had been caught before and he was dismissed from the college. I felt terrible for him but my next concern was what my parents would say. Fortunately, they too only expressed their disappointment in me. It certainly paid to have a clean prior record. Once again, I have had another close call that could have ended my career plans. So, in many ways, my college years were a rocky road but, eventually, I grew up and realized that I better shape up or I was not going to achieve my goal of going to medical school.
My roommates and I decided that if we worked in the school infirmary we would get a little more of a taste of what medicine was all about. So my roommates and I sans athlete all moved to a different dorm where the infirmary was located. Our room was next to the infirmary and, when it was not staffed by the doctor or nurse, we were in charge. This was just a smattering of what my life hopefully was going to be and I was thrilled. I would sit there behind the desk making believe patient after patient came in and I would listen to their problems and try to figure out how to make them well. I got to talk to the physicians about the training and life of a doctor. Some were PC graduates who years before stood where I was. Dentists were on our staff also as well as nurses. All helped me to nurture my decision to become a physician and it was from them that I received the encouragement and a small idea of what I was about to embark on. They were quite blunt about what it would take. But they also let me know that it was possible if I really had the desire, knowledge, and dedication.
I also worked in one of the local hospitals both as a volunteer and in the medical records department where I received a small stipend. The positions also help me to understand more about the place I would spend the rest of my life. Each added small but important pieces leading up to taking the next big step to medical school. I enjoyed working in the hospital very much. It was taking me one more step towards my goal. Little by little my decision was being reinforced that this was really what I wanted to do. Now I was really beginning to understand what the medical profession was all about. I began to understand how many people were involved in the care of a patient. As a volunteer, I got to be with my first patient. I would take them to various places in the hospital for x-rays, treatments, laboratory tests, and rehabilitation. I would see for the first time the fear they had in their faces about being ill and whether they were going to get better or not. I knew I wanted to help them and I was impatient to get to the point where I could. Once again, I would dream about what being a doctor was all about. The picture was beginning to get clearer, but I was so far away yet.
My last year of college was really a preparation for applying to and interviewing for medical school. I began to decide which schools I was interested in and, more importantly, who would be interested in me. My grades I was told were good enough, but now I would have to convince an admission committee that I really had the desire to succeed. I was soon to learn that many are called but few are chosen. But between now and then there were many hurdles to climb.
My first choice was a Catholic medical school, Seton Hall University, near my home in New Jersey. At the time, New Jersey did not have a state owned school, but this would change in the near future. Another hurdle to medical school admission was the dreaded MCATS or medical college aptitude tests. All students who were applying to medical school took the test in their senior year of college. I was told how difficult they were by my professors and they were right. I read over the practice tests and took several courses on what knowledge I would need to do well and how to take the test. I literally studied for months prior to the test and tried to cram as much information as I could into my brain. Several groups of Pre-Med students were formed and we tried to help each other to prepare for the exam. I remember worrying that a lot of my classmates seemed to know a lot more than I, which made me focus even harder. The day of the test came, and I was sure that my brain was completely saturated with fact after fact. During the test I felt that I was well prepared in some areas and thought I did well. In other areas I didn't have a clue. How could I have not known about some of these questions? I left with very mixed emotions and had to sweat out the results for weeks. It seemed like forever before we finally received the results in the mail. I still remember my hands shaking as I opened the letter. I can't remember the exact score I received, but I know I did well. Once again I met with Father Righteous and he said he thought I had done well enough to be accepted into medical school. Just to show you how well his program had repaired us, that year we graduated 92 Pre-Med students and ultimately 90 were accepted into medical school. However the next few months were to be quite hectic and I did not learn that I was accepted to my first choice until the very last minute. And I mean the very last minute.
As my final days before graduation began to tick away, I had some time to enjoy myself for the first and probably last time in many years so I was determined to have fun. My classes were all done, my final grades were in and another hurdle was almost behind me. Graduation week was a great time for everyone. It was party time, but this time the alcohol took backstage. I had outgrown my experimenting but lest you think I had attained sainthood I had finally learned how to drink responsibly, something that I fortunately carried through the rest of my life. The graduation committee had outdone themselves with a steady schedule of events with one being better than the other. Parties were nonstop all over the campus and we even spent a day on Block Island off the coast of New England. The ferry ride back from the island was one of the wildest times I have ever seen. Kids were laughing, crying and hugging each other in a feeling of absolute joy that their parents had not wasted their money. The final night before graduation was capped off with a concert by the famous musical group the Kingston Trio. What a fabulous performance they put on and everyone was hoarse from singing along. We congratulated our friends and learned of their future plans. Graduation day was a beautiful day which allowed the ceremony to be held outside on the athletic field. It was the same field I had spent so much time running on. It was a long ceremony as everyone went up to receive their diplomas. My friends and I cried and laughed together that the wonderful day had finally arrived. We had all worked so hard and graduation day was something we will all remember with gratitude and pride. But it was also a little sad in that many of us would never see each other again. We had become so close over the last four years, but we were now ready to move on in our lives. Nonetheless we were thankful for the time we had together. My parents were so proud of me and I remember hugging and thanking them for all the hard work they had done to put me through college. They had supported me in every way possible through both good and bad times. But it was a great time and we thoroughly enjoyed the entire day. Oh yes, I had one more person to thank and I sought him out in the crowd of people. Besides my parents there was one other person I knew I had to personally thank for helping me to graduate from college. Father Righteous rarely smiled, but he did that day as I shook his hand and thanked him for all he had done for me. He wished me good luck in medical school and that was last time I would see the man who was so instrumental in my becoming a physician. I hope in some small way that my success gave him a sense of pride in how he rescued a confused young boy and helped to make him a man determined like himself to help others.
While many of my friends had already been accepted to medical school, I was not so lucky. My applications to American medical schools had all been rejected except for one. I was placed on a waiting list for my first choice back home in New Jersey. My dreams of medical school were fading rapidly. Worried that I would not be accepted, I began to make other plans. Several of my friends were going to medical schools in Europe, so I began to investigate if there were any openings for me. I had never been to Italy except for a brief vacation many years before, but I learned of a medical school in Bologna that accepted American students. I applied and was accepted quite rapidly and I made plans to go there. I did not know how to speak Italian and I learned that all the classes would be given a Italian. Medical school would be difficult enough and, on top of that, I would have to learn everything in a foreign language without any family or friends for support. Would I really have the courage to go ahead under those circumstances? My mother took me to the Italian Embassy in New York City, where I got my visa to go to Italy and study there.
I began to take a Berlitz course to learn how to read, write, and speak Italian. I remember how scared I was that I would be leaving my home country and my family and I really wondered how I was going to do it. As the time drew closer for my departure, my parents arranged for me to sail to Italy on one of the Italian ocean liners, the Michelangelo. I was very disappointed that I had not been accepted to an American medical school, but I was doing my best to convince myself and my family I would be okay. Literally days before I was due to sail for Italy, a letter arrived in the mail from Seton Hall Medical School in New Jersey. I had been accepted and was due to report for class in one week. I was overjoyed and could not believe my last-minute good fortune. One of my college roommates had also been accepted there and I called him with my good news. We quickly made plans to find an apartment in Jersey City together and I was so happy that the two of us would be together again. It was almost too good to be true. I went from leaving the country one minute to now going to school near home with my college roommate. I was on cloud nine, but I would not have much time to bask in my glory. I literally had days to get ready but who cares I wasn't going to Disney World but I was going to medical school in America. To this day I have serious doubts if I would've been successful in becoming a doctor in Italy. My Italian was not progressing too well and I was very nervous to be going to Europe to study all by myself. I honestly think I would've returned home very soon after arriving. Once again, I had escaped losing my dream through another fortuitous turn of events in my life.
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