AJCC April 2000

Humor Column:

School Days

by Roger Coleman, DC

Dr. Roger R. Coleman is a 1974 graduate of Palmer College of Chiropractic. He has served as a co-author of three JMPT articles and an article in the British Journal of Clinical Biomechanics. This is his seventh article for this journal.

OK, I did it. I really don't have an excuse and I don't need one. I'm a middle aged male. Yeah you know the age, half way between high school and hell. So why does that make a difference. Well, maybe earlier I wouldn't have gone and maybe later I wouldn't have had the strength, but as Goldie Locks said this one is just right, so I went.

I know, you've gotten used to my little stories about wizards and gunfighters. Some of you liked them. Some of you think you're above that sort of thing and some of you wouldn't know an analogy if it bit you in the, but that's another subject. Today, we're going to be serious. Well, maybe not completely. I can't get serious when I'm writing on tomorrow's bird cage bottom, but we'll be semi serious. You see today we're going to talk about school days. Yeah, well, tell me all the stuff about your BMOC (Big Man On Campus) days, but I know all of you and you talk big now, but Professor Lyn made you cry every day just like she did me.

Hey, I'm no wimp. I've kicked around the world a little. I've dealt with irate waiters, snotty airline stewardesses and taxi drivers with attitude. I've stayed in hotels with 20 foot yellow ropes that you use to exit through the window in case of fire (we're on the 8th. floor) and the fire extinguishers sitting in the hallways are not for decoration only. I've been punched by boxers, kicked by karate players, humiliated by coaches and just plain beat up by bullies, but I've never been worked over as bad as the verbal beatings that Professor Lyn used to administer to me on a daily basis.

I remember well that black day that I first entered her presence. There I was a freshman. Eager, enthusiastic, energetic and in her class. She strode in, held up a book the size of Delaware and said, "I am Professor Lyn. This is the textbook for this class. You are responsible for everything I cover in this book and everything that I do not cover. We will begin." With that she vaulted into her lecture with a speed that would have made an Olympic sprinter proud. Words, like flying shrapnel, shot from her mouth. I've heard that talk was cheap, but she was definitely buying in bulk. Now I was scribbling notes as fast as I could and I really wanted to learn and I actually thought that she was there to help me, so I just innocently raised my hand and said, "Doctor, could you speak a little more slowly? I can't keep up." Have you ever seen a rattler just before it eats a mouse. The eyes, oh the eyes. There is no life in that snake's eyes. Those are the eyes that turned upon me. Professor Lyn, 126 pounds of venom in a package that resembled a cigarette wearing a mop, turned those eyes on me and in a tone that would freeze Tahiti stated, "If you can't keep up, perhaps you shouldn't be here."

From that day on, her class was a blur of misery, punctuated by moments of heart stopping terror. I only remember frozen scenes of panic. "Seat number 56, arise and enlighten us with your knowledge." "Seat number 56, I don't suppose you know the answer to that question either." "We will have volunteers to give 30 minute lectures in front of the class, seat number 56, you will volunteer." Crucifixion days, a friend named them. I studied, heaven help me I studied. But no matter what I did, it was never enough. Then the final shot, the coup de grace came on the last day before the final. "Seat number 56. Stand up." "Do you think that I shall let you out upon an unsuspecting world. I think not, sit down!" But she did. I aced that class. I devoured that text. I was afraid not to. I learned more and faster than I ever thought possible. You see, fear is a great motivator and I could not bear the thought of repeating that class.

So why, 25 years later, was I once again entering that same classroom. Well, it seems that after 300 years of teaching, the old bat was retiring and all of her former students had been invited to attend her final class. Now you might think that I was a fool to return to the scene of so many defeats and you would be correct. Perhaps it was like a moth to the flame. Perhaps it was the same reason that I would have attended her funeral (to make sure she stayed in the casket). But in my heart, I knew that I was there for the reason that cowboys climb on bulls. You just gotta see if you can make it.

I slipped quietly into a seat in the back of the auditorium. Moments later, she strode to the podium. It was like I had never left. There was a tightening in the pit of my stomach, bile in back of my throat. She moved the same, she looked the same. She really was a vampire, she hadn't aged a day in 25 years.

Then those eyes began to search the seats. "I see that only a few of my former students have elected to join my present class for my final lecture. How unfortunate! There are many whom I would have liked to have seen one final time." Her eyes caught me. "Oh, doctor. I did not expect you to be here today. You know doctor, it may surprise you but I have followed your career. Of all the students who passed through my classes, you had the least natural talent. But I have read your attempts at scientific papers and seen your little doodles in that trade journal. You, dear doctor, have gone far since you left my class. You have reached mediocrity."

At that moment, I knew why justice wears a blindfold. For if the law were truly just, you would be allowed to murder, or at least severely injure, one person per lifetime. You know, a sort of get out of jail free card. If I had such a card, I would have used it then but I just sat silently and felt the crimson move across my face.

"Yes, dear doctor, I have followed your career with some interest. Let me see if I have it correct. You have never been a leader. So which guru do you follow? Do you bow to the Budda in Bama, the Oracle in Arizona or the Emperor in Indiana? Do you journey to the mount to receive your knowledge or do you genuflect in some other direction? Please, dear doctor, tell me. Which guru thinks for you?"

Now I've been mad before and I'll be mad again, but there are many forms of madness and this one was icy cold. I rose to my feet and although I heard the words coming out of my mouth, they had a life of their own and were under none of my control. " Professor Lyn. I have endured your rapier attacks and felt the sting of your whip- like tongue. But I am no longer a student. I resent your attacks on these doctors whom you mock as gurus. While I may agree or disagree with the things said by these men, that you so easily criticize, I respect the fact that they have had the courage to speak. I respect the fact that they have picked up the bulls eye and placed it upon their chests. In fact, dear professor, I respect the courage it takes to make a stand. Especially, I respect them because they have written articles in journals listed in index medicus, because, that act alone invites examination and criticism. But most of all, Professor Lyn, I respect the thousands of doctors who daily read the scientific literature and make decisions based on fact and not personality. In fact, professor, I respect you for standing in the front of that class and teaching me something. Although you have the personality of an iguana with a hangover, you pounded facts into my brain with a hammer of fear and for that, you deserve some modicum of respect. But in one thing we do agree professor. If anyone allows what you call a guru to think for them, then he or she is less than what they could be. The ability to make intelligent and rational decisions, based upon knowledge of the facts, is the hallmark of a doctor. Our degrees weren't the prizes in the bottom of the cereal box. We can all think and make good decisions. We don't need a guru, we just need the science." With that I turned and started for the door. I almost reached it.

"Doctor, stop a moment. Thank you for your little dissertation, I see that you have finally acquired the ability to think. Congratulations. You see doctor, although you may have been my least talented student, in fact, you were my favorite. You worked so hard with so little." Now, I hadn't expected that. A semi-compliment, albeit it backhanded and convoluted. What could I say? I paused, I smiled, "Bite me." I still hate her.