Canticles I: University and Science

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Let us not forget that devoted servant of scholarship, that well-loved figure of perpetual inspiration to the next generation!

Many dreams I had
As an undergrad
Of fortune, distinction, and fame.
Lectures I attended
Learned and comprehended
For to add Ph.D. to my name
Throughout my young and hopeful days
I wrote reports and got straight A's
On Cattle Farming, Corpse Embalming,
Equitation, Education
Floreat Academia,
How glorious the age in which we are!

(Twenty years later)

Now I have advanced,
My status I've enhanced,
Assistant professor I am.
Scholastically well-rated,
Research orientated,
For students I don't give a damn.
I make them slave for days and days
To write reports and get straight A's
On Cattle Farming, Corpse Embalming,
Equitation, Education.
Floreat Academia,
How glorious the age in which we are!

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We may never know whether the Sputnik performed to the satisfaction of its creator, but it certainly did a marvellous job of promoting support for American Science. The dough came rolling in. It became hard to find a string without a grant attached to it. Although the scientific community sometimes showed more enthusiasm than wisdom in applying this largesse, one cannot deny that some solid and impressive gains were made.

Here's to the Scientists! Long may we prosper!
Here's to the folk with superior brain!
May we live well and not be at a loss for
A job with a salary few would disdain!
Refrain: Hey-ho, buckets of dough!
Here's to the science to which we're devoted!
Hey-ho, buckets of dough!
Here's to the public which keeps us bank-noted!

P The radio astronomers listen intently
For intelligent life in far regions of space.
And this is their way of informing us gently
It's no use to look for it here on home base.

Life is a puzzle to those who observe it;
It gets us all baffled in manner unerring.
Some seek to create it and some to preserve it,
While some seek the means to prevent it occurring.

The Faculty Council in plenary sitting
Has drafted a memo addressed to the Deans,
Expressing the view that it's not at all fitting
For freshmen to play with the pinball machines.

Let us stick close to the studies we cherish
And further their frontiers for world without end;
At least we are sure while we publish or perish
That no-one shall think we have gone round the bend.

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But all was not well in the Ed. business. As more and more money was poured into the schools, so the achievement level of high school graduates grew progressively worse. To many people this fact remains totally incomprehensible.

I enrolled in Poultry Science at the start of my career,
And by taking Phys.Ed. options, I scraped through the freshman year.
In the latter options sporty
Pool and billiards were my special forte.

At playing pool and billiards I became extremely skilled.
That's a humanistic study on which folks like me can build.
So because the school could offer more
I acquired the status of a sophomore.

The trials which I surmounted in the next three crowded years
Were so grave I daren't recount them lest I move you all to tears.
Finally 'mid tumult rowdy
I became a bachelor cum laude.

A man of my low talent should not stick at low degree,
So I straightway sought a sponsor who would write my Ph.D.
But I grew exceeding pensive
When I failed my comprehensive.

This reversal in my fortunes did not cause me to desist.
I went out and got a bank loan and called on a psychiatrist,
Who attributed my failure
To excessive love of bacchanalia.

To earn an honest living, it is clear I'm far too dumb,
But I still do very nicely as an academic bum,
For at last I found salvation
In the faculty of Education.

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It's time now to turn to a more serious topic, the state of scholarship at American universities. We give you a scientifically selected example of one opinion on the subject.

These here athletic scholarships pays tuition for the year,
With extra for insurance and for purchasin' of gear,
But them perfessors keeps perfessin'
Sheer through every goddamn lesson;
There's nothing I would rather do
Than kick'em in the rear.        
Refrain: So I leaves that lousy classroom
Full of books that I ain't read,
And I clamps that ten pound helmet
Right upon my twelve ounce head.
Social studies makes me vomit,
Mathematics makes me groan.
I'm the most offensive tackle
That the school has ever known.

There's the twit who read us poems written centuries ago
And handed out a reading list of books we're supposed to know.
Got no use for Siegfried Idyll
When I gets out on the griddle
And I bombs right down the middle
Strewing corpses as I go.

When them profs they went to college, I'm as sure as I can be,
They didn't earn no scholarships, they had to pay the fee.
But look how much we got of'em!
I'd fire the whole damn lot of 'em
And hire a bit of talent
And some scholars likes of me.

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Among the university population, the intern's job seems to be particularly hard. But there are some fringe benefits...

At nine o'clock in the early morn we're off to early starts.
We stagger up to the second floor to view the patients' charts.
All the charts have wiggly lines, and a sorry tale they tell.
Some of the lines point up to heaven, but most point down to hell.

Refrain: Poor old interns!
What a profession to choose!
Poor old interns!
Practicing quackery,
Guzzling Daiquiri!

At ten o'clock we go to the wards and start upon our rounds,
We prod the bods with stethoscopes and hear the wheezing sounds,
Spreading gloom around the room, that is our favorite sport
Until the Chairman summons us to give him our report.

Now the time has come to recount a great experience:
A professor, he was lecturing at a teaching conference.
He was one of the very big names in anestheology.
The interns all went fast asleep, such a wonderful prof was he!

Next we all go out to dine on wine and caviar,
Returning to the wardroom with our stomachs full of blah.
Chat up the new patients with Latin words galore,
Give'em a pill to make them feel ill. That's what they came here for.

When the day is over, a replacement you must find,
Then attend the autopsy conference with a light and easy mind.
Don't forget before you leave to check the I.C.U.'s,
Then race to the door, it's a quarter to four. I'll meet you over at Shu's.*

*A local watering hole for interns and other medicos.

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In '67-68 Boeing began developing the SST. Unfortunately for Boeing and the employees, the development funds were nixed by Nixon, and it was the Europeans that first got an SST "Concorde" flying (albeit even in 1995 still "in the red"). Here's to the joys of flying in one of them.

Captain Jones of Danville is a man of quality,
He studied engineering and he flies an SST.
He's calm and cool and confident, he never makes mistakes,
And he flies ten miles ahead of all the sonic booms he makes.

Refrain: Captain Jones and all the pretty stewardesses,
Captain Jones of flight four-ninety-nine,
Captain Jones says: "Buckle up your seatbelt, Mrs.
Gotta gun the motors so's to get there on time."

The take-off it was thrilling, it was absolutely grand!
Soon we're gaining altitude, a-booming 'cross the land.
We're sorry for the folks below as overhead we pass
For all the shattered ear-drums and for all the broken glass.

'Tis a feeling I'll remember the remainder of my days,
A-sipping of my Daiquiri amid the cosmic rays.
The ground control says "turbulence" or something of the kind.
By the time we get the message it is twenty miles behind.

Now we've reached full altitude, our speed remains immense,
And it's due to drag and friction that the heat becomes intense.
I was truly fascinated and I swear I do recall
Gobs of liquified titanium were oozing down the wall.

When we reached our destination all the folks were looking green.
It was only four hours flying but 'twas twelve of limousine.
The passengers were shaken and they none of them denied,
As the dawn rose up to greet them, they'd been taken for a ride.

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Technology can do much more for you than just transport you from here to there at unprecendented speed. It can even give you a wonderful feeling of being totally superfluous.

My practice it is at the start of the morning
To open my mouth for the purpose of yawning.
I know it's unsightly, that's well understood,
But what do I care if it makes me feel good?
After yawning ad lib I then make a decision
To go back to sleep or to watch television.

Before very long, 'tis reliably stated,
Your job and mine will become automated.
Then all day long we'll have nothing to do;
Don't get the idea it can't happen to you!
Doctors and clerics and artful solicitors
Will each be replaced by a can of transistors.

Domestic dissensions don't bug the computer;
That's one compensation for being a neuter.
All serious thought in the coming millenium
Will be carried out by small gobs of selenium,
And all that you need is a pillow and mattress
To give you the strength to keep out of the rat race.

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If you are bugged by bugs, you can take consolation from the fact that we have come a long way from the olden days of DDT. Here is a song of Glad Tidings for all those who seek protection from critters and varmint.
Soak the lawns in malathion
Soon the chiggers will be dyin'.
In the toxic fumes arising,
Watch the honeybees agonizing.

Spray with double-strength dioxin
The fields where shepherds watch their flocks in.
When the cattle drink the water,
They will die too young for slaughter.

Poor old Joe, no wonder that he died.
He decked the halls with urea formaldehyde.
Had he decked with boughs of holly
He'd be damned cold but alive and jolly.

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