John Fremont Fisher, MD, '65 | May 24, 2016
Football, the Grotto and Mass at the Basilica were the only antidotes for the bleak fall and winter of 1961-62, my freshman year at Notre Dame. Despite my version of hard studying, I received pink slips in three of my five subjects after midterms.
I redoubled my efforts, but, returning to my Farley Hall bunk in the evenings, I found 343 had become the designated rumpus room for at least seven of my hallmates. Sleep before midnight was generally out of the question. If I happened to doze off in the din, I might be awakened by imminent or actual urinary incontinence to discover my hand immersed in a container of warm water amid the guffaws of several juvenile 18-year-olds. Homesickness set in with a vengeance.