Monuments to Veterinary Medicine, Part 2

Donald F. Smith, Cornell University

July 9, 2014

The oral interview is an effective way to capture the history of veterinary medicine and also honor those whose impact on the profession might otherwise have been lost. This is the second part in a five-part series on oral interviews I conducted starting in 2007.1

One of my challenges in conducting and preserving these interviews is determining the boundaries for reporting where accuracy and comprehensiveness clash with confidentiality and good taste. Sometimes the lines were clear, such as when a nonagenarian alumnus in the midst of telling me about student life in the 1930s, shared a disgusting anti-Semitic quote that had been made by one of the instructors while he and a Jewish student had been on clinical duty together 70 years earlier. As he told me the story, seemingly reliving it for the first time in decades, he turned his head and gazed across the room from his seat on the living room sofa. His voice, which had been soft and sensitive, turned abrasive and discordant as he blurted out the offensive remark. Almost involuntarily, he snapped his head back, looked straight into my eyes and, with a trembling voice demanded, “You won’t write that, will you?” I assured him that I would delete that segment from the tape (which I did), and we proceeded with the interview. For me, that was a responsible way to handle that situation, and I have not repeated the remark either orally or in writing even though the interviewee passed several years ago.

Other situations have been more difficult to handle, such as when the historical record has been revised (perhaps unknowingly) by the surviving members of the family. I am aware of two occasions in which that happened, and they presented difficult dilemmas. In both cases, I ultimately chose the route of non-disclosure, though it meant failing to recount the complete story as evidenced by examination of the institution’s period faculty minutes.

Neither the surviving spouse, in one instance, nor the surviving daughter, in the other, told of their family member’s dismissal from Cornell, which in both cases was for academic reasons. One man failed at Cornell, then proceeded to another veterinary college a year later (following a brief stint in the military) and successfully completed the veterinary curriculum at that institution. The other man was alleged by family members to have left Cornell because of financial hardship, but in fact had been dismissed for academic reasons. He later returned to Cornell and successfully completed his DVM degree.

During a few occasions, highly personal information was disclosed in the course of the interview. Sometimes this was unintentional, such as information relating to a sexual relationship or a description of a wayward member of the family, and the interviewee later requested that I not share it (and I have not).

In the first installment of summaries of the oral interviews in Enduring Veterinary Legacy,2 I shared the abstract of the interview with Dr. Tevis Goldhaft, who had entered Cornell in 1931 as one of 17 Jewish students in this class. To thwart the establishment of a new veterinary college on Long Island, Cornell increased its enrollment of Jewish students to approximately 20% throughout the 1930s. Many of these students were from urban areas, especially New York City and the surrounding areas, and did not have extensive farm backgrounds.

Dr. Harry J. Fallon, 1938, Graduation Photo

(© New York State Veterinary College, Cornell University)

In addition to Dr. Goldhaft, I interviewed two of these veterinarians who also graduated in the 1930s, and the surviving spouses of two others. Dr. Harry Fallon and Dr. Henry Grossman graduated in 1938.

Fallon began his educational career under his given name, Henry Feldman, but changed his surname thinking it was too “Jewish-sounding”. He was concerned it might limit his opportunities for employment. As it turned out, his Jewish heritage was the strongest factor in his getting an exceptional starting job in a good practice.

The owners of a practice in Akron, Ohio, included a veterinarian of the Quaker faith who had graduated from the Ohio State University, and a Catholic man from Cornell. According to Dr. Fallon, the two could never resolve between themselves whether to hire entry-level associates who were either Quaker or Catholic, and so they ended the stalemate by agreeing to hire Jewish graduates. They continued this practice for several years, usually recruiting the top academic Jewish student from Cornell every two years, and then sending them on to start their own practices.

In the spring of 1938, the offer went to a student who had an identical twin in the same class. But the young man (and, in turn, his brother) declined, as they had decided to work together and open a practice in the New York City area. The offer next fell to Fallon who excitedly accepted the invitation. It proved to be an outstanding job with great mentors, and he eventually moving to West Virginia where he became a prominent veterinarian, even writing articles while in clinical practice. He rose to become president of the state’s Veterinary Medical Association.

Dr. Henry E. Grossman, 1938, Graduation Photo

(© New York State Veterinary College, Cornell University)

Dr. Henry Grossman also graduated in 1938. Though I had known him as a prominent member of the New York City veterinary community and former president of the state’s Veterinary Medical Society, he had passed in 2000 and my interview was with his wife and one of his daughters. The Grossman story describes what it was like to develop a veterinary practice from its beginning, by initially transforming a few rooms in their mother’s home in Brooklyn, then moving the practice into a rented corner building and hanging a neon sign in the shape of a Scottie dog, made popular because of President Roosevelt’s dog named Fala. Dr. Grossman’s practice was very successful, and he maintained it for 60 years until health problems forced his retirement.

Dr. Isidor I. Sprecker, 1939, Graduation Photo

(© New York State Veterinary College, Cornell University)

Eight members of the graduating class of 1939 were also Jewish. I knew Dr. Isidor Sprecker (formerly Sprecher) very well as he was a frequent visitor to Cornell and, with his wife, had become a major benefactor to the college. The veterinary library and also the comparative cancer program bear the Sprecher3 name in recognition of their many contributions.

I never conducted a recorded interview with Dr. Sprecker during this lifetime, but Mrs. Sylvia Sprecker granted an interview at her Delray Beach home in 2008. She described her husband’s experiences as an officer in the Army Veterinary Corps during World War II. He was stationed in the British West Indies where he was the chief food inspector but also took care of the dogs and other pets of the officers on the base. She and Isidor were married in July 1945 with, in Mrs. Sprecker’s words, “a honeymoon on Barbados, courtesy of Uncle Sam.”

Dr. Sprecker had a strong passion for education and a deep admiration for Ezra Cornell, the institution’s co-founder and first benefactor. Shortly after presenting a speech to alumni in January 2004 honoring the birthday of Mr. Cornell, I received a telephone call informing me that Isidor had just died. I felt a warm rush go through my body as I realized how these two men of such different backgrounds had been so similar in their core values of learning and giving.

Dr. Robert Ferber, 1939, Graduation Photo

(© New York State Veterinary College, Cornell University)

My 2008 visit with Dr. Robert Ferber in Syosset on Long Island remains one of my favorites. Ferber was a warm and robust gentleman, and was so well-prepared for the interview that I hardly had to prompt him as he progressed into a long, interesting and articulate description of his life, starting from childhood through his days at Cornell.

The child of Russian immigrants, Ferber was raised in Brooklyn and Queens. He applied to Cornell with an undergraduate degree (rare at that time when the pre-veterinary requirements were for one year of college education) but was denied admission and went to Michigan State University and was accepted as a transfer student after his first year. Though he had been bitterly disappointed not to have been accepted initially at Cornell despite his stellar academic record, Ferber chose to speak about the positive aspects of his student life, and the many students of all backgrounds who would became lifelong friends and colleagues.

Ferber started a small animal practice in Bayside, New York, in a period when there were only four established practices in the area. He became the patriarch of a family of veterinarians that would eventually include not only his younger brother, but his son and grandson. He was one of the longest surviving members of the Class of 1939, passing last December (2013), nine months before his 100th birthday.

Veterinary medicine in the pre World War II era was largely defined by agricultural priorities and admission of students from rural areas. The period stories of Jewish veterinarians who were the children of Russian and East European immigrants coming from an urban background provides what you might first imagine to be a grating juxtaposition of religious, cultural and professional differences.

Rather than differences, however, these interviews consistently tell of how students from widely different backgrounds formed a common bond during the harsh Depression years. Along with veterinarians with similar values from across the country, these men and an occasional woman, shaped the growth and development of veterinary medicine in ways that set the stage for the next half century.

Dr. Smith welcomes comments at dfs6@cornell.edu

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1 Smith, Donald F. Monuments to Veterinary Medicine. Perspectives in Veterinary Medicine, June 23rd, 2014.
2 Smith, Donald F. An Enduring Veterinary Legacy, Bringing History to Life.
3 In the named tributes to Dr. and Mrs. Sprecker, the former spelling (Sprecher) is used.

Water For Elephants Trumpets Cornell

Posted by Donald F. Smith, Cornell University

April 26, 2011

A half century ago, Norman Rockwell painted an image of a young veterinarian examining a little boy’s dog. Partly obscured in the background is a Cornell University diploma. The year, 1963, was the centennial of the American Veterinary Medical Association. On the threshold of the AVMA’s 150^th anniversary, another veterinary image has emerged in American pop culture and, once again, Cornell University is featured.



Cornell University College of Veterinary Medicine
Photo provided by Cornell.

 The movie, Water for Elephants, depicts a 1931 Cornell veterinary student who runs away during his final exams because of a family tragedy. Jacob Jankowski hops a circus train and claims to be a veterinarian. His prime charge was an Asian elephant named Rosie.

The movie follows Sara Gruen’s novel by the same title, including about 20 direct references to Cornell University and the Ivy League. For Cornellians everywhere―and especially for the 4,000 DVMs scattered across the country and around the world―there is great pride in seeing our college depicted on the big screen.

But how accurate is that depiction?  The following questions should test your knowledge of veterinary medicine at Cornell during the Depression. (Answers follow)

1.   Jacob Jankowski was forced to leave Cornell because his father (also a veterinarian) had mortgaged the family business to pay for his son’s tuition. How much was tuition during the Depression?

2.   How many women were in Jacob’s class? The movie highlights one who sits next to Jacob during his final examination, and appears to depict at least one other. In the novel, author Sara Gruen says there were four.

3.   A picture was seen for a fleeting second on the wall of the examination room when Jacob was leaving the room to learn of his parents’ death?  Was it the portrait of university founder Ezra Cornell or President Herbert Hoover?

4.   Did it take six years to become a veterinarian?

5.   Is the movie correct in describing the veterinary degree as Doctor of Veterinary Science?

6.   When did Cornell become part of the Ivy League?

7.   Would Jacob have lived with his parents while attending college?

Answers:

1.   Because of the land grant agreement, there was no tuition for New York State students until the 1960s. This challenges the movie’s central premise that the Jankowski family lost everything because of tuition payments?

2.   Though Cornell’s first woman veterinarian graduated in 1910, most classes in the next 30 years -- including Jacob's class -- had none. The Class of 1940 was the first to have four women.

3.   Though not an exact depiction, it appears to be an image of the veterinary college’s first professor and dean (principal), James Law.

4.   It did not: four years after high school was the prescribed length at that time. The youngest member of the Class of 1931 was the recently deceased Dr. Lawrence Waitz. He entered Cornell at age 16 and graduated at 20.

5.   Except for the period before 1896 when the degree was Bachelor of Veterinary Science (in the British tradition), the Cornell veterinary degree has always been Doctor of Veterinary Medicine.

6.   The Ivy League was not established until 1954.

7.   Almost certainly not. Most students were poor, living in modest single rooms near campus.

Enjoy the movie!

Dr. Smith welcomes comments at dfs6@cornell.edu

Water For Elephants: A Book, A Movie, and Veterinarians who Graduated from Cornell in 1931

Sara Gruen’s best-selling novel, Water for Elephants, opens as 93-year-old Jacob Jankowski, sits dejected in an assisted living home, verbally sparring with a retired lawyer. As the story flashes back to 1931, we learn that veterinary student Jankowski is about to take his final exams at Cornell University when his parents are killed in an auto accident. Jacob is disconsolate because his father―also a veterinarian―had mortgaged his practice to pay the Ivy League tuition. He abandons Cornell and joins the circus.

Centenarian Dr. Lawrence Waitz is a real member of the Veterinary Class of ’31. He graduated along with 35 other men―sorry, there were no women in the class like the sensuous Catherine who sat beside Jacob with her thighs provocatively touching his―and began his practice on Long Island in the depths of the Depression. Dr. Waitz settled in Hempstead from which he could drive in all directions to riding academies, stables and dairy farms.

Going to Cornell in 1930

By Donald F. Smith, Cornell University
Posted January 2, 2011


This historical blog is in recognition of the 150th anniversary 
of the American Veterinary Medical Association (1863-2013).



Joe Merenda went to Cornell before there were dormitories, residence advisors, financial aid consultants and cafeterias.Born in 1912, Dr. Merenda grew up on a Long Island estate where his parents were employed as laborers.  As he was finishing high school, a Cornell graduate named Jack Sloan noticed the teenager had an affinity for animals. “Go to veterinary college”, he told him. “You go for one year. If you like it, you continue. If you don’t like it, you quit, but you will have had a year of college.”

Joseph Merenda, DVM and friend Ms. Rae Lazare, 2007
Photo by the author

Arriving at the train station in Ithaca with throngs of other students in the fall of 1930, Joe experienced independent living for the first time. “Now that was an experience! You are met up there by a Cornell student and he has a laundry bag—a big khaki laundry bag with a big red C—and you’re not going to be able to go through college unless you’ve got one of those big C laundry bags. So they sell you a laundry bag for 50 cents.

“Then another fellow says, ‘You got a room?’ and I said, ‘No.’ So he says, ‘Wait here’. And they’d get two or three other fellows who didn’t have a room. They took us up by car to a little office in Collegetown. And you’d sit there and they’d say, ‘What kind of room do you want? You want a room on your own, or with one or two people?’

“I didn’t know what I wanted so I took the first house that I saw. There were three of us in that house, sharing two rooms.”

Veterinary classes were also a new experience. The faculty warned the new students to look at the guy to their left and the one to their right because by the end of the term, one of them wouldn’t be there.

“It wasn’t going to be easy. You didn’t know whether you were going or coming; you were overwhelmed. You’re a kid away from home, you’re up there, you’re living in a house, you take your meals when you feel like it. You go to class, and nobody seems to give a darn about what you’re doing. It was just a whole new way of life.”

Joe was one of the 40 students (of 60) to receive his DVM degree on schedule in 1934. He accepted a position with Dr. C.P. Zepp, an accomplished small animal veterinarian with a clinic on West 53rd Street in New York City. It was an exciting time for dog and cat veterinarians. Dr. Merenda and his small animal colleagues were pioneers in every sense of the word, developing procedures that were in some cases more innovative than those used by their former instructors at Cornell.

Current site of the veterinary practice on West 53rd Street,
just east of the Sheraton Hotel.

As he had during his college days, Dr. Merenda continued to live modestly during the Depression, saving much of his weekly $25 salary so he could get married. He was called into military service in 1941, then returned to his small animal practice for an additional 30 years.

Dr. Merenda remained an active alumnus all his life, returning to Cornell yearly for reunions, even as late as 2009 at age 97. Not bad for a kid who had never been away from home!

You can read (and hear) my complete 2007 interview with Dr. Merenda at http://ecommons.library.cornell.edu/bitstream/1813/12877/1/Merenda,%20Joseph%20J.%20'34%20BioInt.pdf

Dr. Smith invites comments at dfs6@cornell.edu.  

A Veterinarian for Eighty Years

By Donald F. Smith, Cornell University
Posted January 1, 2011



This historical blog is in recognition of the 150th anniversary 
of the American Veterinary Medical Association (1863-2013).



A hearty New Year tribute to 100-year-old Dr. Larry Waitz who marks his 80^th year as a veterinarian in 2011. He was awarded his D.V.M. from Cornell in 1931, earlier than any other living U.S. veterinarian.

Dr. and Mrs. Waitz, and their dog, in October 2007.

I spoke by telephone with Dr. Waitz today at his home in Cutchogue (Long Island). Towards the end of our conversation, I asked if he had any words of advice for veterinary students today. “Just tell them that being a veterinarian all these years has been the most wonderful experience of my life. I just loved every minute of it.”

Dr. Waitz started practicing 15 years before antibiotics, and spayed dogs in the days of rudimentary anesthetics. He remembers cows being housed and milked in converted multi-floor warehouses in Queens and Brooklyn (my wife refers to this as the 'original factory farming'). 

As a boy of 14 in New York, Larry was able to get a job exercising horses and leading trail rides. At one of his stables, he met a veterinarian who so impressed him with his medical skills with horses that he decided to pursue that as a career.

He entered Cornell in 1927 at the age of 16 and graduated four years later with a DVM degree as the youngest student in his class. Unlike the fictional account of the Class of 1931 hero in the book, “Water for Elephants”, who was supposed to have had four female classmates, Larry assured me there were actually no women in his class--and Cornell records corroborate this (more on this book in a future blog).

Veterinary students attending college during the Depression lived on almost nothing. Though tuition was free for New York residents, the students typically held one or two jobs to pay their student fees and living expenses.

Waitz loved Cornell and took time from his work and studies to enjoy the area. He would sometimes walk down the hill into Ithaca after studying late into the evening, then climb the steep Seneca or Buffalo Street hill to return to his apartment on Eddy Street.

Though he also loved to ski, “There was only one snowstorm all the four years that I was at Ithaca. I put my skis on about 9:00pm at the back of my house. I went down all the way to the center of the town, and then I got the trolley car and came up again. I did that a couple of times. I loved the surroundings. Fortunately, I had buddies that always had an old car. It was a delightful time.”

I asked Larry what it was like starting a practice on Long Island during the Depression. “I started off when men were selling apples on the street for 5 cents but, right from the beginning, I made a good living. I was so fortunate to be a veterinarian because there was a shortage of large animal veterinarians in that area.

“At first, a lot of people, including a girl I dated, said, ‘You’re crazy to be a veterinarian. The horses are going; there won’t be any work once the horses are all gone.’ How wrong she was. I took care of about 18 commercial dairies, many stables of horses, and many private horses on estates and riding academies. And the horses are still going strong on Long Island!”

After retiring over four decades ago, Dr. Waitz became a master sailor and very accomplished painter. He and his wife, Anne, still live in a farmhouse a few thousand feet from the bay which he grew to love in his later years. You can read (and hear) my complete 2007 interview with this kind and gentle man at  http://ecommons.library.cornell.edu/bitstream/1813/12879/1/Waitz,%20Lawrence%20T.%20'34%20BioInt.pdf

Dr. Smith invites comments at dfs6@cornell.edu

Dr. Larry Waitz died at his home in Cutchogue, NY on February 27, 2011, four months before his 100th birthday, and one month after Annie Lind, his wife of 72 years.