My two best subjects in high school in Poland were biology and chemistry, so it is no wonder that I decided to study pharmacy, a profession that would combine my scientific abilities and my desire to help people. After passing the obligatory “matura” exam from high school and an entrance exam to the pharmacy school in Wrocław, I embarked on a journey that lasted four years. Four years of hard work, few pleasures, and a lot of stress.
The Department of Pharmacy, part of the Medical Academy, was housed in the very center of Wrocław’s quaint Old Town. It was a historic building, built in the 14th century as a residence of the princes of Opole and rebuilt in the 19th century in the neoclassical style. At that time Wrocław was a German city.
It was a four-story building with a large, dark, kind of foreboding-looking courtyard housing the office of the dean. On the wall of this courtyard were posted results of exams, which included students’ full names. It was either humiliating or satisfying depending on the results, but the lack of privacy was jarring.
Nearby were the Oder River, many charming cafes, students’ theater, and a beautiful Gothic cathedral. Unfortunately, the time required for my studies left me little time to sightsee and socialize.
We studied all kinds of chemistries: organic, inorganic, biochemistry, food chemistry, as well as subjects more involved with pharmaceuticals like pharmacognosy (a study of medicinal plants) and pharmacology (a study of drugs). One of the subjects was Latin, from which I was exempted since I had taken it in high school.
The professors were unapproachable and demanding. Many of them arrived after the war from the Kazimir University of Lviv. Because the studies were free, we were treated like second-class citizens: Even lowly laboratory assistants showed their superiority, and professors behaved like they thought they were gods.
The method of learning was mostly by memorizing. I had to know the ingredients of milk for my food chemistry class to the fourth decimal point. If a student failed the final exam twice, they were required to repeat the whole year, including all previous subjects.
There were about 50 students in my class, from all over Poland. Pharmacy was an overwhelmingly female profession, and we all worked hard and used every trick to get a good grade. I remember a gossip that a certain professor liked the female students to wear blue blouses to the exams, and that was what we all wore to please him.
I did manage to make two lifelong friends: One remains in Poland, the other is close to me, both physically, in Virginia, and also close to my heart. I also started dating Marcel, and after he immigrated to the United States and we decided to marry, I cut my studies short and joined him.
After I became a wife and a mother, my thoughts turned to continuing my education. I enrolled at Howard University School of Pharmacy, as this was the only local university offering pharmacy as a major. Based on the Polish transcript of my grades, Dr. Chauncey Cooper, then dean of the pharmacy school, placed me in the third year.
Dr. Chauncey Cooper. The University of Minnesota, used with permission Dec. 12, 2024
Dean Cooper was a tall, elderly, no-nonsense, African American man with a traditional work ethic who cared about his students. He was a founder and first president of the National Pharmaceutical Association. His emphasis on strictly studying hard allowed him to keep the school of pharmacy peaceful, while the rest of the university was tense during the tragic, antiwar Kent State events. Many students chafed at his fair treatment of white students and called him “Uncle Tom.”
He often joined me on the bench in front of the school to inquire about my well-being and progress.
Dean Cooper’s caring attitude pervaded the whole school. The professors were always willing to spend time with students, and I often took advantage of their offer for additional instruction and explanation. Many of them were from different countries, like Dr. Zalucky from Poland, Dr. Fayed from Egypt, and Dr. Bassuray from India.
In the third year, I was the only white student and not at all typical because I was also already a wife and mother. The American students, with few exceptions, were not very friendly to me, but this was offset by the warmth and friendship of students who, like me, had come from other places: the Caribbean, Africa, South America, and Asia. There was delicate Salome Atnafu from Ethiopia, gregarious Olu Olusania from Nigeria, Mary Kim from Korea, and very self-assured Ahmed Damas from Palestine. In the fourth year of our studies, our class was joined by several students who were already full-fledged pharmacists in their respective countries but had to attend two years of pharmacy school to be able to practice in the United States. Among them was my best friend from Poland with whom I had once shared my studies. It was a veritable United Nations at Howard University. We studied hard together, but we also learned about each other’s cultures, especially food.
I thrived in that international atmosphere and never felt overwhelmed by the studies. The university practiced a strict privacy policy, and the names of the students receiving test results were announced only by the final digits of their social security number. The method of teaching emphasized the need to understand the material, rather than to memorize it, and was augmented by working towards a common goal and respect. I was a mediocre student in Poland, but a member of Rho Chi honor society at Howard.
Finally, in June of 1972, I became a full-fledged pharmacist with seven years of studies behind me. The first four years were grueling and stressful, but I will always remember the three years spent at Howard University with pride in my achievement and a great affection for the teachers and many of the students.
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