"The following people will be in Group Two Math," declared Mr. Martell, my Seventh Grade math/science teacher. I didn't like him very much- made me feel stupid. I once got an "A" on a science test and his reaction was, "I didn't think you had it in you." I thought the "A" must've been a fluke since I was dumb.
I was declared a member of the Group Two Fraternity of Mathematics, those who were not adept at math. We got easier homework assignments, but there was a stigma attached to Group Two.
I struggled with math. I was bored with it. This was the fall of 1961 and each year we had a rehash of the math of earlier grades, no introduction to algebra, no geometry, just the same old stuff.
Mr. Erickson, the Principal, was my Eighth Grade math teacher. He was affable, yet stern. He was about five- foot six and he wore a suit and tie. His thick glasses hid his eyes.
Mr. Erickson took us into the realm of algebra and I liked it right away. I caught on right away as to solving an algebraic equation. There was an ascent in my math grades. This was such a relief from the same old arithmetic curriculum of the first seven grades. I still wonder why algebra wasn't introduced as early as the Fifth Grade.
At the end of the school year we were given Ninth Grade pre-registration forms and I signed up for algebra since I liked it so much. I was unsure of Latin and took General Science instead.
At the site of the Pioneer Park Apartments was the old Oliver Mining building where the miners got paid. I remember the counter inside the office and the walk-in safe behind the counter. Adjacent to the Oliver Center was Oliver field, not the present-day Little League field with a diamond and a real pitchers's mound and chalk lines. In addition to the baseball field was an area that had two standards to support a crossbar and a pit of coarse sawdust behind the standards.
We kids, practiced pole-vaulting. Pole-vaulting energized me, gave me a challenge and a thrill. My maximum accomplishment was six feet, not bad for a kid who just graduated from the eighth grade. We got sawdust in our eyes but it was great fun.
Dave Hagstrom and I were talking about high school and what sheet metal shop and wood shop and drafting would be like. "In drafting you gotta be good at math. George, are you taking algebra this fall?"
"Yeah."
"Don't do it, man. It's tough. I had a hell of a time with it." Dave was a year ahead of me and a sage at that. He knew the score.
"Can I get out of algebra?" I asked as my algebraic confidence melted away.
"Just go to the high school office and ask Miss Nelson. She'll help you. It'll be easy. Just tell her you want to take General Math instead of algebra.
The entrance to the Luther L. Wright High School was imposing- so many steps to ascend to the battery of main doors, then another ascent to another battery of doors. The smell of the place brought on a melange of school experiences and my fists got tight and I sensed that my teeth were clenched.
Miss Nelson lived just around the corner from us and many times I saw her. She was single- never married, and she had a 1960 Chevy four-door. I remembered her from my tricycle years, yet I'd never had an encounter with her. She dressed conservatively, befitting her position as organist at the Salem Lutheran Church. I'd never heard her laugh or seen her smile.
I rounded the corner toward the administrative offices. Miss Nelson was busy at the counter and I entered softly, wearing my sneakers. It was ridiculous, but I hoped she wouldn't notice me and I could just turn around and run.
"May I help you?" Miss Nelson had a pleasant, almost melodious voice.
"Um," I pressed my lips together and looked down.
"Is there something I can help you with?" This time her voice had lost an increment of melodiousness.
"I, um, you know gotta change a class for freshman year, eh?" I felt so dumb and awkward and silly and stupid.
Miss Nelson reached under the counter and produced a Change of Schedule form. "Which class do you wish to drop?"
"Algebra."
"What would you like to take instead?"
"General Math."
She wrote these particulars in the appropriate boxes. She must think I'm stupid, not taking algebra. Maybe she talked to other teachers who think I'm stupid. Dave Hagstrom told me...
"Look it over and if it's what you want then just sign on the dotted line."
I spent the summer free of the impending doom of algebra
Mrs. Pavlovich was my General Math teacher, at 1:00 each day, room 104, with a view of the traffic of Ayer street. The textbook was incredibly simple. I would just breeze through this!
On the first test I got a perfect score. Then the same thing happened on the second test. Maybe high school wouldn't be so bad after all.
The down side to this was double. The tough guys in Mrs. Krznarich's home room copied my homework. I didn't refuse lest I get a few teeth knocked out after school by Frank Gusman or Jim Siirila.
Then in class one day the clock gave it's last (minute) tick before the bell. Mrs. Pavlovich gave the usual reminders about homework and the next test and she also looked my way sternly.
"George, would you please remain after the bell?"
I tried not to show my visceral fear, the fear of a coming reprimand. My heart raced.
Mrs. Pavlovich's heels clicked on the hardwood floor. She sat down in a desk across the aisle from mine. She was a somewhat attractive woman with red cheeks, bright red lipstick and she smelled nice, but she was stern and nobody messed with her.
"What are you doing in this class?" Her tone was incredulous. "You should be in algebra."
"I changed my schedule this summer because I didn't think I could do algebra."
She rested her chin on her hand with her thin index finger pointing out. Her wedding band and diamond ring caught me eye. Was she going to kick me out of her class and banish me to the no-man's land of algebra?
"Have you thought of going to college, George?"
"No. I don't know. I never thought about it."
"If you go to college you'll need algebra." She sighed and took her pretty hand away from her face. "No matter what, I will not give you higher than a B plus, even if you have a perfect test."
I was crestfallen and she must have read this.
"George, it's not fair to the other kids in this class. You have much more mathematical ability than anyone else in this class."
I didn't think her proclamation was fair, since I thought I would just be an average student in General Math. I didn't see myself as smart and I was surprised at the easiness of the class. I never thought I could survive in algebra. So many smart kids were in algebra.
"George," She paused until I looked up and met her eyes.
Her eyes were compassionate- long dark eyelashes, with a hint of emotional ache, "Do yourself a favor and sign up for algebra next year."
"Better hurry up for your next class."
(to be continued.)
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