Memoirs of a Worldly Guy
After two and a half years of being steeped in the bullshit tales and assorted opinions of 'med' students from their first year to their senior year I had become reasonably familiar with the vernacular. What pissed me off was the indignation I encountered from the 'meds' any time I presumed to use a medical term in a conversation.'What the hell are you talking about? You're just a goddam dumb engineer; you've no right to use terms like that! Where did you learn a word like that, anyway?'
'Listen, asshole! Just listen for once in your arrogant life!' I'd reply. ' I've been listening to you pricks talk about nothing but your precious medical problems for three years now! Where in hell do you think I learned that word? Try not to be such a jerk!'
As most laymen have learned, to their dismay, this medical arrogance has been retained by many of the medical brethren in active practice today. 'Many' does not mean 'all', fortunately.
In the meantime I had graduated to the room at the end of the hallway on the second floor of the house where I roomed with Clive Bowslby. I would like to find him so I could return all of the Gillette Blue Blades I had 'just run out of'! There was a sleeping porch on the second floor of the house, situated above the house entrance. There was a steel double bunk bed on either side of what we referred to as the 'Freeze-Out'. Sleeping out there in the late summer and fall seemed quite sensible; with the windows at the bottom of the beds flung wide open there was no shortage of fresh, crisp air. However, sleeping out there when it was 45 or 50 degrees below zero Fahrenheit was quite another matter, but the occupants were obsessive about the practice and merely scoffed at anyone who suggested they sleep inside until the weather became warmer. Those sleeping in the crude metal bunks had laid several layers of newspapers on top of the wire latticework that served as springs. They were buried at night inside double sleeping bags and most of them were still dressed in long underwear, trousers and sweaters. They had become cult-like and behaved almost as though they were the first four to conquer Mount Everest--without oxygen!
There were three other bedrooms on the second floor, each providing beds for two students, making a total of ten sleeping on the second floor. The five in the 'Hell Hole' and the adjacent bedroom brought the total to fifteen residents. Every noon, the six non-residents brought the total at the dining room table to 21. In previous years the Frosh Introduction had been left to the woman who was secretary of the Student's Union. Her preparations had comprised ordering little green and gold cloth 'beanies' for male and female students alike. That was it! I had decided with my typical youthful exuberance (a mystery to me now!) that much more was required. A committee was formed and various responsibilities allotted. We had a Freshman's Handbook printed, containing a welcoming message (by me, of course), a summary of important student events, useful phone numbers and rules and regulations regarding Frosh Week. Frank Quigley agreed to write an introduction entitled 'Take Five' by 'The Deacon', the 'nom de plume' he used for his humorous articles in the student newspaper'The Gateway'. Brian Sproule designed a cover for 'The Frosh Handbook' and supplied clever cartoons for both front and back covers. We ended up with a twenty-three page handbook (a first, I believe) which included messages from the Presidents of both the University and the Student's Union, Take Five', a schedule of events for the week, the Frosh Code (moderately Draconian), details of the Frosh Court, Tips to Frosh, a list of fall activities including the Pep Rally, popular U.of A. songs and yells, a large section on fraternities (male and female) including their phone numbers and names of their officers. It was all funded by a variety of small ads and a FULL PAGE advertisement by the The Barn, 'First for dancing pleasure'. All freshmen were provided with head to foot green and gold outfits. The men were to wear pork pie hats, Peter Pan collars and green and gold crepe paper anklets. The 'freshette' outfits were similar.
This was the first year that a large number of 'returned men' had arrived on campus and it was not surprising that some difficulties were encountered. The timing was obviously not ideal. To begin with, many of the veterans were married and were years older than the typical college student. Their priority was to get a college education that would allow them to achieve a profitable vocation in civilian life. They soon formed their own organization, C.U.R.M.A., (Canadian University Returned Men's Association) designed primarily to speak as one voice in campus political and social affairs. The requirements of Frosh Week came as an unpleasant surprise to many of them, as a result there were those adamantly opposed to the Frosh Code and the Frosh Court. Men who had seen the worst of war, had been shot at or wounded and whose friends had been killed overseas, took an understandably dim view of some of the Freshman requirements, which they considered to be childishly frivolous, even demeaning. They had a point! I decided an early meeting with the CURMA board was urgently needed. When we met I believe they were mollified to a degree when I told them that we sincerely held them all in high respect and that our plans were in no way intended to embarrass them. I reminded them that almost without exception the students were on reserve to one or the other of the armed forces but were being urged by both the university faculty and the special group known as the Wartime Bureau of Technical Personnel to obtain our degrees, particularly in the case of Engineering and Physics students.
'I think you should give serious thought to speaking to your members about the issues at stake,' I said. 'In the absence of a World War many of your members would have arrived here five years younger and just as full of 'piss and vinegar' as we are now. They have been denied something to which they would otherwise have been entitled. This is their opportunity to set aside the bad years and become freshmen just like the rest. They should seize this opportunity to be young again; it may well be their last.' I like to think that the message was seriously considered; there seemed to be a noticeable change in the attitude of the returned men. More of them were seen to be wearing their Frosh hats at least. A slow but steady integration had begun. There were some who thought the students at the university were getting a bum rap. Except for Commerce students, those in Science courses such as Engineering were spending a forty-four hour week in classes plus at least two to four hours nightly on additional studying in many cases. As you can see, this was not exactly holiday time. As if this were not sufficient, students were required to maintain a level of grade averages that would have been considered unusually high in peace time. This rule was 'jokingly' referred to as the 'Camrose Clutch', since those not maintaining the required average were summarily dismissed and sent to Camrose, which happened to be the Permanent Canadian Army Basic Training Camp. No one seemed anxious to go there. The ultimate irony resulting from this policy was the experience of my friend Brian who registered initially in Engineering as I did. Failing to avoid the 'Canmore Clutch' he was despatched forthwith to the army to spend the remaining years of the war defending King and Country. As soon as the war ended he signed up in Medicine and is now Chief Surgeon at the University Hospital. So much for Vocational Guidance!I had been elected President of the Sophomore Class and again the following year as President of the Junior Class. Other than a modicum of campus prestige, it provided the opportunity for the President and his board of directors to bust their collective asses for a few weeks organizing the class dinner and dance. Just for the record our theme for the Junior Dance was 'As Time Goes By' (I think!)
I must have started to believe my own press releases because, when the time came to speculate about Student's Union President for the following year, I found myself drawn into the thick of the deliberations. I was obviously 'nuts', but then, ego is a wondrous thing. There were enthusiastic supporters for my campaign; I was never sure whether they were motivated as much by their enthusiasm for me as they were by their dislike for my opposition. Ah, well, such is politics.I went home for the weekend after I had voted and was informed by my mother when I arrived that someone had phoned from Edmonton to say I was the new Student's Union President. This surprised me somewhat because, as I've already mentioned, when I was trying to make up my mind whether or not to run I had asked one of my housemates for his advice. As you know, he strongly advised me against it. I later found out that he was entertaining aspirations for the job himself. It seems that he felt that his advice was tantamount to instruction and was deeply resentful of my decision to proceed notwithstanding his disapproval. As a result, although we lived in the same house for a year, were involved in the same 'crap' games and ate in the same dining room, he refused to talk to me. I found it all to be somewhat amusing.In the morning one or the other of us would wait until the other had left the house. If I saw him leave and turn right I would leave immediately after him and turn left. 'Kitty-Corner' from the campus entrance at the far end of the block was the Tuck Shop. I would try to arrive at the corner at the same time as he arrived from the opposite direction. 'Ah, good morning, friend!' I would cry cheerily. I knew I would be ignored and met with a stony silence but it always made my day just knowing that it had pissed him off. It wasn't until he had finished his doctorate studies at Ames, Iowa that he returned to Edmonton somewhat mellowed and we buried the hatchet.As President of the Student's Union I was automatically a member of the University Board of Governors. I usually found it to be a bit of a bore. That is, until Joe Shoctor was called on the carpet for what Doctor MacEachran had expected would be a grovelling apology. 'Doc MacEach,' as he was known to the student body, was a Professor of Philosophy and had been a founding member of the Philosophical Society in May of 1912. He was a stern, grey-haired individual with thin, tight lips and an attitude to match. He was also a senior member of the Eugenics group which arrogantly chose which persons were to be sterilized to prevent them from having children. Regrettably some of those 'convicted' turned out to be normal and the Alberta taxpayers have paid heavily to settle the lawsuits that ensued. The particular bean 'Doc' had up his ass on this occasion pertained to 'The Varsity Show' arranged and directed by Joe Shoctor, assisted by Frank Quigley and held in Convocation Hall on the 16th and 17th of March, 1945. There were various skits including a group called 'the Beau Brummels and the Bathing Belles' who were dressed in turn of the century bathing outfits. What presumably 'pissed off' the Provost, (did I mention that he was the University Provost?) the most was the bare-legged chorus line, the 'Varsity Leg-ation', comprising ten long-legged undergraduate girls doing high kicks in matching brief chorus outfits. 'Evergreen and Gold' the annual student yearbook, together with two full pages of photographs, reported in part...'Capacity crowds crammed Convocation Hall those Friday and Saturday nights to enjoy the girls' chorus, vaudeville gags, and the smooth rhythms of the orchestra.' Since 'Doc' MacEachran was due to retire that year he may have thought it would be his last chance for a priggish, self-righteous lecture in lieu of a farewell address. Accordingly, Joe was summoned to respond to the puritanical Provost's request for an interview. 'Doc' babbled on for some time in dolorous tones about the obscenity of having such a lewd presentation in a hall dedicated to the hallowed memory of the brave boys who had given their lives for 'King and Country' during WW1. If it were intended to bring tears to the listener's eyes, it failed to achieve the desired effect.
When the incensed Provost had concluded, the President of the University spoke. 'Have you anything to say in your defense? Mr. Shoctor?' he said. What the hell is this, anyway, I thought--a court-martial? Joe had stood silently, hands folded in front of him, while the 'Doc' droned on.
'Yessir, I do have something to say,' he said, 'although I prefer to refer to my remarks as informative opinions rather than a defense. Frankly, I feel that I have nothing to defend. The young men who attended and enjoyed the recent presentation at the Convocation Hall were, in my opinion, not much unlike the young men who regrettably gave up their lives in the war dedicated to their memory, and I believe they would have enjoyed the entertainment as much as their present day counterparts. I do not believe the Convocation Hall was necessarily intended to forever be a temple of gloomy silence, as some seem to believe. With all due respect, sir, I believe 'Con' Hall is designed to reflect the vibrancy of university life that exists in this century, and which some of those boys never had a chance to enjoy, unlike the dreary Victorian attitudes of some.' There was a partially muffled snort of laughter from one of the senior faculty members, preempting any further comments from the grim-lipped Dr. MacEachran.
'Perhaps we could move on to the next item on the agenda,' Dr. Newton interjected. 'That is, providing there are no further questions for Mr. Shoctor.' He stared meaningfully at 'Doc' McEach, who merely stared ahead, his cheeks flushed red.
'Thank you, Mr.Shoctor, you're excused.' Dr. Newton said. Joe Shoctor bowed slightly and left the room. He had won the day!
— The End —