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Oh, man, did that phrase resonate!
In the fall of 1962 I was an eager high school freshman. I'd always done well in math, even when "new math" was introduced when I was in eighth grade, so I was enrolled in a "fast" algebra class. Our textbook was a cheaply bound collection of 8 1/2 x 11 typed pages from the UICSM, or University of Illinois Committee on School Mathematics. Our school was had been selected as a "test" school for this new algebra program. Our teacher, Mr. Brendan Flynn, had received maybe a little bit of training over the summer on how to teach this new stuff, but often he was as confused as the rest of us.
The main problem was that the UICSM hadn't explained some of the concepts very well, at least not for me. When I asked for additional explanation, all I got was a repetition of what was in the book, but that was what had confused me in the first place. The more I begged for explanation, the more confused I got. My dad, an engineering technician, tried to help me, but he didn't understand "new math" at all, and his concepts from traditional algebra were completely foreign to me. Algebra was required for the college preparatory program I was in, so there was no getting out of it.
After a semester of struggling with the UICSM program and feeling that I had learned absolutely nothing, I finagled a transfer to an "average" level standard Algebra I class, taught by Arthur Brownell. Unfortunately, I was even more lost in that class than I had been in Mr. Flynn's. I was a semester behind everyone else. If the class had been taught in Greek, I couldn't have been more confused.
My dad was able to help me a little bit, but he worked several nights a week and I had homework every night, so I just kept falling further and further behind. I did the homework to the best of my ability every single night, I paid attention in class -- Brownell was an engaging teacher, cheerful, chubby, with a blond crewcut -- but nothing seemed to work. I came in after school frequently for extra help, but the concepts just weren't reaching me.
Somehow or other I managed to keep from failing, but how I did that I still don't know. By the end of the year, however, as the concepts became more complex and my knowledge of the basics was so fragile that it simply wouldn't sustain the more advanced information, I was in serious trouble. It wasn't just that I might actually fail the class; more important, I wouldn't be able to get into more advanced classes. Finally, the last day of class before final exams, Brownell took me aside and said, "The best I can give you for the quarter is a C based on the fact that you've done all the homework and made it through the quizzes and tests. But the only way I can give you a B for the semester and get you into a 'fast' level geometry class next year is if you get a really high A on the final. I'm sorry; I know you've worked hard but it has to be on the grades."
I thanked him and said I understood. I was all of 14 1/2 years old. I felt as if my entire academic future was on the line.
That night, while I was studying that stupid frustrating algebra, Everything. Suddenly. Clicked. I don't know what it was, but it was there, all of a sudden, like the proverbial bolt of lightning. I walked into that classroom to take the final with all the confidence in the world. In those days before calculators, when we had to do our own calculations and show all our work, I began methodically figuring out the answers to the same problems that had completely perplexed me just days ago.
Brownell had a complex cheating prevention procedure, so when I returned to his room at the end of the day to find out how I'd done, he knew I hadn't cheated. But I had one of the highest scores in the class, and pulled out a B for the semester, saving my college prep grades.
I never went a whole lot further in math, but I have never forgotten what I learned in that class, especially the dedication of Art Brownell.
:yourock: Mr. Brownell!
TG
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