I never saw a dead body until my first anatomy class. Today those who have willed their bodies to science receive letters of gratitude, visit with our students, and have their names put up on memorial plaques; but 37 years ago our subjects were derelicts and anonymous old men found dead in flop house hotels. George C, his name written on a tag tied to one toe, lay stretched out on one of the six dissecting tables in the anatomy laboratory that autumn morning when 1 was 22 and beginning medical school. I remember hesitating at the door and then joining my four partners at Mr. C.'s side, trepidation giving way to curiosity, the moment imprinted forever in my memory by the smell of formalin.