Established by a Grass Roots Movement: Minnesota’s College of Veterinary Medicine

Donald F. Smith, Cornell University
July 4, 2014

It’s the most remarkable story imaginable: how a group of returning World War II veterans, concerned that their state of Minnesota did not have a program to teach veterinary medicine, formed a political lobby so effective as to overcome resistance of the very university that would eventually grant them their DVM degrees. If there ever was an example of the impact and power of students to effect meaningful change, this is it.

After World War II, thousands of battle-weary veterans returned home, clutching in their hands and hearts the desire to get a university education. Many who aspired to become veterinarians, like Glen Nelson of Minnesota, were married and impatiently ready to get on with their lives.

After he was discharged in 1945, Glen and his wife, Mary, motored in their 1940 Buick to Fort Collins, Colorado, home to one of the ten existing veterinary colleges. Glen was in the process of submitting his application when the dean called him into his office.

You know, Glen, I’ve got to be honest with you, If you stay here for five years [as an undergraduate] and get straight ‘A’s, I can’t assure you that you’ll get into vet school because we have to take residents first, then residents of adjoining states, and it will be more than five years down the road regardless of what you do.1

The Nelsons returned home, dejected but not beaten. Glen enrolled in Animal Husbandry at the University of Minnesota College of Agriculture, and there met Ithel Schipper, a graduate student in Dairy Bacteriology who was also interested in becoming a veterinarian. They started to meet at the student center to discuss a plan, and soon they and other aspiring veterinarians formed a pre-vet club that grew to over 80, mostly veterans

The group lobbied state legislators, the Farm Bureau, the Farmers Union, the Grange and the American Legion. With the encouragement of one state senator (Anchor Nelsen), Glen Nelson rounded up 70-80 students who donned their ribbons from the war and assembled on the Rotunda of the Capital.2

Despite the support they received from many organizations, the university was opposed. The administration was concerned that a new veterinary college would siphon off resources from what they feared to be a zero-sum appropriation from the Legislature. However, like in so many Midwestern states, the power in the legislature was agriculture and the battle came down to a struggle between the university’s board of regents (of which only two strongly supported the new veterinary school), and the legislature.

The political issues between the university and some members of the legislature became so heated that one state senator (Oscar Swenson) expressed the opinion that the College of Agriculture (which would be home to the nascent veterinary program) be “divorced” from the rest of the university so that the legislature could exercise more control over funds appropriate to agriculture.3

There was even opposition within the agricultural college as current veterinary college dean, Dr. Trevor Ames, reported on his understanding of the mood of Nelson and other veterans at the time.4

There is a great story of Glen being called to the dean’s office of the College of Agriculture and being told that he and the rest of the pre-vet club needed to stop their political lobbying for a new veterinary school. The story goes that Glen boldly informed the dean that he had just spent four years in Europe as a tank commander and certainly wasn’t going to be intimidated by a university administrator.

During that same session of the legislature, a bill was advanced to lay the groundwork for establishing a veterinary college at ‘university farm,’ part of the agricultural college on the St. Paul campus.5

The justification for veterinary medicine was buttressed by the assertion of the sponsor of the veterinary bill that Minnesota “faces a ‘critical’ shortage of veterinarians and a total lack of school facilities. As a result, many ex-servicemen who desire to follow the profession are denied training opportunities.”6 The fact that Minnesota’s 409 veterinarians were an average of 51 years, and that Minnesota (the third ranked state in livestock production) was unable to enroll students in other state schools because of the backlog of competition from their own residents, strengthened the arguments.7 These were the very arguments that Nelson, Schipper, and their colleagues had been making for months as well pressing the need for veterinarians familiar with such public health issues are tuberculosis and brucellosis.

Original Veterinary Anatomy Building

(Photo courtesy of University of Minnesota, College of Veterinary Medicine, 2014)

The 1947 legislature appropriated money to start the school8 and 24 students matriculated that fall. For the college’s first ten years, it was administratively part of the College of Agriculture, Forestry and Economics.

Original Veterinary Hospital Building

(Photo courtesy of University of Minnesota, College of Veterinary Medicine, 2014)

Glen Nelson graduated with the first class in 1951. He served in the Army Veterinary Corps in Korea and became a faculty member at the University of Minnesota from which he received the Distinguished Service Award in 1990 and a similar citation from the Minnesota Veterinary Medical Associate the following year.9 In his waning years, Dr. Nelson reflected about the composition of the first class, of which he was a member.

Most of us were veterans. We had a B17 pilot who was shot down over France and escaped back to England with the French Underground. We had a B29 pilot that flew over Nagasaki the day after THE Bomb. I was a tank officer under Patton in North Africa and Italy. We had a prisoner of war in our class, an ex-POW from the Germans, and one that was shot up pretty bad on Saipan. Going to the student center was like sitting around the American Legion Club.10

Glen Nelson, DVM (U Minn Class of 1951)

(Photo courtesy of University of Minnesota, College of Veterinary Medicine, 2014)

In the history course I teach to veterinary students at Cornell, I always take time to describe this story as a case study of the impact that veterinary students can have on the outcome of the profession. Surely there is no better example.

By Donald F. Smith

Dr. Smith acknowledges the research assistance from Nathan Watson (Cornell, 2017). He is also grateful for the provision of photographs and support of Dean Trevor Ames and Ms. Sue Kirchoff of the University of Minnesota.

Dr. Smith invites comments at dfs6@cornell.edu

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1 Nelson, Glen H. Give Us a Veterinary College. In Their Words: The Stories of Minnesota’s Greatest Generation, Minnesota Historical Society (2007).
2 Ibid.
3 Johnson, Adolph. Separate State Agricultural College Sought. Winona Republican Herald, Feb 4, 1947.
4 Ames, Trevor (Dean, University of Minnesota College of Veterinary Medicine). Email to Donald F. Smith (Cornell University), June 20, 2014.
5 Ibid.
6 Veterinary College for “U” Approved. Brainerd Daily Dispatch, March 3, 1947.
7 Ibid.
8 24 Enroll in First U. of M. Veterinary School. The Winona Republican Herald, Sept 27, 1947.
9 Nelson, Glen H. Obituaries. JAVMA News, February 15, 2011.
10 Nelson, Glen H. Give Us a Veterinary College. Ibid.

Jeanne Neubecker Logue, DVM: A Veterinarian Who Understood the Wonder of it All

Donald F. Smith, DVM, Cornell University

May 14, 2014

Dr. Jeanne Neubecker Logue began her veterinary studies during WWII in an accelerated program developed so that the students could complete their studies and contribute to the war effort as soon as possible. The students attended classes continuously without a summer break, completing the equivalent of four years in fewer than three.

Dr. Jeanne Neubecker Logue, 1944, Graduation Photo

(© New York State Veterinary College, Cornell University)

Dr. Logue was one of only three women in the class. “Perhaps they [had more than one of us because they] thought the girls needed moral support,” she said in an interview during her 60th class reunion.2
In retrospect, it was quite amazing that she was accepted in the early 1940s. Not only had she grown up in New York City―there was a strong bias against city applicants at the time―but she had little experience with large animals.3

Most of the faculty tolerated a couple of women in the class, but some were staunchly opposed.

Dr. Fincher, our Ambulatory teacher, was hard-nosed and did not want women to go on farm calls during our fourth year. He claimed that it was hard enough to get the farmers to agree to have students go out anyway, and they didn’t want a bunch of women around.

But when Dr. Logue got out into practice herself, she concluded that, “The lesion was in the professor’s mind more than the farmer’s. If you have a bunch of fellows there and one girl among them, what difference is that going to make? Nothing!” Nor did a gender problem follow her into practice where she did a great deal of large animal work for several years. She had no problem with large animal clients as long as she was able to “cure the cow and deliver the calf.”

Dr. Logue had been determined from a young age to be a veterinarian,

Since I was four-years-old, I had wanted to be an animal doctor (that was the word I used at that state in my life). I’ve never really wavered from that goal. I would even save my allowances—I would get a nickel, or a dime a week. Five cents was given to Sunday school, and the other nickel, I could do with what I wished. I put a little away, but I always wanted to save some of it because I knew even at an early age that going to school was expensive.

Emerging from college and married to Joseph Logue, an engineering graduate from Cornell, she worked at the ASPCA in New York City to accommodate her husband’s work location. A few years later, he took a job about 80 miles north of New York City in the town of Poughkeepsie and that is where she started her own practice.

With no money to build a hospital, she operated a small clinic and referred cases that needed to be hospitalized to other local veterinarians. But as her clientele grew, she was able to take over a mixed animal practice in the nearby town of Kingston when the veterinarian there was called into the service.

So began the most enjoyable veterinary years of Dr. Logue’s life as chronicled elegantly in her book, “The Wonder of It All.”4 She enjoyed the variety of doing both large and small animal work. According to some sages, she was the first woman to practice on large animals, but she never acknowledged that distinction, always citing one or two others whom she felt preceded her.

She was extremely busy during this period of her life as she balanced caring for farm patients in the country, dogs and cats in clinic, along with raising children and being a wife to a busy engineer who expected her to be wife, homemaker and executive’s spouse. The challenges of “doing it all,” were passionately described in her memoirs and are familiar to many women veterinarians today. She maintained this lifestyle for several years, working long and challenging hours, that were so disquieted with incessant emergencies that “it seemed like we had only two or three uninterrupted meals in an equal amount of time.”

One of her most memorable stories working with cattle was losing her wedding ring. She answered an obstetrical call and traveled to the farm only to discover that the high school fellow who had prepared her medical pack had neglected to include the examination sleeve and glove that are the normal requisite to the full-armed vaginal and uterine examination.

So there she was, delivering the calf with no protection on her hands and arms for the ultra-slippery fetal fluids. Everything seemed to go fine at the farm, until she got back to a waiting room full of people and she discovered that her wedding ring was missing from her finger. When her client noticed what was wrong, he announced to all those preparing for their turn in the burgeoning waiting room that, “Doc has lost her wedding ring” and soon they were all looking for it.

Meanwhile, Dr. Logue snuck into the surgery in the back where no one would hear her, and phoned the farmer, asking him to separate that cow from the others and to keep her tethered until the placenta had been completely expelled.5 “Then search through the afterbirth, and I think you’ll find a wedding ring,” she told him. She did retrieve her ring a few days later, but not before her husband and his work colleagues had embarrassingly noticed its absence during a dinner party at their home.

As the practice got so busy that it was disrupting her family life more than she felt tolerable, Dr. Logue decided to make some adjustments in her professional life. Feeling that “maybe I was being too selfish,” she sold the practice and the family moved to Poughkeepsie closer to where her husband worked. She was hired by a small animal practitioner who was also experiencing the challenge of balancing personal and professional life. They each benefited from the partnership though she missed the large animal work very much.

Dr. Logue and her husband raised three children. In addition to the book describing her life as a veterinarian, she also authored a captivating biography of one of the principals who discovered the role of the tick as the intermediary host in the pathogenesis of Texas Fever in cattle (Beyond the Germ Theory: The Story of Dr. Cooper Curtis)6. That book, also beautifully-written, is one of the most carefully-researched of the many books written on this seminal subject in the history of veterinary medicine.

Dr. Logue and her husband maintained close personal friendships with her classmates, meeting for dinner parties or other social events. She had an elegance and grace about her, a truly beautiful person. During my lectures on veterinary history, I always give a tribute to her as one of the special people of the profession.

Until she passed last year, I would often invite students to call or visit her to hear first-hand what it was like being a women veterinarian during a challenging period in our profession’s history. I shall always remember the excitement on one student’s face after her visit, as she told me how grateful she was there had been women blazing the trail for her and her classmates almost 70 years earlier.

Dr. Smith welcomes comments at dfs6@cornell.edu

This story can also be accessed at Perspectives in Veterinary Medicine.

---

1 Logue, Jeanne. The Wonder of It All. (New York, Hagerstown, San Francisco, London, Sydney: Harper & Row, 1979).
2 Neubecker Logue, Jeanne (retired veterinarian, Cornell DVM, 1944), interview with Laura Finkel (archivist, Cornell University, Flower-Sprecher Veterinary Library), June 11, 2004, Cornell University. This quotation and all others in the story are from this interview.
3 Smith, Donald F. 150th Anniversary of Veterinary Education and the Veterinary Profession in North American. J Vet Med Educ 37(4), 2010. 320-322
4 Logue, Jeanne. The Wonder of It All.
5 In cattle, this is not immediate like most other species, often taking several hours or even a couple of days. It was important to keep her tethered during this period because cows are notorious for consuming their placentas.
6 Logue, Jeanne N. Beyond the Germ Theory: The Story of Cooper Curtis. (Texas A&M University Press, 1995).

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Veterinary Education and the G.I. Bill

By Donald F. Smith, Cornell University
Posted June 22, 2012
Honoring the GI Bill, signed 68 years ago today.

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

As World War II was drawing to a close, hundreds of thousands of battle-weary veterans returned home. Eager to resume their lives, the G.I. Bill of Rights (signed by President Roosevelt on June 22, 1944) eased the transition of some of them back into society by providing access to university and postgraduate education. Students who started veterinary college between 1946 and 1948 were mostly veterans, many of whom were already in their mid- to late 20s with spouses and small children. It is sometimes quipped that Cornell's 1950 graduating DVM class photo had 50 graduates and 50 children, most still in diapers. 


With only ten veterinary colleges in the United States in the early 1940s (1), available slots for veterinary students were very limited. The situation was especially acute in the agriculturally-rich midwest and southern states, and in California. Responding to this need, seven new colleges were established in the four-year period starting in 1944. Six were at land-grant universities; the other was at Tuskegee Institute, a member of the Historic Black college system.

Location of  Veterinary Colleges established
before 1920 (red) and between 1944 and 1948 (blue). 
Colleges are identified in footnote (2).

Members of the first graduating class of the new college at the University of Minnesota were all men, one of whom was Dr. Glen Nelson:  "Most of us were veterans. We had a B17 pilot who was shot down over France and escaped back to England with the French Underground. We had a B29 pilot [who] flew over Nagasaki the day after THE Bomb. I was a tank officer under Patton in North Africa and Italy. We had a prisoner of war in our class, an ex-POW, and another who was shot up pretty bad (sic) on Saipan. Going to the student center was like sitting around the American Legion Club."


Of the 17 veterinary colleges in 1948, all but two (University of Pennsylvania and Tuskegee Institute, later University) were at land-grant institutions. Most of these were located in rural areas of the country in towns or small cities such as College Station, TX; Ithaca, NY and Athens, GA. An 18th veterinary college was added at Purdue University a decade later, but no more were established until the 1970s.


(1) Middlesex University in Massachusetts operated a veterinary college  in the late 1930s and early 1940s.
(2) Veterinary colleges established between 1868 and 1920 were at: Auburn, Colorado St, Cornell, Iowa St, Kansas St, Michigan St, Ohio St, Texas A&M, U of Pennsylvania, and Washington St. Those established between 1944 and 1948 were at: Oklahoma St, Tuskegee, UC-Davis, U Georgia, U Minnesota, U Illinois, and U Missouri.


Some material for this blog first appeared in an article by Dr. Smith in the Journal of Veterinary Medical Education (JVME, 38[1], pages 84-99, 2011).
Dr. Smith invites comments at dfs6@cornell.edu.

Spielberg's Version of "War Horse"

Blog by Dr. Donald F. Smith, Cornell University

Posted Dec. 11, 2011

Michael Morpurgo’s book, War Horse, which was transformed into a Tony-award winning Broadway play, opened on the big screen since Christmas Day 2011.



It is hard for us to fathom the massive loss of animal life in the history of war. Morpurgo humanizes the plight of military animals in WWI by making the horse, Joey, the narrator of his own story. He is a British boy’s beloved work horse who is sold into the British cavalry. Through an unusual twist of events, Joey ends up going into battle on the side of the Germans, as well as the British.

The emphasis on Joey’s  health is a subtext of the story. The critical service of both British and American veterinarians and veterinary stations are described many times throughout the book.

When the fighting ceased in 1918, Joey’s plight as a surviving horse on French soil is also chronicled as he and his emaciated equine comrads are auctioned for slaughter as horse meat. This characterization of war animals as “equipment” is repeated years later in Vietnam. At the end of that war, American military dogs which had served so faithfully to locate injured GI’s, warned of enemy ambushes, and searched out booby traps, were left to their own fate―including slaughter for food―as the troops were forced to return to the U.S. without their beloved canine service companions.

Though we instinctively imagine that the millions of horses lost in World War I would have been through combat, Morpurgo paints a more accurate picture where malnutrition, starvation and disease were the greater scourges. Joey’s near fatal encounter with tetanus following his recovery from life-threatening combat injuries is a vivid reminder that horses are highly susceptible to this dreaded infection.

American veterinarian Dr. D. L. Proctor served in India during WW II and was in charge of preparing horses and mules for service in the mountains and jungles of Burma. He told me of the problems with protozal diseases, lacerations, shrapnel wounds. But as far as tetanus goes, things had changed in the 35 years since WW I. “I never saw a case of tetanus while I was in the service because the horses and mules were all vaccinated”, he said. “And this is something because tetanus was the greatest cause of death in horses at that time.”

Animals are still fighting and suffering in war. The New York Times ran an article that captures some of the modern day impact of war on dogs. Titled “After Duty, Dogs Suffer Like Soldiers”, James Dao describes the post-traumatic stress disorder of military dogs in Afghanistan and Iraq.

What War Horse tells us is that animals don’t discriminate between the “good” side and the “bad” side. Joey fought for both British and German armies and received veterinary care from each side.

And this confirms my interview with  WWII Japanese veterinarian, Dr. Takehiko Takahashi, who cared for the war horses assigned to him in Burma with the same zeal and compassion as Dr. Proctor did for the American horses.

Veterinarians take an oath to prevent animal suffering, and in war as in peacetime, it should not matter where they were born or who owns them.

Above photos of the book cover and of the documentary describing the creation of the puppetry in the play version of the story are by Dr. Smith, who invites comments on this and all blogs at dfs6@cornell.edu.

War Horse: Veterinarians Supporting Animal Health in Wartime

Blog by Donald F. Smith, DVM, Cornell University

Posted November 8, 2011, in honor of Veterans Day

Animal lovers are captivated by the elegant puppetry of the Tony award-winning play, War Horse. The turning of the horses’ ears, the movements of their heads and muzzles, the expressiveness of their eyes all lend pure magic to an otherwise serious drama.

Albert is a young British boy who becomes separated from his horse, Joey, when British troops need horses on the fighting fields of France during World War I. Joey is caught in German fire and becomes entangled in barbed wire deliberately set to ensnare the horses. Captured by the enemy, Joey then serves for the German army until he finally ends up in no-man’s land where Albert (now a youthful soldier) is reunited with his injured friend.

Up to six million horses were used in World War I. They carried munitions and pulled heavy artillery and wagons, and conveyed men and supplies. The loss of life from combat injuries was horrendous, but millions more succumbed to disease and starvation. As in the American Civil War, where it is estimated that one million horses and mules died, the tactical value of a horse was sometime considered greater than that of a soldier.

Just as physicians were critical to the health of soldiers, veterinarians were deployed in the war effort to care for horses and other animals. Also like their human medical counterparts, there were veterinarians on both sides of the conflict. This becomes evident in War Horse when the injured Joey is attended to by both English and German veterinarians.

World War I was the last major international conflict in which horses were considered essential to all aspects of the war effort. By the Second World War, horses had been largely replaced by armored vehicles, airplanes and other motorized equipment.

There was at least one major exception, however, and that was the China-Burma-India campaign where both Allied and Japanese forces used mules (U.S.) and horses (Japan) to traverse the almost impenetrable jungles and mountains of Burma.

U.S. veterinarian Dr. Kenneth Gumaer attends to a pack mule
on the trail in Burma, 1944. Photo provided by Dr. Gumaer.
Dr. Gumaer died in 2008 at age 88.

The commitment of both American and Japanese army veterinarians to the health of horses and mules who served in the Burma theater (1941-44) became evident in my interviews with veterinarians from both sides. American veterinarian Kenneth Gumaer spoke of his role in transporting 267 mules in the hold of a ship that left New Orleans in December 1943, was torpedoed off the coast of Florida and endured such heavy seas in the transatlantic crossing that many mules developed massive hematomas. “We only lost one mule in the entire 87-day crossing”, he proudly reported.

Japanese veterinarian Dr. Takehiko Takahashi describes his role in
transporting horses from China to Burma during WWII.
Dr. Takahashi died in 2011 at age 94.
Photo by author, 2010.

Japanese veterinarian, Dr. Takehiko Takahashi, encountered different challenges with his load of horses that left China in 1941. Despite his protests, the ship left port before the horses could be vaccinated, and he recalls another boat chasing them down and hoisting the life-saving anti-Strangles serum onto the deck where he vaccinated the horses in transit. To prevent the animals from succumbing to the sweltering heat and humidity of the ship’s hold as they coursed through the South China Sea, Dr. Takahashi fashioned a series of hoists to periodically raise the horses onto the deck for ventilation and exercise.

Both Drs. Gumaer and Takahashi related the unimaginable horror on the mountainous trails and jungle passages in Burma. Starvation and parasites took huge tolls on the lives of both man and beast. Animals carrying heavy packs sometimes lost their footing on the narrow mountain trails and fell to their death. Many Japanese horses were killed by low level strafing of British aircraft.

By the time the victorious American forces captured the key airfield of Myitkyina from the Japanese in spring 1944, only one-third of the thousands of mules had survived. All of the Japanese horses died.

War Horse is a cogent reminder that the military exploits of warring nations exact an enormous toll on animal life and that the veterinary care for all military animals―it is more likely to be dogs now than horses―is as essential today as it was during conflicts of previous decades.

On Veterans Day, pause to remember the animals that are casualties of mankind's wars. And as the Holiday season approaches, consider seeing the spectacular show, War Horse. It plays at Lincoln Center in New York City.

Dr. Smith invites comments at dfs6@cornell.edu

Harry J. Fallon, Cornell DVM Class of 1938 (A Memorial Tribute)

Posted March 18, 2011
Author Dr. Donald F. Smith, dfs6@cornell.edu


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



Dr. Harry Fallon, one of the last living members of Cornell's Veterinary Class of 1938, died March 11, 2011 at age 95. I had the privilege of interviewing Dr. Fallon as he shared his life story with me in December 2007.

Dr. Harry J. Fallon (2007)
Photo by the author

The son of Jewish immigrants from Poland, Harry grew up in the Catskill Mountain area of New York State. Harry FELDMAN, as he was known during his youth, developed an interest in veterinary medicine through his frequent interaction with animals and crops that provided food for the family hotel business.

He enrolled in the College of Agriculture at Cornell and worked at a pheasant rearing facility to improve his candidacy for admission to veterinary college. He matriculated in 1934, after one year preveterinary studies.

Fearing that he may not get a job after graduation with a Jewish-sounding name, Harry changed his surname to FALLON before his final year. Ironically, the practice in Akron, OH that hired him was owned by a Catholic and a Quaker, and they often preferred to hire Jewish graduates. Regardless of his name, Dr. Harry Fallon fit right in!

Akron was a bustling community at the time, and Fallon's mentors, L.D. Barrett from Ohio State, and H.P. Noonan from Cornell, gave him a solid grounding in business and clinical medicine. Two years later, Fallon relocated to Huntington, West Virginia, where he established that city's first exclusive small animal practice. Except for his WWII service in the Veterinary Corps, he remained in Huntington throughout his career.

"A Big Frog in a Small Puddle" is how Dr. Fallon modestly described his impact in West Virginia when he compared himself to some classmates who established small animal practices in New York City. However, he cared for the pets of mayors, the State governor, and numerous community leaders. He was also president of the West Virginia Veterinary Medical Association and was twice named State Veterinarian of the Year.

A more complete biography of Dr. Fallon, and the transcipt and audio of his interview can be found at http://ecommons.library.cornell.edu/bitstream/1813/12271/1/Fallon,%20Harry%20J.%20'38%20BioInt.pdf

Dr. Smith invites comments at dfs6@cornell.edu

Personal Accounts of Veterinarians Serving on Opposing Sides of the China-Burma-India Conflict During WW II

Three years ago, I interviewed my longtime friend, Dr. Kenneth Gumaer '43, who had served during World War II in the China-Burma-India theater. His responsibility was to supervise the safe transport of over 250 mules from New Orleans to Calcutta, India. Despite being torpedoed by a German U-boat and enduring rough seas that caused massive hematomas on the mules, Dr. Gumaer proudly reported that they lost just one animal during the 87-day passage. 

From the disembarking point, the mules were transported by train to Deogarh, India for training and final preparations for combat. Then Gumaer led them through almost impenetrable jungle and over treacherous mountain passes behind the Japanese lines in Burma until they finally captured the strategic airport at Myitkyina. It was a major Allied victory in the C-B-I campaign and a significant turning point in the war.

Dr. Kenneth Gumaer with a Pack Mule
in the China-India-Burma Campaign in WWII (1944)