IN 1928, when I entered medical school, my role model was William James. He had taken a medical degree, and then, without ever having practiced, devoted himself to psychology, and finally to philosophy. Such a career sequence seemed admirable to an undergraduate who had majored in philosophy and psychology in college, and the exploration of that path was attractive.
I was no stranger to a life in medicine, for my father was a general practitioner, and an older brother had preceded me to medical school. The first 2 years, everyone had said, could be quite dull and disagreeable, and I gritted my teeth for that first rite of passage, the course in anatomy.
The First 2 Years
This course, which included embryology and a few lectures on medical history, was indeed dull. However, within the first 2 months I had an illumination. A surprise examination caught me unprepared, and some