Algebra, you say?

I always had to struggle to just keep up with math in school, from the first grade onward. It never came easy to me except for memorizing the multiplication tables as memory wasn’t a problem; otherwise, give me a machine.

In the 9th grade, I was being taught algebra and frankly, I have no idea how I even passed the course. Although I did spend a lot of time at home trying to comprehend, I think it was my 9th grade teacher who was willing to spend after school hours with me that did it.

As I was entering the 10th grade, I knew I’d be attending Savannah High School as this was how the grades were established in the late 50s. I was excited because SHS was a Savannah landmark and it was the first step in my becoming an adult.

When I walked into my second year algebra class for the first time, I was in mild shock because it seemed that the school powers-that-be had put all the “bad” kids into that one class. There sat the James Deans of my time, along with their gum smacking girlfriends. Think Blackboard Jungle without the ultra violence.

The boys all wore the skinny jeans and white t-shirts with the left sleeve rolled up to accommodate their Lucky Strikes. The girls wore gobs of pancake makeup and clothes that were a bit risqué for the times: blouses buttoned way further down than the rest of us teens, and tight, tight skirts. No flouncy, poodle skirts with crinolines for these kids.

It was the first year for our teacher even though he was a bit middle aged at the time. We all found out that he was a former Drill Sergeant in the Marines but he sure didn’t look like the stereotypical DS you saw in the movies. He was a bit overweight, wore steel rimmed glasses, had thinning hair and had, in general, the look of a frightened mouse… and so was his demeanor.

I settled into this algebra class as best I could but it was hard trying to concentrate when on any given day the kids were shooting spitballs at the man every time his back was turned and rarely did they miss their mark. Occasionally, a spitball would be in route as he turned, and it would splat somewhere on his face or neck.

Then there was the noise factor. These kids paid no attention to the teacher’s request for silence and kept up a continuous chatter throughout each class. Most of the time, their backs were turned as they talked to their friends. I was totally ignored, of course. The girls pegged me for a “good” girl the minute I walked into the room on the first day.

I was panicky for the entire first couple of weeks and then I asked to speak to the teacher after class one day. I told him I didn’t have a good background in algebra and that I had a hard time hearing him because of the noise and constant distractions. His answer was to sit me in the first row and loan me a book about elementary algebra. The first brought accusations of Teacher’s Pet from my classmates and the latter brought nightly tears nightly as I struggled to comprehend the language of the book. It felt hopeless.

My parents weren’t much help as neither had even finished high school and didn’t know algebra from a hole in the ground. But one of my girlfriends spent many hours with me weekly helping me as best she could with the little she had to work with. At one point she said: “I don’t see how you passed 9th grade math!” It was embarrassing for me but I took help any place I could get it.

Then I went to the office and asked to be transferred. It seemed this wasn’t an option either because the principle flat told me she needed to keep me in that particular class “to balance” it out. WTF. She also said it was too late in the year to transfer.

As the year progressed, this new teacher would give me grades on tests that weren’t even close to reality for me, and he would always hold them up to show the class that “someone is paying attention.” Please, I begged silently with my eyes, which he totally ignored. When I asked my parents to go to the principal on my behalf, they just didn’t understand that I was being used by this teacher and that I wasn’t learning a thing about algebra. They firmly believed that the teacher would never give me a grade I had not earned. How wrong they were.

This, then, is how I spent one hour of each school day in the 10th grade. Fortunately, the stress I was experiencing didn’t affect my other classes as I made excellent grades in everything else I was taking. Maybe I was compartmentalizing even before I knew what that particular expression meant. So I “passed” 10th grade algebra with a B average.

The following year in the 11th grade, I heard that the former Drill Sergeant Algebra teacher was no longer at SHS. Good riddance. But knowing I had to face taking a 3rd year of algebra to graduate high school, I went to see the principal on my first day and didn’t leave her office until I was guaranteed a class where the teacher was fully informed of my situation and one who would be willing to spend tutoring time with me.

This wonderful Jessica Tandy look-a-like algebra teacher told me that the reason I was having trouble with algebra was because I had such a poor background in general math, so she had to bring me up to speed before she could help me with the algebra. That year, I skimmed by with a C- in algebra, and I earned it. My 11th grade algebra teacher had worked a miracle with me, because she was one of the truly dedicated teachers. At the end the school year she asked me what I wanted to become and I told her a journalist. She smiled and exhaled deeply saying: “Thank the Lord you won’t need advanced math for that!”

I say thank the Lord for her dedication.

Jane