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(06/01/99 9:00am)
I hid my copy of The Satanic Verses in my desk drawer where Arshad wouldn't see it. It was the second semester of my freshman year, and I didn't want my roommate to know that I had a copy of Salman Rushdie's book because Arshad was a Muslim. The middle of the second semester is the time when so many freshman roommates break up. Everything about your first semester at school seems new and exciting, but when second semester midterms roll around, any suppressed strains in roommate relationships ooze to the surface. Perhaps the story of how Arshad and I managed to survive a year living together in a 13' x 9' Hill College House room will give others incentive to stick it out, too. I didn't want Arshad to know I had a copy of The Satanic Verses because I didn't want to offend him. But at the same time, I was motivated to buy the book solely because I knew that if Arshad found out I owned a copy, he would be really mad. Arshad and I had dozens of intense but respectful debates about the issues on which we disagreed -- that is, all the issues. In one of these discussions, Arshad threw his hands in the air and told me that Rushdie deserved Ayatollah Khomeini's death threat for writing the book. He said that Rushdie should have known the consequences of publishing a book that was clearly blasphemy to Muslims. Frankly, I never read the book. And my former roommate only found out that I had a copy in my desk drawer just this last semester, two years after I bought the book and a year and a half after we packed up our things and left Hill House to go our separate ways. Incidentally, Arshad recently told me that he doesn't agree with the death threat against Rushdie anymore. In his own words, he's "mellowed out and grown up." The Rushdie incident is just one illustration of the strange love-hate relationship Arshad and I shared freshman year. But the biggest conflicts between us were over seemingly insignificant daily activities. Arshad had brought a TV with him all the way from Florida so that he wouldn't have to miss a single episode of The Wonder Years or The Cosby Show. I hated television. The one thing I did like to watch was Dan Rather, while he liked to watch Peter Jennings. I tried to go to sleep around midnight or 1 a.m. every night. But Arshad liked to leave his desk light on and study until the wee hours of the morning. Our Hill House room was constantly overheated. For the first semester I kept opening the window to let in a little air, but he kept closing it. Then something strange happened after winter break, when he started opening the window and I started closing it because I was too cold. So how did we do it? How did we manage to live together for a year without killing each other? Well, to begin with, we had the same bonding experiences that all freshmen roommates have. Take the first week of freshman year when we went carousing on the town. Both of us were well underage, but Arshad had the guts to go in and buy a six-pack from a local landmark greasy spoon, while I stood out on the street scared silly. And then there were all our debates. And although we were both as stubborn as donkeys (or should that be elephants?), we ended up making a lot of compromises. I'd let him play Madonna music on my stereo for a while if he'd promise to let me play Joe Jackson later. He started studying in the lounge late at night. I tried to control my urge to throttle him when I came into my room to take a nap only to find him lying on his bed, remote control in hand, watching Three's Company. But still there was constant conflict. At about the middle of the second semester -- around the time that I bought my copy of Satanic Verses -- things really started to deteriorate. Arshad had managed to get a hold of a video cassette recorder. "Oh no!" I thought. "That can only mean more TV watching!" We had a big fight about the VCR and in the end decided to go talk to our graduate fellow about our problems. The GF was ready to switch rooms, but neither of us was willing to leave the room. In the end we were forced to learn tolerance. "We were so much the same,"Arshad told me the other day. "You take all our differences that we had on paper and then you look at the way we responded to each other -- we hated the same way, we responded the same way, we got on each other's nerves the same way but neither one of us was willing to give it up." Although I disagreed with him on almost every issue, I always respected Arshad a great deal for the strength of his beliefs. And although we often could not stand to be in the same room together, I always felt that my roommate was a kind and thoughtful person. Whether it was due to God in the heavens or to the god in Residential Living, we were forced to spend a year together. And I think we learned a great deal about what "sensitivity" really means from our little experience in coexistence. I'm glad that we didn't give up. If you find yourself in a similar situation, I hope you won't give it up either.
(06/01/98 9:00am)
I hid my copy of The Satanic Verses in my desk drawer where Arshad wouldn't see it. It was the second semester of my freshman year, and I didn't want my roommate to know that I had a copy of Salman Rushdie's book because Arshad was a Muslim. The middle of the second semester is the time when so many freshman roommates break up. Everything about your first semester at school seems new and exciting, but when second-semester midterms roll around, any suppressed strains in roommate relationships ooze to the surface. Perhaps the story of how Arshad and I managed to survive a year living together in a 13x9 Hill House room will give others the incentive to stick it out, too. I didn't want Arshad to know I had a copy of The Satanic Verses because I didn't want to offend him. But at the same time, I was motivated to buy the book solely because I knew that if Arshad found out I owned a copy, he would be really mad. Arshad and I had dozens of intense but respectful debates about the issues on which we disagreed -- that is, all the issues. In one of these discussions, Arshad threw his hands in the air and told me that Rushdie deserved Ayatollah Khomeini's death threat for writing the book. He said Rushdie should have known the consequences of publishing a book that was clearly blasphemy to Muslims. Frankly, I never read the book. And my former roommate only found out that I had kept a copy in my desk drawer just this last semester, two years after I bought the book and a year and a half after we packed up our things and left Hill House to go our separate ways. Incidentally, Arshad recently told me that he doesn't agree with the death threat against Rushdie anymore. In his own words, he's "mellowed out and grown up." The Rushdie incident is just one illustration of the strange love-hate relationship Arshad and I shared freshman year. But the biggest conflicts between us were over seemingly insignificant daily activities. Arshad had brought a TV with him all the way from Florida so that he wouldn't have to miss a single episode of The Wonder Years or The Cosby Show. I hated television. The one thing I did like to watch was Dan Rather, while he liked to watch Peter Jennings. I tried to go to sleep around midnight or 1 a.m. every night. But Arshad liked to leave his desk light on and study until the wee hours of the morning. Our Hill House room was constantly overheated. For the first semester, I kept opening the window to let in a little air, but he kept closing it. Then something strange happened after winter break, when he started opening the window and I started closing it because I thought the room was getting too cold. So how did we do it? How did we manage to live together for a year without killing each other? Well to begin with, we had the same bonding experiences that all freshmen roommates have. Take the first week of freshman year when we went carousing on the town. Both of us were well under age, but Arshad had the guts to go in and buy a six-pack of beer from a local landmark greasy spoon, while I stood outside on the street scared silly. And then there were all our debates. And although we were both stubborn as donkeys (or should that be elephants?), we ended up making a lot of compromise. I'd let him play Madonna music on my stereo for a while if he'd promise to let me play Joe Jackson later. He started studying in the lounge late at night. I tried to control my urge to throttle him when I came into the room to take a nap only to find him lying on his bed, remote control in hand, watching Three's Company. But still there was constant conflict. At about the middle of the second semester around the time that I bought my copy of The Satanic Verses things really started to deteriorate. Arshad had managed to get ahold of a video cassette recorder. "Oh no!" I thought. "That can only mean more TV watching!" We had a big fight about the VCR and in the end decided to go and talk to our graduate fellow about our problems. The GF was ready to switch rooms, but neither of us was willing to leave the room. In the end, we were forced to learn tolerance. "We were so much the same," Arshad told me the other day. "You take all our differences that we had on paper and then you look at the way we responded to each other -- we hated each other the same way, we got on each other's nerves the same way, but neither of us was ever willing to give it up." Although I disagreed with him on almost every issue, I always respected Arshad a great deal for the strength of his beliefs. And although we often could not stand to be in the same room together, I always felt that my roommate was a kind and thoughtful person. Whether it was due to God in the heavens or to the god in Residential Living, we were forced to spend a year living together. And I think we both learned a great deal about what "sensitivity" really means from our little experience in coexistence. I'm glad that we didn't give up. If you find yourself in a similar situation, I hope you won't give it up either.
(06/01/97 9:00am)
I hid my copy of The Satanic Verses in my desk drawer where Arshad wouldn't see it. It was the second semester of my freshman year, and I didn't want my roommate to know that I had a copy of Salman Rushdie's book because Arshad was a Muslim. The middle of the second semester is the time when so many freshman roommates break up. Everything about your first semester at school seems new and exciting, but when second-semester midterms roll around, any suppressed strains in roommate relationships ooze to the surface. Perhaps the story of how Arshad and I managed to survive a year living together in a 13x9 Hill House room will give others the incentive to stick it out, too. I didn't want Arshad to know I had a copy of The Satanic Verses because I didn't want to offend him. But at the same time, I was motivated to buy the book solely because I knew that if Arshad found out I owned a copy, he would be really mad. Arshad and I had dozens of intense, but respectful debates about the issues on which we disagreed -- that is, all the issues. In one of these discussions, Arshad threw his hands in e air and told me that Rushdie deserved Ayatollah Khomeini's death threat for writing the book. He said Rushdie should have know the consequences of publishing a book that was clearly blasphemy to Muslims. Frankly, I never read the book. And my former roommate only found out that I had kept a copy in my desk drawer just this last semester -- two years after I bought the book and a year-and-a-half after we packed up our things and left HIll House to go our separate ways. Incidentally, Arshad recently told me that he doesn't agree with the death threat against Rushdie anymore. In his own words, he's "mellowed out and grown up." The Rushdie incident is just one illustration of the strange love.hate relationship Arshad and I shared freshman year. But the biggest conflicts between us were over seemingly insignificant daily activities. Arshad had brought a TV with him all the way from Florida so that he wouldn't have to miss a single episode of The Wonder Years of The Cosby Show. I hated television. The one thing I did like to watch was Dan Rather, while he liked to watch Peter Jennings. I tried to go to sleep around midnight or 1 a.m. every night. But Arshad liked to leave his desk light on and study until the wee hours of the morning. Our Hill House room was constantly overheated. For the first semester, I kept opening the window to let in a little air, but he kept closing it. Then something strange happened after winter break, when he started opening the window and I started closing it because I thought the room was getting too cold. So how did we do it? How did we manage to live together for a year without killing each other? Well to begin with, we had the same bonding experiences that all freshmen roommates have. Take the first week of freshman year when we went carousing on the town. Both of us were well under age, but Arshad had the guts to go in and buy a six-pack of beer from a local landmark greasy spoon, while I stood outside on the street scared silly. And then there were all our debates. And although we were both stubborn as donkeys (or should that be elephants?), we ended up making a lot of compromise. I'd let him play Madonna music on my stereo for a while, if he'd promise to let me play Joe Jackson later. He started studying in the lounge late at night. I tried to control my urge to throttle him when I came into the room to take a nap only to find him lying on his bed, remote control in hand, watching Three's Company. But still there was constant conflict. At about the middle of the second semester -- around the time that I bought my copy of The Satanic Verses -- things really started to deteriorate. Arshad had managed to get ahold of a video cassette recorder. "Oh no!" I thought. "That can only mean more TV watching!" We had a big fight about the VCR and in the end decided to go and talk to our Graduate Fellow about our problems. The GF was ready to switch rooms, but neither of us was willing to leave the room. In the end, we were forced to learn tolerance. "We were so much the same," ARshad told me the other day. "You take all our differences that we had on paper and then you look at the way we responded to each other --Ewe hated each other the same way, we got on each other's nerves the same way, but neither of us was ever willing to give it up." Although I disagreed with him on almost every issue, I always respected Arshad a great deal for the strength of his beliefs. And although we often could not stand to be in the same room together, I always felt that my roommate was a kind and thoughtful person. Whether it was due to God in the heavens of to the god in Residential LIving, we were forced to spend a year living together. And I think we both learned a great deal about what "sensitivity" really means from our little experience in coexistence. I'm glad that we didn't give up. If you find yourself in a similar situation, I hope you won't give it up either. Steven Ochs is a former Editorial Page Editor of The Daily Pennsylvanian. This is reprinted from one of his 1991 columns.
(06/30/96 9:00am)
roommate with whom he never say eye-to-eye, but learned from - and learned to like - anyway. I hid my copy of The Satanic Verses in my desk drawer where Arshad wouldn't see it. It was the second semester of my freshman year, and I didn't want my roommate to know that I had a copy of Salman Rushdie's book because Arshad was a Muslim. The middle of the second semester is the time when so many freshmen roommates break up. Everything about your first semester at school seems new and exciting, but when second-semester midterms roll around, any suppressed strains in roommate relationships ooze to the surface. Perhaps the story of how Arshad and I managed to survive a year living together in a 13x9 Hill House room will give others the incentive to stick it out, too. I didn't want Arshad to know I had a copy of The Satanic Verses because I didn't want to offend him. But at the same time, I was motivated to buy the book solely because I knew that if Arshad found out I owned a copy, he would be really mad. Arshad and I had dozens of intense, but respectful debates about the issues on which we disagreed -- that is, all the issues. In one of these discussions, Arshad threw his hands in the air and told me that Rushdie deserved Ayatollah Khomeini's death threat for writing the book. He said Rushdie should have known the consequences of publishing a book that was clearly blasphemy to Muslims. Frankly, I never read the book. And my former roommate only found out that I had kept a copy of the book in my desk drawer just this last semester -- two years after I bought the book and a year-and-a-half after we packed up our things and left Hill House to go our separate ways. Incidentally, Arshad recently told me that he doesn't agree with the death threat against Rushdie anymore. In his own words, he's "mellowed out and grown up." The Rushdie incident is just one illustration of the strange love/hate relationship Arshad and I shared freshman year. But the biggest conflicts between us were over seemingly insignificant daily activities. Arshad had brought a TV with him all the way from Florida so that he wouldn't have to miss a single episode of The Wonder Years or The Cosby Show. I hated television. The one thing I did like to watch was Dan Rather, while he liked to watch Peter Jennings. I tried to go to sleep around midnight or 1 a.m. every night. But Arshad liked to leave his desk light on and study until the wee hours of the morning. Our Hill House room was constantly overheated. For the first semester, I kept opening the window to let in a little air, but he kept closing it. Then something strange happened after winter break, when he started opening the window and I started closing it because I thought the room was getting too cold. So how did we do it? How did we manage to live together for a year without killing each other? Well, to begin with, we had the same bonding experiences that all freshmen roommates have. Take the first week of freshman year when we went carousing on the town. Both of us were well under age, but Arshad had the guts to go in and buy a six-pack of beer from a local landmark greasy spoon, while I stood outside on the street, scared silly. And then there were all our debates. And although we were both stubborn as donkeys (or should that be elephants?), we ended up making a lot of compromises. I'd let him play Madonna music on my stereo for a while, if he'd promise to let me play Joe Jackson later. He started studying in the lounge late at night. I tried to control my urge to throttle him when I came into the room to take a nap only to find him lying on his bed, remote control in hand, watching Three's Company. But still there was constant conflict. At about the middle of the second semester -- around the time that I bought my copy of The Satanic Verses -- things really started to deteriorate. Arshad had managed to get a hold of a video cassette recorder. "Oh no!" I thought. "That can only mean more TV watching!" We had a big fight about the VCR and in the end decided to go and talk to our Graduate Fellow about our problems. The GF was ready to switch rooms, but neither of us was willing to leave the room. In the end, we were forced to learn tolerance. "We were so much the same," Arshad told me the other day. "You take all our differences that we had on paper and then you look at the way we responded to each other -- we hated each other the same way, we got on each other's nerves the same way, but neither of us was ever willing to give it up." Although I disagreed with him on almost every issue, I always respected Arshad a great deal for the strength of his beliefs. And although we often could not stand to be in the same room together, I always felt that my roommate was a kind and thoughtful person. Whether it was due to God in the heavens or to the god in Residential Living, we were forced to spend a year living together. And I think we both learned a great deal about what "sensitivity" really means from our little experience in coexistence. I'm glad that we didn't give up. If you find yourself in a similar situation, I hope you won't give it up either.
(04/10/92 9:00am)
From "In Memory of Steven Ochs, 1969-92" ON BOARD THE BROADWAY LIMITED -- If voter opinion on this Amtrak train traveling throught the hearland of Pennsylvania is any indication, Harris Wofford just might pull off an upset victory over Richard Thornburg in the hotly-contested election for U.S. Senator. Just as this train crosses the diverse landscape of Pennsylvania -- urban blight, suburban sprawl, flat farmland, rolling hills, rivers and mountains -- perhaps the passengers on board also reflect the state's diverse political geography. When Governor Robert Casey appointed Wofford to fill the Senate seat left vacant after John Heinz died in a plane crash this spring, it appeared that Wofford would barely have time to hire a few aides and redecorate Heinz's old office before being whupped by Thornburgh, the Republican candidate, in the special election. But for someone known as "Harris Who?" just a few months ago, the Democratic candidate seems to have made a name for himself by voicing concerns many Pennsylvanians have about the direction the nation is traveling. · From the column "Work, Baseball and American Heroes" (DP 10/17/91): The way I remember it, there were two outs when I came to bat. The tying run was on second base and the go-ahead run was on first. It was a must-win game for the team. As I squared my stance, I looked up into the bleachers. Two of my heroes were sitting there. One was Willie "Pops" Stargell. "Wow!" I thought. "How cool!" Here was the Pirates star first-baseman, watching me play ball at the Frick Park little league diamond, just as I would watch him play ball at Three Rivers Stadium. (Actually, Stargell was there to watch his daughter play. She was on my team. But at that moment, I was the center of attention.) There was one other hero in the stands during that long-ago little league game. He's still in Pittsburgh and he's anachronistically defying the "greed is good" values of our country. This hero taught me the value of fortitude and follow-through. He taught me the importance of work for work's sake (even though he's a trained economist). And through his eyes, I see what it means to care about your family, your neighbors and the stranger on the street you've never even met before. When he played in little league, he played with such intensity that he would get headaches. His heart was set on being the first left-handed third baseman in the majors. Hell, he'd pay them if they'd let him into the bigs. Well, he didn't make it onto the Pirates team. But he's still committed to his family, his work and his community. And he's still underpaid. Thanks for the example, Dad.
(01/24/92 10:00am)
Michael Sirolly would like you to believe that he's as bland as melba toast. Apparently, he told everyone who knows him to say only positive, moderately funny things about him. Take Sirolly's roommate, Engineering sophomore Galib Kachra, for example. After straining for a moment to describe Sirolly, Kachra finally said, "He eats a lot of cereal," adding, "He's hardly ever here. He's always over there [at the DP offices] or with Penn Singers." "He's a sloppy guy," Kachra continued. "He does a lot of singing in his room, but its not a problem because he's hardly ever here. No, I don't think there's any skeletons in his closet." Kachra wasn't the only one to find difficulty probing the enigma that is Mike Sirolly. College senior Apollo Ip, who had the good fortune of rooming with Sirolly last year, described the new editorial page editor as a "very strangely reticent boy" with a passion for singing Broadway show tunes while scantily clad. "He sings in the shower," Ip said. "Which is okay, 'cause I actually dig it." When pressed for more hard, cold information about Mike's sex life and financial dealings, Ip's only response was, "He has a very feeble cough in the morning and before he goes to bed. He appears and disappears and goes on with his life." Surely, there must be something dark and mysterious in Sirolly's past. Something really sick that David Lynch might appreciate. Perhaps he enjoyed blowing the heads off stuffed animals with M-80s? Maybe he traded pork futures using inside information? After all, the guy's in Wharton. The search for the real dirt on Sirolly took this intrepid reporter out into the heartland of Pennsylvania to that place where they grow the chocolate cows -- Hershey, Pa. It is there, just down-wind from Three Mile Island, where Sirolly spent most of his childhood under the watchful eyes of his parents, Charles and Sandra Sirolly. At first it seemed that Sandra Sirolly had been brainwashed like all the rest. She made it sound so idyllic -- like Mike was the very model of a fine, upstanding, all-American boy. As she tells it, Mike's always been a good kid. When he was just three, he had already learned to make Japanese garden mazes in the back yard. In Middle School, he bought a computer and learned enough programming skills to be paid $150 by a computer magazine for one of the games he designed. (A source at the Defense Department denied that Sirolly has contributed his programming skills to the nation's Strategic Defense Initiative, saying only, "We couldn't have kicked Iraq's ass without him.") At Hershey High, Sirolly had parts in all the school productions. He even joined the marching band, eventually "growing into the trombone" he played, according to his mother. On the side, Mike played intramural soccer. But then Mrs. Sirolly finally let some dirt slip out. It seems Mike used to eavesdrop on his relatives. Aaah Hah! Now we can see why he joined the DP. "As children, he and his younger brother and cousin, when the family would get together, they'd always publish a newspaper," Sandra Sirolly said. "They called it, The Noodle News. They'd interview whoever was visiting. They'd report on what was going on." "They used to try to eavesdrop on conversations," Mrs. Sirolly admitted. "Or at least that's what my sister says." There's no way around it, Mike Sirolly is a nebby gossip. And, as fortune would have it, he's become an editor at the Mecca and Medina for all nebby gossips everywhere -- The Daily Pennsylvanian. College Hall administrators, beware. Sirolly might be listening.
(11/06/91 10:00am)
Unfortunately for Thornburgh, the average Pennsylvania voter turned out to be old, not-so-rich, not-so-white and apparently no longer so enthusiastic about the Republican Party. But even as incumbent Sen. Harris Wofford was running away with the race, the Republican band played on with upbeat music. And Thornburgh himself refused to call the loss a "defeat," instead terming it "a reversal." "I say reversal and not defeat because reversal comes in the numbers and defeat can only come in the soul," Thornburgh said. "And my soul is alive and kicking." But Thornburgh's smile, the music and the red, white and blue bunting decorating the hall were unable to make up for what even his supporters called campaign mistakes. Staffers were unwilling to predict a win for the former governor and U.S. Attorney General even early in the evening, well before the polls closed. After the carnage was apparent, one supporter in the downtown hotel went so far as to say he was not surprised Wofford won, only by the whopping margin of victory. And instead of the coronation address many of these supporters predicted just months ago, the earlier-than-expected concession the crowd was forced to listen to came out sounding more like a retirement speech. "For tonight, I stand to the sidelines with a pang of regret but with the satisfaction of knowing that we did the best we could," he said. At that point someone in the crowd shouted, "We love you Dick," and the crowd erupted into the loudest cheers of the evening. Unlike the star-studded reception for victor Wofford, the 500 to 600 person affair at Thornburgh's headquarters was characterized by an odd lack of luminaries, especially for a man who was one of the highest ranking members of the Bush administration just this summer. Several prominent state pols, like Auditor General Barbra Hafer and Attorney General Ernest Preate, milled about, but the Washington power brokers were notable only by their absence. And even these Pennsylvania Republicans were busy playing down the national implications of Thornburgh's stunning defeat. Hafer, who was trounced by Robert Casey in a failed bid for governor last year, said that the media "shouldn't make too much" of the implications of the loss for next year's presidential race. After visiting several polling places in Allegheny County, Hafer said she saw many Republican voters, especially older voters, crossing over to vote for Wofford because of the health care issue. And election returns backed Hafer's observations, with Wofford getting surprisingly strong support in traditionally GOP-leaning precincts around the state and in Philadelphia's upper-crust suburban counties. But Hafer said she wasn't concerned about the future of the party, in part because of the large contingent of Young Republicans present at campaign headquarters last night. "My daughter's at Penn State and there are a lot of enthusiastic young Republicans there," Hafer said. But at the downtown hotel ballroom, the hordes of Young Republicans were anything but enthusiastic. Any many of them blamed Thornburgh for not tapping their energies. Even before any results were in, 25-year-old Hans Siegel, a recent graduate of the University of Pittsburgh Law School, seemed ready to throw in the towel. "I think Thornburgh has run a terrible campaign," said Siegel, who was active in the presidential campaigns of Ronald Reagan and George Bush. "The Republican Party has become a complacent party who has been in power for a while and is not afraid of losing." Even worse than Thornburgh's failure to take advantage of Republican sympathy among young, white voters was the fact that Wofford "trumped" Thornburgh on the issue of health care, Siegel said. "This state has the oldest population in the nation, second only to Florida," the Pitt law graduate said. Siegel, who originally hails from Wisconsin, said he was attracted to the Republican Party because of the GOP's competence in foreign policy issues and because of the sense of optimism about the future conveyed by Ronald Reagan. "Ronald Reagan was able to appeal to older traditionally Democratic voters with issues like family, crime and drugs," Siegel said. "Thornburgh didn't play those issues effectively, especially the crime issue. I mean, there's enough crime in Philadelphia to call in the U.S. Marshals on some days." Like Hafer, Siegel refused to call the Wofford-Thornburgh race a referendum on the domestic policies of President Bush. He said it was only a referendum for "old people" and that every issue is intertwined with foreign policy, especially in today's global marketplace. Norm Singleton, 25, another recent Pitt Law School graduate who hopes to get involved in politics and maybe even run for the state legislature, said he hopes Thornburgh's loss will send "an uncomfortable message to George Bush and the Republican Party establishment." "Americans are sick of an alternative party that gives them the Democratic Party, but less," Singleton said. "I hope the loss will encourage a right-wing challenger to Bush in '92. I only hope it's someone responsible and not an ex-Ku Klux Klan leader." "I think we got a good slap on the wrist," Siegel said. "Hopefully, George Bush's campaign won't do the same thing." Thornburgh himself told his supporters to "throw yourself into the next campaign for the next candidate." It is unclear what Thornburgh's political future will be. He has scheduled a press conference on the topic for tomorrow. But even if he stays out of politics, Thornburgh will still have a job. "He's going into a $500,000 law practice," said Al Neri, the press secretary for state Attorney General Ernie Preate. "Basically power breakfasts. He'll be okay."
(11/05/91 10:00am)
Just as this train crosses the diverse landscape of Pennsylvania -- urban blight, suburban sprawl, flat farmland, rolling hills, rivers and mountains -- perhaps the passengers on board also reflect the state's diverse political geography. In discussions with two dozen Pennsylvania residents from across the state, who only have in common that they are traveling by train on the election's eve, a majority of voters echoed the sentiments of Carol Swygaut, a middle school teacher from Huntington. "Somebody has to get us out of the mess we're in," Swygaut said. "I live in a depressed area. There are a lot of people with no jobs. I think Thornburgh did a good job as governor, but times have changed and I think he's going to feel the resentment that people have toward President Bush -- he's going to get the boot first." "I think people are fed up," Swygaut continued. "It's time that Bush did things to solve our problems at home for a change." As a school teacher whose eldest daughter just graduated from the University's Medical School and who has another child in college, Swygaut said that she is "ticked off that there is no tax break for the middle-income parent trying to pay their kid's way through school." She added that she thinks Wofford would probably be "better on education issues" because he was once president of Bryn Mawr College. When Governor Robert Casey appointed Wofford to fill the Senate seat left vacant after John Heinz died in a plane crash this spring, it appeared that Wofford would barely have time to hire a few aides and redecorate Heinz's old office before being whupped by Thornburgh, the Republican candidate, in the special election. But for someone known as "Harris Who?" just a few months ago, the Democratic candidate seems to have made a name for himself by voicing concerns many Pennsylvanians have about the direction the nation is traveling. Wofford has called for nationalized health care, tax breaks for the middle class and increased funding to underwrite higher education loans. One solidly Republican voter on the train said he was upset that Thornburgh has allowed Wofford to shape the campaign and that Thornburgh chose to respond with ads attacking Wofford instead of shifting the campaign to his own set of issues. "I'm a Republican who believed in Heinz as the right man for the job," said Peter Herman, who owns a software company in Altoona. "I'm having a hard time seeing that Thornburgh is identifying the issues. To date, all the issues he's identified have been reactionary to Wofford." "Being a Republican, I don't side with Wofford's issues. It's just that Thornburgh hasn't given me enough to go on. I think it is because of the negative media campaign that I am forced to back out of the election process," Herman said. Many national commentators looking at the Wofford-Thornburgh race have said Wofford's call for nationalized health insurance is what has won him the most points among voters in Pennsylvania. But opinion was divided on that issue among the travelers interviewed this evening. "I think Wofford has some good ideas, but sometimes good ideas can cost the taxpayer a good deal," said Assistant Conductor W. M. Bailey, a Harrisburg resident. "I'm for Dick Thornburgh." Swygaut said she also is "not happy" with Wofford's national health insurance initiative, but said that "something has to be done" about the rising cost of health care. Becky Byerly, a counselor for alcoholics in Pittsburgh, said she is very interested in Wofford's plan because she has "seen a lot of people that can't afford private health insurance and who are not getting medical care." Byerly said she is also going to vote for Wofford because she approves of his "no" vote on the nomination of Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas.
(12/10/90 10:00am)
College senior Theresa Simmonds this weekend joined a select group of Americans awarded the prestigious Rhodes scholarship -- a group that includes U.S. Senator Bill Bradley and Supreme Court Justice David Souter. As one of 32 undergraduates chosen for the award, Simmonds, a double major in Urban and Environmental Studies who is also working toward a teaching certificate, will spend two years doing graduate study at Oxford University in England. The College senior, who last year won the Truman scholarship for study leading to a career in government, said yesterday that she plans to study philosophy, politics and economics at Oxford. "At this point I'm still numb," Simmonds said yesterday of her award. "I don't think it's sunk in yet." School of Arts and Sciences Vice Dean Ira Harkavy -- who Simmonds credited along with her mother as being a mentor and role model -- said that the award was "well deserved." "I'm thrilled," Harkavy said. "She's an outstanding young woman. She exemplifies how students can do outstanding academic work while focusing on real problems." Harkavy said that Simmonds' work in the West Philadelphia community has made real improvements in the lives of people in the neighborhood, adding that her research into issues of volunteerism has "made a difference." Simmonds was active for five semesters in Harkavy's West Philadelphia Improvement Corps, during which she studied the feasiblity of a national youth service corps. In February of 1989, Simmonds joined Massachusetts Senator Edward Kennedy in Washington, D.C., to help announce legislation proposing a $500 million effort to promote volunteerism through education. Simmonds said that her packed schedule has sometimes meant that she has had to sacrifice sleep and her social life, but added, "I wouldn't be happy if my schedule weren't as crazy as it is." College Assistant Dean Eric Schneider, who works with many students applying for graduate scholarships, said Simmonds has a special combination of intelligence and commitment to working for the betterment of society. The Rhodes scholarships were established in 1902 by the estate of Cecil Rhodes, a British philanthropist and colonialist who hoped that the award winners would contribute to world understanding and peace. In order to win the award, Rhodes scholars have to submit five to eight recommendations from professors, write a thousand-word personal statement and go through a series of intensive interviews. In the past, the award had been tied to demonstrating intellectual and athletic prowess, but recently the selection committee has given less weight to athletics, Schneider said. In addition to Simmonds, there were 14 other Rhodes scholarship winners from the Ivy League this year -- five from Yale, five from Harvard and one each from Columbia, Brown, Dartmouth and Cornell. Simmonds said she hopes to go on to a career dealing with education and volunteerism, adding that one day she would like to be Superintendent of the Philadelphia School System. "Schools should be a hotbed of social revolution," said Simmonds, a native of South Philadelphia. "This is certainly a time when there need to be some changes made . . . for them to fulfill that function."
(12/07/90 10:00am)
But Penn News Owner Mike Monk last night said he will meet with distribution officials from The Philadelphia Inquirer and The New York Times on Sunday to make sure that newspaper delivery continues to all Penn News subscribers. On Tuesday, the Inquirer stopped on campus delivery through Penn News because the newspaper delivery organization had not paid its bills, but Inquirer Campus Sales Manager Joel Kopke said last night that "progress is being made" in resolving the problems. Kopke added that delivery of the paper was due to resume today. "We're trying to build both a long-term and short-term solution so that everyone will be happy," Kopke said. "We want to make as many students happy with the Inquirer as possible." Monk said last night that Penn News holds $22,000 worth of subscriptions, but has been unable to collect a large percentage of the money because the University reneged on a promise to let the organization bill student subscribers through the Bursar's Office. As a result, Monk said, Penn News owes the Inquirer and the Times "thousands of dollars." "Circumstances have just gotten a little hairy right now, but I'm confident that we will weather this and be back, especially with the support of the New York Times and the Philadelphia Inquirer," said Monk, a Wharton senior. "We should be back on our financial feet by January." The organization has been barraged with complaints from students scheduled to receive deliveries. Monk said Penn News will bill all students who signed up to be charged through the bursar. The organization has distributed papers all fall without regard to whether subscribers actually paid. Monk said Penn News has also had numerous staffing problems and has had difficulty with hired vans and drivers from Penn Student Agencies. The problems have resulted in incomplete distribution some days and the curtailment of door-to-door service in several dormitories. Several subscribers have asked for full or partial refunds, Monk said, adding that, for now, Penn News has enough money to cover refunds for the unsatisfied subscribers. The owner said the Penn News offices in the Christian Association were closed for the last three weeks because of "mixed signals" between himself and former Penn News owner Mark Stanley, who is still helping Monk run the organization. "We're not trying to avoid anyone or ditch anyone," Monk said. "Right now we have a lot of people who are waiting for refunds, but we are in the process of refunding all those people. We will make good by all those people." Penn News also faces eviction from its offices by December 21 because the organization has failed to pay its rent, according to CA Business Manager Ken Simon. "It's not [only] a question of their rent," Simon said. "It's a question of their ripping off students, which is a bigger issue." Monk said that he was not aware of any problems with the rent, adding that "they were dealing with [Stanley] on that." Stanley did not answer repeated messages left on his home answering machine over the last two days. Campus newspaper distribution has been plagued with problems since Stanley took over Penn News from PSA in July. Monk became owner of the organization in November. Monk said that University officials, including former PSA Director William Fox, had told Stanley that Penn News could continue to bill students through the Bursar's Office. At the beginning of September, Penn News took more than a hundred subscriptions from students at CUPID, assuming they would be billed through the bursar. Monk said he did not find out that the University would not bill for Penn News until the week before Thanksgiving. "I feel they did a number on us," Monk said. Deputy Vice Provost George Koval said last night that he decided not to allow Penn News to use the bursar's bill sometime in August or early September after reviewing Stanley's agreement with the PSA to take over Penn News. "I'm the one that said they could not use the University busar system because they were a private organization," Koval said. "They got a letter from [PSA General Manger] Tom Hauber in early September, telling them that. I know it was put in writing and Mark Stanley had a letter dated early September." Koval said that if Monk did not find out about the decision until after he took over Penn News in November, he "ought to be talking to Mark Stanley because [Stanley] withheld information from him when they negotiated the sale of the organization." Monk said he does not think Stanley withheld any information from him, adding that it was his understanding from Stanley that PSA's Hauber was still trying to get busar's bill privildges for Penn News. Hauber said yesterday that he had nothing to do with Penn News' busar bill problems, adding that former PSA general manger Fox had negotiated the agreement for Stanley to take over the service.
(12/05/90 10:00am)
A University professor who violated research protocol, possibly exposing dozens of adults and children to a virus that can cause leukemia, said he is still awaiting the results of an investigation into the incident. Microbiology Professor Jorge Ferrer's research has been suspended since the middle of June, when University officials discovered that 30 Veterinary School students and staff members and about 100 pre-schoolers may have come in contact with 14 lambs which Ferrer had inoculated with Human T-cell Lymphotropic Type 1 virus. Ferrer said yesterday that he had expected the misconduct in research investigation into the incident to be completed by the Vet School three weeks ago. Ferrer added that he was told recently the results would be released this week. Ferrer declined further comment, saying a University confidentiality rule prevents him from discussing the incident. But he did add that "the University has not followed the confidentiality rule because they released my name." Vet School Dean Edwin Andrews could not be reached for comment. University Laboratory Animal Resources Director Harry Rozmiarek said that the investigation has not been completed, and that "until something like that gets finished, the investigation is kept under wraps." He said Ferrer will not be allowed to use animals in research until the results of the investigation are released. Although University and federal regulations stipulate that animals inoculated during research be separated from the flock, Ferrer's lambs were not sequestered from the rest of the flock at the New Bolton Center in Chester County. Vet School students and staff who performed routine operations on the lambs, including tail bobbing and castration, were not aware that any of the animals had been innoculated with the deadly HTLV-1 virus. About 100 preschoolers and 30 adult chaperones may have also been exposed to the virus during field trips to New Bolton in May, where they were allowed to pet the lambs. In June, University officials said the medical procedures performed by the students and staff involved little blood and the risk of infection was very low. They added that the risk to the preschoolers and their chaperones was almost non-existent. In August, all 30 of the students and staff members and one preschooler tested negative for the virus. They will be retested in several months to make sure they were not infected. Associate University General Counsel Neil Hamburg said yesterday that no lawsuits against the Univeristy have resulted from the incident.
(12/04/90 10:00am)
The animal rights activist who threatened two University professors with a libel suit last month said yesterday that the professors' retraction of their earlier statements convinced him not to carry out his threat. "I think they've adequately addressed things," said John McArdle, a scientific advisor to the American Anti-Vivisection Society. McArdle last month threatened Anatomy Professors James Lash and Adrian Morrison with a libel suit after they attacked his credentials in an open letter distributed to other professors at the University. Over the past four months, McArdle has published a series of articles in AV magazine which question the usefulness of Morrison's sleep research on cats. AV is the journal of the American Anti-Vivisection Society. McArdle claimed that Morrison and Lash misrepesented his credentials in a cover letter and an open letter of support for Morrison, which was written in response to the AV articles and distributed to University professors and researchers for their signatures. In the cover letter, Lash wrote that the open letter of support and the signatures would be distributed to major media outlets such as The Philadelphia Inquirer and The Washington Post. After McArdle's lawyer contacted the University and threatened legal action, Lash redrafted the letters and sent the new version to all the professors and researchers who had received the first version. McArdle said yesterday that the new version "is much more rational and reasonable, but people who have read the first and the second are still left with the impression that I'm not qualified." McArdle said that if the new open letter is sent to any newspapers or other media, he will send out a press release detailing the controversy surrounding the first version.
(11/27/90 10:00am)
Anatomy Professor James Lash has retracted two letters he circulated in defense of embattled Anatomy Professor Adrian Morrison after animal rights activists charged the letters contained "potentially libelous" statements. The activists took issue with an open letter of support for Morrison and an attached cover letter dated October 9, which Lash circulated to other professors at the University. The letters responded to an article attacking Morrison's research published in the the September issue of AV magazine, the Journal of the American Anti-Vivisection Society. The letters blasted AV's negative critique of Morrison's research and attacked the credentials of the article's author, John McArdle. The cover letter quoted Morrison as saying that McArdle had been "fired from the New York Humane Society for being too much of a fanatic," and called the author a "non-experimentalist anthropologist." The open letter included similar attacks on McArdle's credentials. McArdle said yesterday that he viewed the statements as libelous, and said he would sue Lash, Morrison and possibly the University if he is not satisfied with the retraction. Lash declined to comment on the letters yesterday, referring all questions to Associate University General Counsel Neil Hamburg. In the cover letter, Lash asked University researchers and professors to add their signatures to the open letter. Lash wrote that copies of the the open letter and the signatures would be sent to the University administration, The Philadelphia Inquirer, The Washington Post and other media outlets. Hamburg said yesterday that the letters are "irrelevant and withdrawn," adding that the letters were never released for publication. He said a new letter is being circulated correcting the first letters' "inaccuracies." McArdle said yesterday that he obtained copies of the original letters and viewed them as "potentially libelous." "They need to get their facts straight and deal with the issues," McArdle said. "They have grossly misrepresented who I am and my qualifications." McArdle dismissed the assertion that he was a "fanatic," and said that he was fired from the Humane Society of the United States because he supported animal rights. McArdle added that there is no organization called the New York Humane Society. McArdle said that he is a "fully qualified experimental scientist" with a Ph.D. in anatomy from the Pritzker School of Medicine at the University of Chicago, adding that he had "personally conducted experiments on cats and monkeys" in the past. "Somebody who has never heard of me after reading [the cover letter], already has me labeled as a fanatic, non-experimentalist and a non-biologist," McArdle said. The American Anti-Vivisection Society joined McArdle in asking the University to halt circulation of the letters, stopping just short of threatening a libel suit. "It is distressing for us to learn that you . . . would resort to circulating malevolent gossip which you will find yourself hard-pressed to back up should the matter be pursued further," Society Vice President Bernard Unti wrote in a letter sent to Lash, Morrison and University administrators earlier this month. Hamburg said Lash is "making every attempt" to send a new letter "correcting the factual inaccuracies to everybody who received the old letter." Hamburg said the new letter will contain the following paragraph: "I would like to correct one mistatement contained in my previous letter. In that letter, I mistakenly said that Dr. McArdle was dismissed from the New York Humane Society for being too much of fanatic. In fact, the Humane Society of the United States (HSUS) fired Dr. McArdle, according to an Associated Press release (August 13, 1986) and a News and Comment article in Science entitled 'Humane society fires animal rights activist' (Science, 1986, Vol. 233, P. 935). The Associated Press reported that Dr. McArdle claimed he was fired for his animal rights views, but the Humane Society of the United States denied this." The new letter will also make no mention of McArdle's credentials, Hamburg said. "I hope that this matter has been resolved with the new letter," Hamburg said. "Having spoken to the lawyer for Dr. McArdle, I think he will be satisfied. As soon as I get a copy of the new letter, I will send it to Dr. McArdle's lawyer." McArdle said he has not seen a copy of the new letter yet, but has not yet ruled out a libel suit. "We decided to give them a chance to correct the damage they've done," McArdle said. "If it is not done to our satisfaction, we will sue. They can count on that."
(11/20/90 10:00am)
The Wistar Institute's plans to sell a large tract of suburban land to housing developers is drawing protest from residents of the affluent Montgomery County suburb where the land is located. In October, a 33-acre plot of land in Lower Merion Township and a palatial mansion known as "After All" were given to Wistar by the trustees of the estate of Jadwija Edwards, who died in 1988. The estate is one of the last undeveloped parcels of land in Lower Merion, a town located just outside Philadelphia's western boundary. Opponents of Wistar's plans to sell part of the land say the tract should remain as open, undeveloped land. They also claim that the plans go against the spirit of Edwards' will. Edwards, who was a Polish countess and was married to international contractor Arthur Edwards, specified in her will that her land and house, which together are worth more than $5 million, be given to a non-profit educational institution, hospital or home for the disadvantaged. The trustees of the Edwards estate, Center City lawyer Andrew Young and broker Robert Thomas -- who is also a member of the Wistar Board of Mangers -- were given full discretion in deciding what group would receive the gift. After reviewing more than 25 applications for the gift, Young and Thomas decided to give the estate to Wistar. Wistar's lawyer, Martha Manning, said yesterday that the institute will set up the Arthur Edwards Center for Molecular Medicine using the house and 10.7 acres of the land. The center will teach doctors the latest techniques for treating cancer. In order to fund the renovation of the house and endow the center, the remaining 22.6 acres will be sold to a group of five developers who have proposed building 24 single-family homes on the site, Manning added. Neither Wistar nor the lawyer for the developers would divulge the conditions of the sale, but the developers' lawyer described it as "a multi-million dollar deal." Several neighbors of the estate said yesterday that Wistar's plan to sell two-thirds of the land to developers is contrary to the spirit of Edwards' will. They said development would ruin the beauty of the land, which is home to several rare types of trees and several deer. "It's a unique property," said Leo Vernon, who lives 300 yards from the entrance to the estate and is helping to lead a campaign by a group called Friends of After All to stop the development. "To see it developed as the Wistar people and developers wish to see it developed would be just a crime," Vernon said. "I'm sure Mrs. Edwards never planned for two-thirds of the estate to be used for a checkerboard housing development." Other neighbors claimed there is a possible conflict of interest involved in giving the property to Wistar. Estate trustee Thomas serves on Wistar's board. In addition, Trustee Young's law firm, Stradley, Ronon, Stevens and Young, is representing the trustees and will receive legal fees. Wistar lawyer Manning said the late countess was aware that Thomas served on Wistar's board when she wrote her will and made him a trustee of her estate. Edwin Boynton, a lawyer at Young's firm who is acting as counsel for the estate's trustees, said that Young's law firm would receive "significant legal fees," but added that he saw no conflict of interest. In order to keep the property, Wistar must get the land rezoned for institutional use, and must win approval for their development project from the Lower Merion Planning Commission. Otherwise the estate will revert to the trustees of the Edwards' estate, who will then have the option of giving the property to another charity or selling it and giving the proceeds to a Philadelphia-area hospital. On November 2, the planning commission refused to allow the development on the land, saying that putting houses on the land would have an adverse environmental impact. The developers -- Henry Belber, Bernard Dureding, John Fuchs, Todd Pohlig and Sherman Reed -- have appealed to the Lower Merion Board of Commissioners. A decision is due on Wednesday night. Board of Commissioners President Charlie Ward said yesterday that it is unlikely the board will allow the development. "We're totally opposed to that type of development in Lower Merion," Ward said. "We'd love to see it left as a parkland. That would be the ideal solution. Barring that, we would just like to be able to preserve as much of the space as we can." Parker Wilson, a Norristown lawyer representing the developers, said that if the commissioners vote to stop the development, the developers will appeal to the Montgomery County Court of Common Pleas. In addition to the real estate, Wistar may get as much as $2 million in residual property from the Edwards estate, including stocks, bonds and bank accounts. The trustees will decide how much of the money should go to Wistar and how much should go to four other charities that they have selected as beneficiaries.
(11/13/90 10:00am)
It's 9:30 on Friday morning, and after 27 hours on the job, Barbara Latenser needs a shower. "I smell like a goat," Latenser says looking down in disgust at her dark sweater, light blue hospital-issue uniform and clod-hopper shoes. "I want to shower," she says. "I've been standing on my feet all night. My shoes are caked with blood. I want to put on some nice clothes and do something with the day." Patients like these, victims of Philadelphia's escalating violence, are overwhelming the trauma center and its doctors. "It's urban warfare," says the 38-year-old doctor, who was trained at the University of Nevada Medical School in Las Vegas. "I'm a newcomer to Philadelphia, but the violence . . . Sometimes I'm just amazed at what a violent place it seems to be." When Center Director William Schwab hired Latenser last summer, he promised her that she would be able to spend one third of her time doing research and one third of her time learning how to run a trauma center. But increasing violence in the city has kept Latenser hopping, just taking care of patients. She doesn't have much time to eat, much less do research. "Today's my day off," she continues. "I went off at 6 a.m. I go back on duty at 6 a.m. on Saturday. It's tough. We spend all of our time taking care of patients. Sometimes I look at the faculty [surgeons] -- they're on their feet, but they look so tired, I worry about them driving home." At 6 a.m., fourth-year surgical resident Christian Schunn took over for Latenser as the physician-on-duty. But Latenser is staying around while the faculty critique the previous night's action, and quiz the trauma residents. "This is a stab wound clinic," says senior trauma surgeon Mike Rotondo as he points to a chalkboard drawing of a 37-year-old man who was admitted to the trauma center last night. Eight 'X's mark the spots where the man was stabbed. · "We're full right now," a nurse in the trauma intensive care unit says at about 1:30 on Friday afternoon. "But we're not going to close down. If someone else comes in we'll fit them in somehow." The day is going peacefully for Dr. Schunn. No new trauma patients have come in since he came on duty, and he's spending his time taking care of the patients in the intensive care unit and the recovering patients in the trauma ward. "We have almost as many patients in the intensive care unit as on the ward and some of them are very sick," Schunn says. "A few of them are trying very hard to die." · Schunn's peaceful day is shattered at 9:17 p.m. "Trauma alert," a metallic voice announces from Schunn's beeper. Schunn hurries to the trauma bay in the emergency room and dons a surgical gown, cap and mask along with a plastic face protector. Nurses, residents and other hospital personnel scurry to prepare for the incoming patient. The bay is outfitted with everything needed to assess the patient's condition, including a portable X-ray machine and facilities for on-the-spot surgery. When the patient arrives in the bay at 9:20 p.m., a 10-person surgery team is waiting for him. Paramedics John Gelibter and Pat Fletcher wheel a 36-year-old man in and help lift him onto the table. "Somebody jumped him and stabbed him once in the chest with a long knife," Gelibter tells Schunn. Outside the trauma bay a secretary puts the man's blood-soaked clothes in a bag, while inside the team works to revive the patient. At 9:31, Schunn takes his mask off and walks away from the patient while X-rays are taken. "He's comfortable," Schunn says. At 9:36, while the trauma team is still working on the stab victim, beepers sound again, "Trauma alert! Four minutes ETA!" "Let's get this guy out of here," Schunn says. "Here's his blood," he adds, handing a packet of type-O blood for transfusion to a nurse. "He's number 409." "What's coming?" a nurse waiting in the trauma bay asks Schunn. "Head trauma -- that's all I know," he answers. At 9:39, paramedics wheel in a 30-year-old homeless man who had been hit over the head with a baseball bat. Blood coats his shirt and blue jeans. His clothes reek of vomit and alcohol. "Hey! Move your legs for me!" Schunn shouts at the patient, checking to see if he is paralyzed. "We found him lying on a step at 52nd and Pensbrook Street," Paramedic Angel Navaro tells Schunn. "We stabilized him in the back of the truck." The patient moans. "No. No. I'm alright. Really, I just fell down." Philadelphia Police Officer Bob Hampton walks up to the trauma bay and tries to get some information on the patient from the nurses. "I just came over to see if there was any crime involved," Hampton says. But the doctors are busy working on the patient and haven't even found out his name yet. At 9:50 p.m., Schunn emerges from the trauma bay. "He's got a pretty bad head laceration, but I think he'll be alright." He returns his attention to the stabbing patient in the next room. Third-year surgical resident Jim McCaughan tells Schunn that he thinks the patient should get a chest tube to drain the blood which is filling his chest. Schunn isn't sure the case is that serious. Because Schunn has several other patients on the ward with tubes in their chests, he doesn't want to needlessly expose this patient to infection. He decides to consult Dr. Rotondo and calls him at home. "O.K., do it," Schunn tells McCaughan as he hangs up the phone a few moments later. McCaughan tells the stabbing victim to look away as he and Resident John Blank insert he tube through his wound. Blood spills out of the patient's chest and splashes onto the floor. · Up in the PennSTAR helicopter flight lounge, things have been quiet all day -- they haven't even been put on alert once. But soon after the bars close at 2 a.m. Saturday morning, the call finally comes. There's been a five-car crash on the New Jersey Turnpike. The flight crew takes off within minutes. It won't return to the hospital for another three hours, until it has finished transporting two patients to a trauma center near Newark. · At 3 a.m., Schunn gets his last trauma alert of the night -- a 90-year-old man had fallen down the stairs and injured his head. At 6 a.m., Schunn goes off duty. It hasn't been so bad for a Friday night.
(11/12/90 10:00am)
As a result, many patients who do not have life- or limb- threatening injuries and who could have been treated at Presbyterian end up at the HUP trauma center. Such patients needlessly take up the center's time and resources, center director William Schwab said last week. A year ago, when Presbyterian faced staffing problems in its emergency room, Presbyterian Emergency Room Director Lawerence Gavin asked the police and fire departments to send all patients who met city criteria for transportation to a trauma center to HUP. Presbyterian does not run its own trauma center. "All we did was ask the city to comply with their truama protocols, which say that if people have certian types of injuries, they're supposed to be taken to a trauma center and not to a non-trauma center," Gavin said. "It has exacerbated [HUP's] volume because we did take care of a fair number of trauma patients," Gavin added. "We were probably getting three or four serious trauma patients a week, as well as a fair number of patients who may have met the city's criteria for trauma patients, but who didn't need to go to the operating room right away." Sixty times from January to September, the HUP truama center was put on "divert" status, meaning that it was unable to accept additional patients because the two emergency room trauma beds were full or because all intensive care unit beds in the hospitial were full. On those occasions, trauma patients had to be diverted to one of the city's six other trauma centers. Gavin said that the city's critieria for who should be transported to a trauma center are fairly inclusive of injuries that can be severe, but are not always life-threatening. As a result of his request, HUP may now get some patients who meet the city's standards, but could be treated at a standard emergency room, Gavin added. "I think [HUP's] problem isn't with us, but is with the city's criteria," Gavin said. "[HUP has] become overwhelmed and would like us to take some of the burden off of them, which we would be happy to do as long as we didn't get anyone who was seriously injured and needed the services of a trauma center. How that gets sorted out is the challenge right now." HUP Trauma Center Director Schwab said that city police and fire rescue often do a poor job of triage -- deciding what patients should go where -- but added that when faced with disasters, such as the recent Market-Frankford subway derailment, the city's response has been "beautiful." Gavin added that Presbyterian still receives one or two trauma patients in need of immediate surgery every week. All of them are transported by police.
(11/06/90 10:00am)
"HUP is the most frequently closed trauma center in the city," William Schwab, the center's director, said yesterday. "There are times when we get five, six, or seven victims in here at once and we can't take them all." Schwab said the closures are a direct result of the rising tide of drug-related violence, which is exhausting trauma center doctors and causing the center to lose millions of dollars each year. "A year ago we were admitting one gunshot wound patient a day," the director said. "Now we're admitting three a day." Because there are only two emergency trauma beds, doctors must turn away additional patients when two patients are being treated at once, Schwab said. The center is also often closed because the intensive care unit is full, the director added. When the center is closed, severely injured patients in West Philadelphia must be transported to one of the six other trauma centers in the area, costing precious minutes. But Schwab said the patients would be in greater danger if they had to wait for a bed at HUP. Last weekend the HUP trauma center treated eight separate gunshot victims. A week ago, three gunshot wound victims -- a drug dealer and two police officers -- were brought to the center at the same time, Schwab said, forcing it to close its doors to other patients for several hours. The dealer had shot at the two policemen, hitting both of them. The officers returned fire and hit the dealer 11 times. In addition to the closures due to the center's being full, the center closed on three occasions last month for a 24-hour period because the senior trauma surgeons were exhausted. The increasing number of victims of drug-related violence has also hurt the center's financial health because most victims of drug-related violence do not have private medical insurance to pay for their care. In 1989, the center lost approximately $3.9 million, or $5100 per patient. The center lost $1.3 million alone in caring for patients with handgun wounds. "You can't go on treating these people forever or you'll go out of business," Schwab said yesterday. The problems caused by increasing urban violence are not unique to the HUP trauma center. Across the country, many hospitals have been forced to dismantle their trauma centers, according to Alexander Walt, past president of the American College of Surgeons. In May, Walt told a Congressional subcommittee, which is considering a bill to provide extra federal funding to urban trauma centers, that in Los Angeles only nine of 23 trauma centers remain in a network set up in 1983, while Chicago has lost four of its 12 trauma centers since 1986. When trauma centers drop out of the system, Walt said, the remaining centers are forced to bear even heavier burdens. "If the drug dealers cause our trauma system to collapse, . . . our family members and friends who are the victims of automobile or bicycle accidents, falls, severe electric shocks, and the rest are at a real risk of suffering unnecessary disabilities or loss of life," Walt said. Schwab said that while the HUP trauma center will not be permanently shut down any time soon, something must be done on a city-wide level to handle the dramatic increase in injuries. "The whole system, Emergency Medical Services and the hospitals, have to get together and deal with this," Schwab said. Schwab suggested that the system could be better coordinated so that only patients who will die or lose a limb without immediate medical care -- the kind of patients the centers were designed to treat -- are brought to trauma centers. Currently, many patients who do not fit these qualifications end up at a trauma center, Schwab said. If violence continues to worsen, city hospitals with trauma centers will have to make a decision about whether to expand their money-losing centers to meet the rising demand, Schwab said. Schwab also testified before the Congressional committee. He called Philadelphia a war zone and compared the HUP trauma center to a M.A.S.H. unit, trying to save the war's casualties. "In addition to the handgun identified by the police, many wounded arrived in our trauma center sill armed with a second handgun, knives, explosive devices and even wearing bullet proof vests," Schwab told the committee. "At the operating room table, we routinely remove bullets known as hollow tips, wad cutters, and dum-dums, all of which are specific for one thing -- tissue destruction and human killing," Schwab continued. "Because of the destructive power of the weapons used, these patients require the same instantaneous type of surgical care as conventional mililtary warfare." Schwab reported that 66 percent of all the patients treated at the center last year tested postive for illegal drugs. Eighteen percent of all those admitted tested positive for two or more drugs. "Over 100 patients were so out of control, enraged or combative from substance abuse that they had to be anesthetized prior to receiving medical care," he said.
(11/05/90 10:00am)
A former part-time Van Pelt Library employee who claims to suffer from multiple personalties was found guilty Friday of stealing almost $1.8 million worth of rare books and documents from the library. Common Pleas Court Judge Russell Nigro found Kathleen Wilkerson, 34, of the 3900 block of Chesnut Street, guilty of theft and tampering with records after she entered a no contest plea. She will be sentenced in January. Wilkerson remains free on bail and faces a maximum sentence of seven years in prison and $15,000 in fines. Her lawyer, Dennis Eisman, said yesterday that his client pled no contest because she suffers from multiple personalities and does not remember stealing the books. "She is not denying that she took them," Eisman said. "She would do things in one personality and not remember them in another." Eisman said that Wilkerson, who attended Bryn Mawr College as an undergraduate and received a master's degree in English from the University, has suffered from the mental illness since childhood and has been repeatedly hospitized for the disorder. The defense lawyer said that he will ask the judge to give his client a light sentence because "jail . . . will kill her." Wilkerson was so upset by her arrest that she had to be hosptalized, Eisman added. "It's a very tragic situation," Eisman said. "If it wasn't for her mental illness this would not have happened." In February, police and FBI agents were led to Wilkerson's West Philadelphia appartment after a book dealer from Baltimore reported seeing a 379-year-old copy of Shakespeare's Hamlet from the University's collection -- valued at more than $1 million -- in a Center City book shop. Prosecutors said that between August 1989 and February 1990, Wilkerson made six visits to the shop, Buaman Rare Books, attempting to sell 61 stolen volumes. After receiving the tip, police recovered 19 of the University's rare books valued at $1.5 million from the bookstore, where they were being evaluated. They then obtained a search warrant for Wilkerson's apartment. Daniel Traister, assistant library director for special collections, accompanied the police to Wilkerson's appartment where he found 101 more rare books from the University's collection scattered on the floor and sitting on Wilkerson's bookshelves. "Some of them had their spines broken," Traister said. "It doesn't damage the intellectual content of the book, but it damages its value as an object for resale." Wilkerson, who worked in the Van Pelt Rare Book Room for more than eight years, began stealing books from the University's collection in 1985, giving them as gifts to her friends and relatives, according to Traister. "It's very easy to be generous that way," he said. The thefts were not immediately discovered because Wilkerson altered and stole University records to cover up her thefts, Traister added. He said he does not believe all of the books stolen by Wilkerson have been recovered, but added that the most valuable ones have been returned. Security in the Rare Book Room has been tightened since Wilkerson's thefts were discovered. "There has been increased emphasis on identification and registration of readers and there have been internal procedural amendments, which I can't really comment on," Traister said. "We try to balance security with the realities of the University library's service-oriented environment."
(10/31/90 10:00am)
University Police detained eight local youths and arrested one in two separate on-campus incidents last night. In the first incident, which occured at about 6:30 p.m., a University student noticed someone attempting to steal her backpack in the Chemistry building. The student yelled for the person to stop and called for help, according to University Police Lieutenant Jerry Leddy. The youth dropped the backpack and fled the scene, Leddy said. The second, unrelated incident occurred on Superblock at about 7:30 last night when several juveniles were seen throwing eggs at University students. High Rise East desk worker Donna Smith said she called University Police after a group of about eight to 10 youths chased another youth into the high rise lobby, where the youth asked security personnel for help. When police arrived on the scene, the youths were no longer inside the building and couldn't be linked to the egg-throwing incident. "We didn't have anything on them," Leddy said. "It was too early to arrest them for curfew, so they were released."
(10/31/90 10:00am)
Tonight is Halloween, but the University is no place for ghosts, goblins, ghouls and other supernatural beings to run around. The educated and scientifically-minded humans here just don't believe in that silly stuff. Or do they? According to a survey conducted in 1970, most University graduate students believe to some degree in supernatural powers like witchcraft, evil forces, unidentified flying objects, extra-sensory perception and astrology. This year, two University professors are conducting a follow-up survey that will try to find out how many members of the University community believe in astrology. "Halloween is a time when ghosts, goblins and spirits are supposed to walk around, and it's of interest to know how many people actually believe there are demons, devils and spirits," said Molecular Biology Professor Emeritus Robert Davies, one of the authors of the new survey. "Is your sun sign a joke or does it really affect your personality?" In the 1970 survey, 100 graduate students were asked to describe their beliefs in various supernatural forces on a scale from zero to 20. A rating of 20 indicated unqualified belief, while zero indicated total disbelief. The graduate students gave an average rating of 12.24 to ESP, 7.14 to UFOs and 4.16 to astrology. The results showed that continuing education does not necessarily lead to a decline in supernatural belief, according to Lewis Routledge, who conducted the 1970 survey while he was a molecular biology graduate student. Professor Davies, who described himself as a "fourth generation atheist" said he does not personally believe in supernatural forces like astrology and witchcraft because they have not been proven true through scientific experiments. "There are no more murders or people going crazy during a full moon than a new moon -- it's a myth," Davies said. Davies admitted that science doesn't have all the answers to the mysteries of life, but said that every day more and more are discovered through scientific research. "There are many things which are unknown, but not necessarily intrinsically mysterious," Davies said. Davies said it is important to know how many people believe in the supernatural because people make decisions based on their belief systems. The professor pointed to former first lady Nancy Reagan as one example of a powerful person who based many of her decisions on a belief in the supernatural. Sri Lanka even has an official astrologer in its parliament, Davies said. Even scientifically-minded people are not immune to belief in the supernatural, Davies said. "[Johannes] Kepler used to cast horoscopes for rich people," Davies said. "200 years ago it was almost uniform that scholars believed in some god or supernatural power." If Davies is right and there are many people here who do believe in the supernatural, the ghouls and goblins scheduled to descend on the University tonight might receive a warm welcome after all.
