HARALAMBIE GEORGE CICMA: AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY Part X
A Vlach’s Life in His Time Part X
October 1922 found us again gathered to listen to Dean Begg, “You are meeting here today to begin another struggle, more very difficult work. Boston University is the first school to try this new system of completing all the required medical subjects in a three year period, your fourth year will be exclusively clinical work. If you work hard enough to pass this annum’s ardours, you will be a doctor in every sense of the word other than having been presented with your diploma.”
This year passed uneventfully, I had my usual New Year’s Day dinner with President Mirlan and he took me to lunch a few times, encouraging me with his excellent advice while nourishing “the inner man” with good food. All in all, the year passed quickly and at final examinations I again passed all my courses with good marks. After receiving these final grades, I stood for a moment motionless and I prayed, thanking God for helping me to achieve that which I had planned.
As Dean Begg had told us, we who had successfully completed this third year had now accomplished what other medical schools taught in four—we were doctors without licenses! I did not look for a job that summer, either, as I was advised to keep reviewing my subjects so that I might be better prepared for my fourth and final year, which was to be entirely clinical.
***
October 1923 found only fifty students gathered for our last year—the original class of ninety had included eleven or twelve black students, but our graduating class had only one, several had been forced to drop out to earn additional money and one had died of Tuberculosis; several women had been enrolled but only two of them graduated.
Dean Begg greeted us, “Doctors, you are here to work,” and he handed us our assignments. The class was divided into six groups, we each had a paper listing with whom we would work and naming the professor or assistant who would supervise our clinical work; there were eight “student doctors” in my group. Boston University School of Medicine was the first to try this system; it worked very effectively and soon practically all the other medical schools adopted the format. The Dean reminded us that we had done excellent work so far but it was now up to us to put our knowledge to practical use and added, “Good luck to all of you.”
Our groups worked on a rotation system. We were assigned to a special service for a given period of time; for example, our professor would take his group to the hospital and we would each be given a designated in-patient, we were instructed how to “work up a case”: first we had to take the personal history, do a complete physical examination, examine blood and urine and, if necessary, order X-Rays. We then had to make a diagnosis and suggest treatment; we discussed the case with our supervisor who would evaluate our work and decide who had made correct diagnoses, correcting all mistakes and also giving us valuable suggestions as to the reasons for the diagnosis and treatment. This work was extremely interesting, it gave us an opportunity to concentrate on utilizing the theoretical knowledge we had acquired during our first three years.
I did not like taking histories— anything which involved writing bothered me, I am still uncertain of my “American spelling” and, while I could spell all the difficult medical words, I was never sure whether “bear” or “bare” meant naked, to say nothing of “hear” and “here” and also “to,” “two,” and “too”!
We also worked in the Out-Patient Department of the Homeopathic Hospital. We would be taken to the clinic and assigned a case; we took the history, examined the patient, made a diagnosis, and advised the treatment—still under the supervision of our professor. We had to attend all kinds of clinics; to me the most fascinating was the Obstetrical Department where we were shown the various stages of labor and were instructed just how to help the mothers and to handle the new-born babies.
In the Dermatological Clinic we saw very pitiable patients; in the Venereal Disease Clinic and the Gynecology Division, each presented many interesting problems. The Pediatric Clinic afforded us the opportunity to examine the babies and work out feeding problems for them— it was all very informative and served to round out our education and, except for the written histories, I liked it very much. Practically every case assigned to me was properly worked up and I had made the correct diagnosis and suggested the right treatment; this made me extremely happy, I had worked so hard all the previous years and now I was able to apply my learning to help others.
***
Late in October, President Mirlan called me and said that he had something important to discuss with me. We met for lunch and he stated that Dean Begg had informed him that not only had I become a very good diagnostician but I had proved that I knew how to handle the patients—many had requested that I treat them again! “Now, furthermore, Harry, you will need lots of instruments to do your work. With your permission, I’d like to write to your friends at the Methodist Episcopal Church in Newport, N.H. to see if they will give us a little help.” I assured him that I would be very grateful if he would make this appeal on my behalf.
He wrote to Mr. McCrillis, Mr. Fairbanks, and to the minister of the church, Mr. Joyce. The appeal was read to the congregation, “You all know the young man, Harry Cicma, he has worked exceedingly hard and is now in his fourth year of medical school. He needs funds to help him purchase his instruments. I think he deserves a break, let’s see how much we can get for him,” was Mr. Joyce’s comment. The collection provided $175.00 which my good friend, Mr. George Fairbanks matched and a check for $350.00 was dispatched immediately to President Mirlan.
I received a letter from Mr. McCrillis, he stated that President Mirlan had written him a glowing report of my scholastic and diagnostic achievements and had also suggested that I needed extra money to purchase medical instruments. “So, if a check for $150.00 from me will help, why don’t you write and tell me so?” I called President Mirlan at once and, before he could tell me his own good news, I asked him to please let me come to his office at once, to let me see him for just a few minutes and I had something very important to show him. He allowed me to come and I rushed over and handed him the letter from “my best friend,” Mr. McCrillis.
President Mirlan read it carefully and then said, “Harry, my boy, he is a good man but he is afraid to part with his money! It was I who asked his help, not you, and he should have sent the reply to me. Don’t even bother to answer his letter.”
I was ready to say that if my diploma depended on $150.00 of Mr. McCrillis’ money, I would rather go to work for a year to earn it and then come back for my graduation. President Mirlan continued, “You do not have to worry about the money. Your church at Newport has sent us $350.00, half of which was contributed by Mr. Fairbanks, this is more than enough.”
“Oh, how wonderful, I just don’t know how I can ever thank them and you for all that has been done for me.”
“Well, Harry, you have accomplished so much on your own that it is a pleasure to help you, you deserve whatever you have received.”
***
I returned, very happily, to my work. Boston University School of Medicine operated a wonderful Dispensary (small clinic) in the South End of Boston; the building was large enough to accommodate an adequate personnel and had all the equipment necessary to operate an excellent clinic; before you could graduate, everyone had to serve there for one month—this was the highlight of our clinical work.
My group was scheduled to work there from April 1st through April 30th, 1924; as soon as we reached the building the director of the dispensary, Dr. Cooper, gave us a short briefing, “Here, for the first time, you are entirely on your own. You treat your patients as a full fledged physician would and I am here to back you up and get you out of any trouble, but I will advise you—try to avoid it! I will also tell you that most of the people in this part of the city are very poor but they are always supplied with alcoholic beverages, in fact, they make their own! Be certain that you return to the dispensary as sober as you left it—you will all have to develop your own technique of avoiding their goodwill offerings!”
We were each given a room with an excellent bed and the food was very good—we were able to enjoy the food but seldom were we able to spend more than a few hours in bed, we were on twenty-four hour call for the entire month; accidents, deliveries, deaths, and everything else that came between.
My first case was an obstetrical one; I grabbed my bag and had a student nurse come with me to assist—we walked to all these calls, not one of us had a car! I knew that the patient must be Italian as the name strongly indicated this and, all the way to the house, I was trying to figure out a way to avoid having to drink wine with them! We entered the house and they greeted us effusively and immediately started to fill the glasses. I said, “Please do not bother with any wine now, I want to examine the patient first—when we have finished the job we will finish the wine!” I noticed that the nurse seemed somewhat disappointed but there was nothing I could do about that. I instructed her in the sterilization of our instruments and had her prepare the patient while I took a short history.
I told the nurse to have everything ready as I expected the baby to be delivered in less than two hours. About a half hour later the membrane ruptured and in a few minutes the head showed up; I asked the mother not to bear down as the natural contractions would take care of the delivery—I was there to help her—thus trying to avoid any further tearing of the vaginal wall. I delivered the baby, a healthy boy weighing seven pounds and ten ounces; I tied the cord and gave the baby to the nurse; I helped the mother expel the afterbirth; I then thoroughly examined the vagina—thank God, there was no additional tearing.
The mother thanked me profusely saying that I had helped her so much, she had hardly felt any pain! Actually, I tried to use what I had learned in Psychology, if you kept the patient preoccupied they forget their pain. I then turned to help the nurse pour Argyrol in the baby’s eyes and watched while she bathed and clothed the infant. I then told her to pack the bags as quickly as possible— the entire family was so excited, thanking me and saying what a good doctor I was, so we were able to leave without touching a drop of wine! We returned to the Dispensary and I presented my record to Dr. Cooper; he was very pleased with the way I had handled my first obstetrical case, making accurate notes, not needing additional assistance and making the delivery without any serious complications.
Every student in the group was required to make four to six deliveries; I was fortunate to have two primipara (first baby) and four multipara (more than one baby), I did not have to ask for help at any time. In our group there was a Swedish student a few years older than I, a very good student, a hard worker, he knew theory like a parrot but apparently it was difficult for him to apply his knowledge. He went, with a student nurse; to his first obstetrical case—the patient was having false labor but he stayed with her the whole day and all the next night. Dr. Cooper finally had to go to that house for him, he examined the patient and sent the students back to the Dispensary. The patient delivered one week later!
Many of my patients were Italian but a few were Irish, all the apartments in the neighborhood were quite clean but the houses themselves were old, broken-down buildings with little or no accommodations. I was very much aware of how hard these people worked to keep their own places clean and neat. This was at the height of Prohibition but all these people made their own liquor— as you walked along the streets you would see piles of rotting fruit residue, they used grapes, raisins, etc. for making their wines and the resulting gook was just put outside; I don’t know where the Board of Health was but they certainly didn’t take any interest in that area!
I conducted my own cases at the clinic, I used my own approach— talking to the patient before the physical examination, especially with the children. I also made many house calls, usually accompanied by a nurse-in training; examining the patients, prescribing the correct medication and they usually felt better almost at once as I would tell them that there was nothing to be afraid of, they would be all right. People even began to come to the Dispensary saying that they wanted Dr. Cicma to treat them.
I was really happy during this month and I was only a few days away from completing my time there when I received a call to report to the Dean’s office for an important conference. This put me into deep thought, “What have I done?” “What did I do wrong?” “What can he want?” “What have I done to deserve this?” As soon as I entered Dean Begg’s office, he grabbed my hand and started complimenting for the wonderful work I was doing in all the clinics and especially at the Dispensary.
“Dr. Cooper has told me that you have delivered six babies without any assistance and with no complications, also that people are coming to the Dispensary and asking to have you treat them. I think this is great, but the most wonderful thing I have to tell you is that your mark for this month has been handed in—Dr. Cooper gave you the highest mark he has ever issued—an actual 100%! This proves that you have worked hard and that you know how to put your knowledge to practical use, you know how to handle people as well as prescriptions! I am very proud of you and 1 wish you the best of luck and continued success.”
***
President Mirlan took me to lunch on May 1st, saying that he had something very important to tell me. Rumors had been circulating that he might retire; I recalled that, after our last New Year’s Day dinner, we had been in his parlor talking and he stated that he had been extremely busy with the final reorganization of the University, a tremendous undertaking which had, over the time I had known him, eaten away at his vitality but not at his great perseverance. I felt that he had been over-doing and asked that he try to take it a little bit easy but he assured me that he was fine and would wind up the University’s affairs soon—but not before he had personally handed me my medical diploma!
Now, after our lunch, President Mirlan looked at me for a moment and then said, “Well, Harry my boy, I am so very happy to hear such good reports of your accomplishments in the various clinics and especially at the Dispensary; I always had extreme confidence in your abilities and now I know that my efforts on your behalf have not been in vain. My own work here is practically finished. Yours is just beginning. Good Luck and may God be with you. I am certain that you will be a fine doctor and that we will all be proud of you.”
“I have something else which I want you to know. I am resigning from Boston University at the close of this school year. I am returning to DePauw University, my own Alma Mater, in Greencastle, Indiana and I expect to spend the rest of my academic days there.”
I was desolate, what would I do without my good friend and benefactor? It took me a long time to recuperate from the repercussions of that meeting. However, I knew that if he continued at Boston University, working at the incredible pace he set for himself, it would be only a matter of time before he expired from overwork.
***
On May 20th, 1924, we had a general, written, examination which covered our entire four years’ study. We were instructed to take all the time we wished, even six hours. I completed mine in four hours. I was confident that I had passed and I was pleased—I was now a real doctor. Approximately a week later we received our marks on the general examinations and I was elated—I had one of the best marks in the entire class.
* * *
It was good that I had something to keep my spirits up, I was now faced with two very important problems and I had no one to help me but myself, only I could make the decision relative to my internship and the even greater step, marriage.
I applied for internship at McGill Hospital in Montreal, Canada, this was my first choice; my second was the Methodist Hospital in New York City; third, Hartford City Hospital in Connecticut; and finally, Bridgeport City Hospital in the same state. I was accepted by all four!
I was trying desperately to decide which one to accept when I happened to go to the medical school to see one of my professors. I stopped to read the bulletin board—Lynn City Hospital (Massachusetts) wanted interns, they were to be selected by examination only and the test was that same day! I rushed to this hospital, into the Superintendent’s office and was directed to the examination room. I completed the exam and in about three days I was notified that I had been accepted and was scheduled to report for duty one week after my graduation.
I really wanted to wait until my internship was finished before marrying. I pleaded with Ioana and her father to just wait the additional year but her father was adamant, saying that I had kept him in this country for nine years and that I must now marry his daughter so that he could return to his family in Greece (Macedonia was now considered part of Greece). Actually, he did not go back until about twelve years later but used this threat as a weapon to marry off his daughter.
***
To reveal just how this dilemma was solved, I must at this time go back to my childhood in Turia-Kragna. There was in Thessaly, a province of Greece, an excellent family by the name of Rasta. The father was a captain in the Romanian Revolutionary Army—his name was dreaded by the Greeks and, although they tried many times to kill him, he was too intelligent to be caught and so great a fighter that their efforts came to naught. My father met him frequently while grazing his flocks on the mountain, often Captain Rasta spent a day or a night with my father and they became very good friends. He had two sons, Dimitri (Jim) and George.
Once a group of Greek guerilla outlaws moved in and took all my father’s sheep; to prevent his going to the authorities, they also tied up my father and took him along. Captain Rasta was informed by one of his many “contacts” and immediately rode out, overcame the thieves and saved my father’s life. This further cemented their friendship but, alas, a short time later Captain Rasta was betrayed by one of his “friendly contacts,” was ambushed and killed.
His son, Dimitri, witnessed the slaying but was able to remain hidden until it was safe for him to go to my father and tell him the terrible news. My father arranged for Mrs. Rasta and her sons to come to Turia-Kragna to live. Dimitri was a little older than I but we became very good friends, in fact we were almost like brothers; until the time came for me to go away to school we were inseparable.
When Dimitri was about fifteen or sixteen, an uncle of his who was also a revolutionary fighter came to visit them. He so inflamed Dimitri that they set out to find the people who had killed Captain Rasta—they were determined to avenge his death. They, too, were ambushed and the uncle was killed; for a second time Dimitri managed to escape unscathed. He returned to the town and told my father and my uncle what had happened. They strongly advised that he flee the country as the Greeks would not rest until they had succeeded in killing him, too. My uncle provided him with a visa and the money for his passage to America. Dimitri, before leaving, made a special trip to Monastir visit me at the Turkish Lyceum for the purpose of saying “good-bye” to me.
My own troubles followed and, although I knew that he had been going to America, I did not know if he arrived in North or South America (at that time many Romanians emigrated to South America as the language difference was less there). Somehow, in 1921, Dimitri (now called exclusively “Jim”) Rasta heard rumors that I had come to the United States, but he was unable to locate me definitely until the fall of 1922, at which time he secured my address at 137 Pembroke St. in Boston, Mass.
I remember vividly that Sunday in October when the doorbell rang at about ten in the morning and my wonderful little old landlady answered it; she then called to me, “Oh, Harry, this is for you, some friends of yours want to see you.”
I rushed down and when I saw my dear friend I screamed, “My God, what a wonderful surprise. Where did you come from? How did you find me?”—all this in Romanian, of course, then the vast wonder of it all cut me short and I simply stood motionless and speechless. Jim broke the emotional barrier by introducing his nephew, Spiro Culetsu, whom I had never known. I took them up to my room and we had an extended conversation about the past in the old country as well as the present and future being provided in our new, adopted country. Jim was very glad that I had made use of my intelligence and was especially happy to learn that I would become a medical doctor. He assured me that if I needed any financial assistance, I had only to let him know and he would be happy to help me as much as he could. Suddenly it was almost one o’clock and Jim asked if there was a good Greek restaurant where we could have dinner.
I assured him that the Athen’s Restaurant on Washington Street was by far the best in the city. “Well, let’s go, what are we waiting for?” We had a wonderful dinner and Jim paid the bill for everyone and also left a generous tip for the Greek waiter. At that time I was able to afford only a plate of beans accompanied by their excellent Greek bread—every time I went there the waiter asked when my friend was coming back!
Jim and his nephew lived in Woonsocket, Rhode Island. Many Romanians had settled there and they had built a Romanian Orthodox Church. Jim insisted that I come there for a weekend very soon as his mother was anxious to see me, he me that he would take care of all my expenses. I promised to let him know just as soon as I could and, in December, I wrote, telling him that I could spend two or three days of my Christmas vacation with them. He immediately sent me money for the trip.
I went by train and was warmly received by his mother, in fact she was already working hard at finding me a wealthy Romanian girl to marry! I explained that my study schedule was so heavy that I could not easily take time to visit at their home, but as Easter of 1923 approached, I did go back for three days. I had Ioana’s picture in one of the books I had brought to study and Mrs. Rasta saw this; after I had returned to Boston, she told Jim that I was carrying around the picture of a girl, a nice looking young lady but she hoped that the girl was not an American!!
Poor Jim, this incident gave him further perplexities, the next Sunday found him back in Boston and at my door. We went out for dinner, as usual, but today Jim did not seem to be as full of conversation as was his wont; finally, he told me what his mother had said and he, too, wanted assurances as to the nationality of “my girl.”
I assured him that she was definitely a pure Romanian, from our own home town, “She is the daughter of Atha Dafula, you know the family. he and her father came here in 1915 and they stayed with my cousin, Atha Vaeni. We fell in love and have been engaged for a long time, I have promised to marry her just as soon as I graduate. Her father will not spend any money, so we will just have the church ceremony and no wedding reception.”
“We’ll see about that,” replied Jim. “I am so very much relieved, now I can tell my mother that you are really O.K.”
“Please, Jim, don’t tell her yet. I don’t want all the Woonsocket Romanians knowing my business. Won’t you please keep it a secret until about a month before my graduation?”
He agreed and told me that, when I was ready, the wedding would be from his home and would take place in the Romanian Church there; all expenses would be paid by him. He also told me that when I was ready to open my office, I could count on him to finance that venture.
I said, “Jim, your father and my father were good friends and now you extend your hand to lighten my burdens, surely they are looking down on us right now and nodding their heads in full approval.”
***
I was unable to change Mr. Dafula’s ultimatum—I now asked Jim to see if he could make the stubborn old man change his mind. He had no better luck than I, the wedding was definitely on, we proceeded to go ahead with the plans. Jim advanced me $800.00 with which to pay the rental of an apartment in Lynn for Ioana and to provide for her maintenance during my internship. (Can we, in 1976 imagine anyone needing only $66.66 a month for room and board?)
The Rasta family welcomed Ioana when she went to them a few days before the wedding; Maria Vaeni and her daughter, Kiratsa, also accompanied her. My cousin Atha was unable to leave Newport, so Ioana’s father was the only other guest who was actually part of our families—all the others were good friends of the Rasta family
I even had to borrow the money to pay for Ioana’s wedding dress, her father refused to spend one red cent! I used one of Ioana’s famous suits as my wedding finery. Jim staged an elaborate Macedonian wedding with all the trimmings; he even hired three musicians for the dancing. He was my best man and Spiro Culetsu and Nick Balamaci were the ushers, Jim’s wife was the matron of honor.
The religious ceremony was performed on June 8, 1924 in the Romanian Orthodox Church of St. John the Baptist, in Woonsocket*, by the Reverend Moloci. The reception that followed was really something to remember; Jim even had a photographer come and take our pictures. There is a Romanian tradition that, towards the end of the evening, all the guests line up and make a gift of money to the bride. Thanks to Jim and his family, Ioana received over two hundred dollars.
The following morning Ioana and I, with Maria and her daughter, left for Newport to spend the week with Cousin Atha. This short honeymoon ended June 16th when we went to Boston for the culmination of all my hard work and struggles. The long awaited, glorious day had arrived – GRADUATION!
Ioana and her father were there, Jim and his wife, Spiro Culetso, Nick Balamaci, and George Babiana (another good friend of Jim’s) were my invited guests.
I walked straight to the platform, after hearing my name called, right to President Mirlan. He smiled and said, “Harry, my boy, I am very happy to present your medical diploma. You have worked very hard, I wish you good luck and may God bless you.”
Jim took us all to the Athens Restaurant for a graduation dinner, thus making one more person happy —the waiter!
(To be continued!)
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