During my first and only year at Temple, I went to the chess hall when I should have been going to classes. I turned to fraternity life and missed more classes. During the time, I was enrolled in 5 three-hour courses that didn’t seem to have anything to do with becoming a surgeon and my mother had had major surgery followed by several scary setbacks – certainly no justifications for my choices.
All began to crumble in January 1952 when I received a term paper back form Dr. Brown, professor of English Composition 101. It contained two grades: a C and a F. When I asked him why two grades, he said, “C for content” and, about the other asked, “what’s the name of the course, Fred?” The writing was on the wall, his grade for the paper only confirmed it. I had failed to clean up my act by the end of my second semester and the bubble burst when I received a dismissal letter from the Dean of Undergraduate Studies. I immediately made an appointment and received nothing more than a hand shake and “best wishes.” So I said goodbye to Temple, my military deferral, and any hope of becoming a surgeon. I hadn’t yet learned that choices have consequences. After a couple of weeks working in the store and pondering the possibility that I would be drafted into the Army, possibly the infantry, I enlisted in the USAF and it was “Off We Go . . .”