Louis S. Goldman

Louis Goldman was born Israel Labe Guntmacher in 1894 in Ladyzhin, Podolsky, Ukraine. The Ukraine is about the size of Texas and Ladyzhin was a small village then with about 800 Jewish families. My father-in-law said it looked just like village, Anatevka, in Fiddler on the Roof. They spoke Russian, Ukrainian and Yiddish. In the 1400s, this was part of the Polish empire and Jews, who had been expelled by other European countries, were welcomed by the Polish empire since they could read and write. But in the 1600s, the Polish empire began to lose power and the fortunes of the Jews also declined. When Louis was born, it was ruled by the Russian Czars, and there were restrictions and pogroms against the Jews. Tobacco and wheat were the main crops of Ladyzhin with production controlled by the government. Jews could not own property. The houses were one-story with dirt floors and no running water and water was taken from the river, where people bathed and sent their waste. Lou’s father was a tailor and better off than most of his neighbors, as he had a little work all year long making a few coats, pants and shirts. Many in the village felt lucky to work a few months a year.

In 1905, when Lou was 11, his older brother, Yosell, age 22, was shot by Russian soldiers. He was a University student who joined the Bund, a Jewish socialist revolutionary group aligned with the Bolsheviks. His father blamed too much education for giving Yosell ideas that got him killed. He pulled Louis out of school in the 4th grade and set him to work in the tobacco fields for 20 cents a day.

The Guntmachers and Tabachnicks were very good friends and neighbors. The Tabachnicks were a large family with four boys and two girls, and the youngest girl was born in America. Their going to America left Louis very sad, because the boys were his very best friends. Dave, the oldest and his best friend, promised to find a way to get him to America. In 1910, a letter came from the Tabachnicks saying he could live with them and Dave was sending him a ticket. He couldn’t get a passport because he was only 17, but the letter was accepted by immigration on both sides of the Atlantic.

All across Europe, people worked as agents to sneak those without papers across borders. His father arranged for Lou to meet agents in Russia, Austria and Germany. The agents would gather a group together in farmhouse barns until they had about 20-30 while they searched out safe places to cross. They had to cross a river into Germany holding on tightly to overhead ropes so the current wouldn’t carry them away. In Hamburg, Louis found a ticket agent and got his steerage ticket. It took two weeks to cross, then another week in Baltimore with thousands of other immigrants and then by train to St. Louis. Going through the immigration process was when his name was changed to Louis S. Goldman.

Louis wanted to be an American. He learned to speak and read and write English as quickly as possible. He went to work in the clothing industry. In 1914, at 19 years old, he got terribly homesick and decided to go home for the Passover holiday.

It was dangerous times; war seemed imminent, but he couldn’t be persuaded to stay. He had no passport, but he figured he could bribe his way. All went well until he crossed into Russia where he was arrested. By giving the warden all the rest of the money he had, he was released and even put on a train, but it stopped short of getting him to his home town. Luckily, a wagon master knew him and took him home, where he got paid by the parents. Lou told his parents the whole story and that he would need money to return to America. They sent him to his uncle who gave him a royal dressing down for being so foolish to travel at this time, but the uncle gave him $200. Lou decided to return immediately because of the war clouds. Again, no passport and he had to go through Poland and Austria to Hamburg, Germany. His father would wire him money for the boat ticket. He stayed at a farm house and they loaded 15-20 people in the center of the wagon carrying bales of hay. At the border, soldiers bayonnnetted the hay, but fortunately, no one was hurt. They crossed a river with overhead ropes to Austria. There, while they were waiting, someone ratted them out. They pooled their money to bribe the police and gave a royal beating to the snitch. In Hamburg, Louis went to the ticket agent to get money from his dad. The agent asked him to do a favor. He had an 11-year-old boy traveling alone to St. Louis to meet his sister. The boy’s name was Elie Chadorosky (Al Price). They boarded the Pres. Lincoln and Dad brought him to St. Louis.

He and his friend, Leo Tabachnick, served in the Army during WWI overseas in France and he got his naturalization papers.

In 1922, Lou decided to get his family out of Russia. He had parents, two sisters and a young brother, all almost starved from the different armies commissioned near their town: Red, White Russians, Germans, and Austrians. He made arrangements with agents to get them over the border. In the woods on a Sabbath eve, not far from the border, his mother, a very observant Jew, insisted on lighting the candles and saying the blessing. She put two sticks in the ground, said the prayer and lit the candles. Then she blew them out because of the great danger. With bribes and luck, they did get out of Russia. They got to Belgium and booked passage on the Lapland, but his father had a hernia and had to be left behind for the operation at a Catholic hospital. He left money with the Nuns for his care and to see that he got on the ship to America when he recovered. Lou told his dad the food was Kosher or he wouldn’t have eaten.

He married Cecelia Tabachnick, sister of best friend in 1924. They had four children. The first child died in infancy, then a son in 1927 and twins, a boy and girl in 1935. The youngest son died in 2000 and the oldest in 2002. They were/are a loving family, hardworking, honest and all good citizens. Like most Jewish immigrants, Dad loved America: it’s a wonderful land of opportunity, citizenship, to earn a good living, educate your children and freedom, especially religious freedom. This made America the golden country!

This story was submitted by Lillian Goldman with information that came from her father and research done by her nephew, Mark Goldman.


Harry Sabol

The story of Harry Sabol, as told by his son Allen

Harry was born in Russia and came to the United States in 1904 after escaping from the Czar’s army. A tailor by trade, Harry set up shop in St. Louis at 321 North Jefferson Ave. with a sign, “Who Does Your Tailoring? Try Harry Sable.”

He even established his own baseball team. According to his son, Allen, the team never won a game so Harry finally disbanded them. Later, he set up shop in Granite City, IL. He ran that shop for 21 more years and closed it in 1962, at the mere age of 84.

During World War II, Harry began selling United States savings bonds. He sold bonds on the streets, in drug stores and any place he could find people to buy them. He was easy to spot in the crowd. He would wear a red, white and blue spangle cloak and a stovepipe hat! But he ran into a little problem. One day the FBI appeared at his house. They wanted to know how he sold the bonds. Harry said he would like to sell them some. But they told him they didn’t have the money since the government took a bond a month from their paychecks. After selling more than $1.5 milllion of War Bonds, he was awarded a medal in 1943 by Earl Shackelford of the St. Louis U.S. Savings Bond office. Later in 1972, after Harry had lost the medal, it was presented to him again in a special ceremony by J. Owen Zurhellen, Jr., U.S. Mission official. Mr. Zurhellen remarked that the United States Government and people owed a debt of gratitude to Mr. Sabol for his wartime activities. He truly was a super-salesman for Uncle Sam!

At the age of 92, most men would have felt entitled to take it easy and curtail some of their activities. But Harry chose a new life in Israel and continued to renew things he liked most: tailoring, the Torah and the Talmud. In Israel, Harry chose to provide tailoring services to residents of the Chassidic village of Kiryat Bobov on the beaches of Mediterranean, just south of Tel Aviv. In exchange, he would ask that each mending job require the customer to study a set amount of pages of the Talmud in his honor. A large tailoring job required a larger number of pages and each job required being paid for in this type of currency. Most of the customers were students at the famed Bobov Yeshiva and Rabbinical seminary where young scholars are engrossed daily in the Torah and Talmud study. He was quite strict in collecting his bills!

Harry Sabol died six months before his 100th birthday.

Hilda Lebedun: Part III

Story was recorded at the Covenant House on May 20, 2008, by Michael Naclerio.

On May first, we got to the German border and were told to disembark. We were guarded by two of them, and they were reading a newspaper. I peaked over their shoulders and was reading it, and in big black letters was: “All is lost, the Furor is Dead.” They were reading it, and the older one said, “Ach! That’s not true, the dog abandoned us.” That’s how we got to the border. We saw people with the Red Cross. There were Danish soldiers there too and they made the Germans give them their weapons.  Then we met the Danish people who greeted us with open arms. They came running with bread and cheese and chocolate, but I said, “Don’t touch us! We’re filthy, stinky, disgusting.” We were skeletons. But they just kept on saying, “Don’t worry about it, you’re free.” I still want to wish many thanks to the Danish people.  They wanted to take care of us more, but they had us go to Sweden, because that country had no bombings from the war. The Swedish Red Cross took care of us, and we worked for some Swedish families, taking care of their houses and their children.

While working in Sweden, we were waiting for some papers to enter the United States.  They had mine ready, but my sisters were not yet, so my family in New York asked me to come and then my sister would come later, but I said, “No way, we went through the camps together. We’re staying together.” After a few more months, we finally went to New York.

The first time I met my husband, he took us to a Hungarian restaurant. He kissed me on the cheek, and I told my friend to tell him, “If I was not a lady I would kick him so hard he would forget who he is.”  He answered, “You tell her she doesn’t want to kick the person she is going to marry.” I came to St. Louis with him for a visit, and I just stayed.  My husband and I raised three great children. My oldest has a PhD in sociology.  My daughter takes brain waves and heart tests, and my youngest son has a Master’s degree in social work from Washington University. They are all three in service, and I am lucky to have them.  
There was one thing that I wanted to leave with. Don’t hate. Hate is a very destructive force. I thank God because he gave me the hope and strength not to hate. We all have the same God. We are so miserable to each other, and I don’t understand why people don’t feel it in their souls: there is one God, we just pray to him in different ways. Until we learn to honor each others’ ways to pray to that one God, we always bring misery upon us. If politically there is such a dissention, why in the name of God?

Sam Fox

Story was recorded at the Covenant House on May 20, 2008, by Michael Naclerio.

My father moved here from Russia when we was only 17 years old, and then he brought my mother and her family over when he had raised enough money to pay for their trip. They started raising me and my brothers and sisters, but when I was 7 years old, my mother died. My father remarried, and my step-mother wanted us all to learn how to play a musical instrument. I learned how to play the violin, and my younger sister loved to sing. She moved out to California where she once had the pleasure of singing for then Senator, Harry Truman. At age 15, I dropped out of Soldan High School to work in the clothing factory as a bookkeeper. I used to work 6 1/2 days per week for $10. 

When the war started, I joined the Army and ended up as a clerk in Fresno, California. When the War was about to end, they needed some clerks in Europe to help bring American equipment back to the States. I started flying to Europe from Fresno, but I couldn’t handle the flight. I had the air crew let me off in Big Springs, Texas. I was sure I was going to be court marshalled, but the War ended, so the Army had bigger things to worry about.

In the Army, I made a lot of friends. I made an Irish friend who started calling me “O’Brian.” The whole camp started calling me O’Brian. When the officers would pass out checks, you had to wait for your name to be called. The officer went through the entire list and then looked at me and said, “What is your name anyway?” So I had a lot of friends in the army, both gentiles and Jews.

After leaving the Army and working different jobs for a few years, I wound up keeping books at a radio station. I worked there for 7 years, and in that time, I helped on the Arch. We put the background music in the Arch, and I delivered the material to the men. They were exciting times.

Now, I’m 94 years old, and I still call bingo for the Jewish War Veterans Association. I also continue to bowl. My doctor put a pacemaker on my heart, and I wanted to give up the sport, but he said to me, “You bowl until you die!” In the upcoming Senior Olympics, I will be the oldest contestant.

Jewish Immigration Monument in Forest Park

Story Submitted by Ed McGue

A monument commemorating the 300th anniversary of the first Jewish settlement in North America can be found in Forest Park at the corner of Kingshighway and Lindell Boulevard. The Jewish Immigration Monument consists of a stainless steel flagpole resting on a sculptured stone base. On the base, great freedoms inspired by biblical verses are inscribed including Freedom from Tyranny, Freedom of Religion, Freedom from Fear and War and Freedom from Want.

The monument was first dedicated on November 22, 1956, by a group of Jewish community leaders. It was then rededicated in 1989 after a $275,000 facelift which included the construction of a terraced granite base that would increase its visibility. Special lighting, benches and sidewalks were also added to Lopata Plaza surrounding the monument—named in honor of major contributors Lucy and Stanley Lopata.

Artist Carl Mose designed the limestone monument. In addition to the Jewish Immigration Monument, Mose created the St. Francis of Assisi monument that is also displayed in Forest Park and probably his most recognizable piece—the Stan Musial statue outside of Busch Stadium.

Louis Raskas Of St. Louis

By: Dr. Yitzchok Levine

(This article first appeared in The Jewish Press, February 1, 2007. Posted here by permission of the author)

In the late 1800’s and early 1900’s America was called the treifa medina by many religious Jews living in Eastern Europe. This was based on the fact that the religious observance of many of the Jews who immigrated to the United States during those years eroded as a result of their exposure to American society.
Even if parents managed to maintain their commitment to Torah, their children were more than likely not to follow in their footsteps. Nonetheless, there were families in which both immigrants and their descendents remained staunchly Orthodox. One such family is the Raskas family of St. Louis, Missouri.
Some readers may recognize the name Raskas, which has been associated with the dairy industry for many years: “Raskas Foods has been in business since 1888. The Raskas Dairy Company first began its door-to-door delivery of milk in St. Louis by horse-drawn wagons. With the advent of pasteurization, Raskas developed into a general dairy.” (1)
In 1882 Sholom Yitzchok [Isaac] and [Shifra] Rivka Raskas immigrated from Kovno, Lithuania, to St. Louis to join members of Mrs. Raskas’s Sarasohn family. They lived about ten blocks from the Mississippi River. Isaac started selling milk, much like Tevye in “Fiddler on the Roof.” After the turn of the century the family moved to 1313 North Newstead, which at that time was still a semi-rural area on the western fringe of St. Louis, and began a small dairy.
Louis Raskas's ParentsThe Raskases were sincerely committed Orthodox Jews. Pictures of their parents show that they both came from learned, Litvishe families. The Raskases had eight children – four boys and four girls. Knowing that their oldest two sons, Yudel (Julius) and Louis (Chaim Shabatsai Lev) could not receive an intensive Torah education in St. Louis, they sent them to study in the famed Slabodka Yeshiva located near Kovno, Lithuania. Louis was all of 12 years old at the time; because of his young age he was sent to live with relatives.
One cannot help but marvel at the depth of commitment on the part of the Raskases when it came to their sons’ yeshiva education. (The American Jewish historian Jacob Rader Marcus told a grandson of Louis that the Raskas boys were probably the first young men to be sent from the United States to Europe to study in a European yeshiva.)
Bear in mind that in 1900 travel to Europe took weeks. Furthermore, there probably were no telephone communications between Kovno and St. Louis. The only method of communication was by mail, which was very slow. Sending one’s sons to Europe to learn meant not seeing them for years. Nonetheless, Isaac and Rivka Raskas made these sacrifices so that their sons would grow up to be observant, Torah-educated Jews. (Indeed, they did not see their sons until 1906, when they returned home for a visit. After this visit, the young men returned to Europe to continue their yeshiva studies.)
After spending several years studying in Slabodka, Louis decided to continue his studies in the Chofetz Chaim’s yeshiva in Radin. While he studied in Radin he was known as “der Americaner.” It was in Radin that Louis met and married Ruth Poupko. He supported his family by qualifying as a pharmacist and opening a small drugstore.

In the early part of 1914 Yudel and Louis received a letter telling them their parents wished to visit Eretz Yisrael. (The senior Raskases had purchased some land in Petach Tikva and did eventually settle there with their four youngest children.) Isaac asked the boys to return to St. Louis to take care of his dairy business during his absence, and Yudel and Louis returned in the late spring of 1914.

Louis left Ruth and their two small children in Radin, intending to return to them soon, but World War I made that impossible. Throughout the war he tried to get them out, but in vain. The town of Radin was caught in the maelstrom of bloody fighting on the German-Russian front, and civilians living there suffered grievously, sometimes under German control, sometimes under Russian control, as fierce fighting raged back and forth.

Because the head of the family was an American citizen – Louis, after all, had been born in St. Louis – both Russian and German authorities extended to the Raskas family some very welcome amenities.

Throughout the war, for instance, Raskas was able to send his wife money through the American ministry in Warsaw, and thus she and her children lived in “comparative comfort,” as she later put it, compared with the abject poverty of the surrounding Polish population. Nevertheless, life for them there was extremely trying. (2)

When World War I ended in 1918, Louis and Ruth found themselves in a quandary. He could not leave St. Louis because he was running his father’s dairy business. She, however, did not want to leave her parents and her family to come to a foreign country. Still, she loved her husband very much and wanted to be reunited with him.

It was suggested to her that she see her uncle, the Rabbi of the neighboring village of Aisheshuk (Lithuania-Eiszyszki), who was known for his scholarship, his wisdom, and his good judgment. After a lengthy conversation he told her, “You must now make a decision. Either stay here and get a divorce from your husband or join him.” She decided to come to America to unite the family. Her uncle supported her decision. Had she remained, she and her family would have been destroyed in the Holocaust, for there were no survivors of the Radun Massacre. (3)

In April 1920, Mrs. Raskas and her two children, Berenice, 10, and Ralph, 8, finally arrived in St. Louis. Louis and Ruth became pillars of the St. Louis Jewish community. They were known for their strict adherence to Torah and mitzvos. In 1929-1930 Rabbi Yosef Yitzchok Schneersohn, the sixth Lubavitcher Rebbe, came to America and visited many Jewish communities throughout the country. While in St. Louis, it was Ruth Raskas who prepared the food he ate.
Louis developed and expanded what had been his father’s small dairy business. “Under his leadership and acumen – and with his wife working side by side with him – [they] developed the company into one of the nation’s leading dairy concerns. Although he marketed for the broad public, Raskas took great care that all phases of milk processing met strict standards of kashrut.” (4)

Mr. and Mrs. Raskas developed a type of sour cream they labeled “Smetina.” Eventually they gave up the milk business and concentrated on the manufacture of Smetina, cream cheese and other soft cheese products. The business eventually expanded into national and international markets, becoming a most successful food conglomerate.

[Louis] Raskas’s impact upon the St. Louis Jewish community was much more than his success as a dairy entrepreneur. Ardently interested in Jewish education, he became actively involved with the Associated Hebrew Schools, the local Yeshiva Zechariah Joseph, and the establishment of the Rabbi H.F. Epstein Hebrew Academy. He generously supported the Jewish Hospital and other philanthropic activities of the Jewish Federation.
Raskas was an avid Zionist and was particularly active in the St. Louis Mizrachi organization, and, after Israel was established in 1948, in innumerable State of Israel bond campaigns. Many knew him as a humanitarian especially helpful to European refugees, undoubtedly recalling his family’s earlier hardships in Poland. He had a reputation also in the international Jewish community as a generous supporter of institutions of higher [Torah] learning all over the world and especially in Israel.
Raskas contributed positively also to many areas of the non-Jewish community. He was president of the national Dairyman’s Association, where his impact was felt in the industry throughout the country. His name could be found among contributors to many St. Louis community programs, especially those engaged in helping needy families. He served as an honorary colonel on the staff of Governor John M. Dalton of Missouri. He died on April 20, 1974, and was buried in Jerusalem. St. Louis newspapers used a very simple but most appropriate term in eulogizing him: “Orthodox Community Leader.” (5)
(The author wishes to thank Stanley Raskas, a great-grandson of Isaac and Rivka Raskas and a grandson of Louis and Ruth Raskas, for his assistance with the preparation of this article.)

Dr. Yitzchok Levine, a frequent contributor to The Jewish Press, is a professor in the Department of Mathematical Sciences at Stevens Institute of Technology, Hoboken, New Jersey. Glimpses Into American Jewish History appears the first week of each month. Dr. Levine can be contacted at llevine@stevens.edu.


(1) http://www.zoominfo.com/search/CompanyDetail.aspx?CompanyID=3214567&cs=QEB6oEKyA 

(2) Zion in the Valley, The Jewish Community of St. Louis, Volume II, The Twentieth Century, by Walter Ehrlich, University of Missouri Press, 2002, page 123.

(3) As A Brand Plucked From the Fire, by Bernard S. Raskas, communicated to the author by the late Walter Ehrlich.

(4) Ibid.

(5) Ibid, page 124.

Holocaust Survivor Guenter Goldsmith

guentergoldsmith2.jpgA Passion with a Purpose
Holocaust survivor Guenter Goldsmith trades his career for a calling

He arrived from Germany by himself in August 1941. After landing in St. Louis, he lived with an uncle for six months. But when it was time for his mother’s brother to move to Arkansas for work, Guenter Goldsmith stayed behind. A family he had never met took him in and accepted him as one of their own. He was barely 15 years old.
Four weeks before he set foot in St. Louis, Goldsmith’s mother had packed up her only child and situated him firmly in the unknown. Providence had reserved the boy a spot aboard the last children’s transport bound for the United States.
Goldsmith’s father had died of pneumonia in 1938, after being arrested and sent to a concentration camp where he was forced to stand outside–all night–in bone-chilling rain. Goldsmith and his mother had to move several times during the next three years.

Suddenly, only four months after his arrival to the states, Goldsmith stopped receiving letters postmarked from his mother and several other relatives who were still living in Germany in December 1941, when German authorities took the remaining Jews to concentration camps.

Goldsmith lost his entire family during the Holocaust. He discovered, years later, that his mother had been killed in a concentration camp in 1944.

Yet, somehow,  Goldsmith never felt lost.

“Only a year ago, I realized I was an orphan and never knew it,” the 81-year-old says. “I missed my mother. I wish things had been different and she could have been here with me. Aside from that, I guess I accepted everything the way it was.”
Goldsmith lived with his surrogate family until shortly after his high school graduation, when he was drafted into the Army as a paratrooper. He joined the 17th Airborne Division at the height of the Battle of the Bulge, eventually becoming one of the first American soldiers to fight on German soil. After the war, he came back to St. Louis where he settled in with yet another family and attended St. Louis College of Pharmacy on the G.I. Bill.

Once an immigrant struggling to speak English, Goldsmith poured the courage that helped him persevere in most areas of life into his business career. After graduating from the College in 1951, he began working as a pharmacist at a drug store on Forsyth Boulevard. A year later, he and a partner bought the store and founded Medical West. The company was successful, but the partners ultimately split 28 years later.

Again, Goldsmith set out on his own. He launched Goldsmith Pharmacy Co. and started traveling throughout Missouri, renting out transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulation (TENS) units to physical therapists, clinics, and hospitals. By the early 1990s, Goldsmith and his son Steven collaborated to form Goldsmith Medical Co.

The company has established a reputation as a supplier of rehabilitation equipment and supplies for both clinical and home use. With Steven now at the helm, Goldsmith is semi-retired. “He still lets me come in two days a week,” he quips. “I have a regular schedule!”

For more than six decades, Goldsmith hadn’t uttered a word about the Holocaust. Then four years ago, after one of his grandsons made a video interviewing him about his experience during the Holocaust, Goldsmith became involved with the St. Louis Holocaust Museum and Learning Center.

“It took a long time, but that’s what started me talking about the Holocaust,” he recalls. “It got me out of the closet. Many Holocaust survivors don’t talk about it, just like a lot of us don’t talk about what happened during the war. And I think it’s time to talk.”

Since then, he has begun speaking at the museum about his experiences, and has been appointed to one of nine public slots by Gov. Matt Blunt to the newly created Holocaust Education and Awareness Commission.

“Being a Holocaust survivor, I think I add a little something to the commission,” Goldsmith says. “I hope we can get young people especially to remember what happened and hopefully prevent things like that from happening again.”

The commission is made up of 12 members, including the president of the University of Missouri, the commissioner of elementary and secondary education, and the commissioner of higher education. The group hopes to use the Holocaust as a lesson to teach tolerance in elementary schools and high schools. It was a lesson Goldsmith achingly wished the friends of his youth would have learned.

Most of his childhood was spent in Borgentreich, a small farming community where bigotry was as yet unheard. “We were all just Germans,” he describes of the early years of Hitler’s reign, before the beginnings of anti-Semitism propaganda. “There were Jewish people, but the only difference was our religious beliefs. When I started school, I made friends with most of the boys and we played games together.

“But things changed when all of my friends had to join the Hitler Youth Corps. Naturally, that was the end of playing with them. After that, I was an outcast. There were many, many afternoons when I had to run all the way home after school, to avoid being beaten by my former friends.”
Goldsmith says he has seen Holocaust awareness grow over the years, but stresses the importance of continuing that growth. “I have a mission now,” he says. “I especially like to talk to kids because they really respond. And when I do, I talk about growing up as a young Jewish boy in Germany during that time, and I can relate to the children.”

During one of his recent presentations at the museum, Goldsmith received a poignant revelation from the teacher of a local school group. The educator duly noted, “Your mother sacrificed her life for you.”

“You know, I never thought of it that way before,” Goldsmith evenly answered. “But I guess she did.”

To be sure, Goldsmith is a survivor. Sixty-six years after he waved goodbye to his mother through a dusty train window, he shrugs off any lingering hold the Holocaust has on him. “It didn’t change my way of life. I still would have been the same person. I just had to learn very fast. I didn’t have a choice.”

-Story originally published in the spring 2007 issue of Script, St. Louis College of Pharmacy’s alumni magazine.  www.stlcop.edu
Editor: Sheila Haar Siegel, Photographer: Mark Gilliland