By Dan Flanagan
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In 1985, a final walk through an old warehouse slated for demolition resulted in an interesting find. Leslie Bowman, assistant dean for Misher College of Arts and Sciences and associate professor of information science, discovered thousands of “inaugural essays” written by PCP graduates in the 1800s heaped upon shelving in a dark corner. She quickly assembled a rescue team and brought them back to the safety of the J.W. England Library.
From the beginning of the college in 1821, getting a diploma meant writing an original thesis upon a subject of materia medica, pharmacy, or chemistry. Today, these compositions provide remarkable windows into the past.
Most students wrote scientific papers; however, a smaller, yet significant, number wrote paeans to the druggist’s profession, diatribes against physician encroachment, and memoirs of apprenticeships. Length varied dramatically; a thesis could be as short as three pages or as long as 70. Most were around a dozen pages.
Despite the strict requirement for writing a thesis, no demands were placed regarding length or quality. Students graduated just the same if they passed examinations.
Although self-motivation accounted for many strong efforts, other incentives existed. Each year the American Journal of Pharmacy published a select few. Cash awards were also mentioned from time to time.
Louis Weiss, class of 1877, based his thesis on a store apprenticeship served in Pueblo, Colorado, with the town doctor from 1869 to 1872. Excerpts from “A Drug Store in the Far West”:
“The druggist and physician was looked upon as a somewhat superior being; his will was done, his word was law. Whenever there was a public meeting or a social gathering, it was not considered complete until the doctor was identified with it in some way. Many a meeting—political or for the organization of a fire company, baseball club, dancing club or church festival—was started in the store…[his] name was always on the ticket for coroner; his services in that capacity were frequently called into use after there had been what they called a neck-tie festival. These were generally held after horses had been stolen and the aggressors caught by the Vigilantes…With the coming of the railroad [improvement in] the drug business was noticeable. Whereas heretofore the proprietor’s formula book had ruled supreme, it was now replaced by the United States Pharmacopoeia, and preparations that were heretofore bought in the East we now prepared according to its directions.”
Carrie Emily Howard, class of 1890,
also wrote of apprenticeship behind the
drug counter, but the challenges she faced
were of a very different nature than most of her classmates.
Excerpts from “Women as Pharmacists":
“I found my path beset with many difficulties, business opportunities to my liking being very scarce…When once my decision was made, and carried out, I realized the truth of the old adage, ‘that fools rush in, where angels dare not tread.’…
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“I was putting up a Prescription, for a gentleman…when an energetic and lively Irishwoman came in calling in a loud voice, ‘Is the Doctor in? I want a Prescription filled.’ I replied ‘No’ inviting her to take a seat…she sat down but began a tirade upon the idea of allowing me to fill a Prescription, addressing herself to the gentleman who was waiting. I came forth with his Prescription, in fear, and trembling, expecting he would refuse to take it.
“He took it however, and said ‘Madam, I have every confidence in the ability of this Pharmacist to do that which she has undertaken, and no doubt in the near future, we will see many more women Pharmacists.’”
Frederick Jacob Lichtenberger, class of 1885, struggled mightily with his thesis and ended up making the process itself the ultimate subject. His selection documented an aspect of college life that today’s students might find familiar. Excerpts from “Thesis Writing”:
“During the first year [choosing] the subject troubles the average student but little, and if he thinks of it at all, it is merely to say to himself: ‘Oh! That will be easy enough when the time comes’ [but as the final year approaches] the subject becomes the bane of his life. He commences to search [for] a suitable subject, he bores his friends to death, he ransacks his brain from morning till night. He even dreams of it…
“Thinking that perhaps he has aimed too high, he wonders if it would not answer as well…to take some well written upon subject, get all the varied information about it that he can, and write it using his own words. [He] desperately commences a series of surgical operations...taking out something here [and] substituting something for it, and occasionally changing a word, but for the most part adhering to the words of the authors he has stolen from… At last he finishes and reads it over admiringly and says to himself: ‘Well done.’ Being quite proud of it he determines to read it to one of his more experienced friends. Listening attentively to the end [the friend says] that it will not answer at all because it isn’t original, and then goes on to tell [the author] how hard he studied, and worked when writing his thesis.”
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Regretfully, not all of the theses turned up in 1985. The absence of virtually everything written before 1868 suggests PCP’s migration to a new home that year resulted in their loss. Nevertheless, the surviving examples provide ample opportunity to peer into the lives of those who have gone before us, to discover what we have in common and, on occasion, to learn from past mistakes.
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