School Days

Years ago, my mother assembled photos and documents for each of her four boys and put them into scrapbooks. They were presented to us on the Christmas following our respective marriages. At least I'm quite sure that was the case with me and my younger brother Jim.

Amongst the documents in my book, which includes reading achievement certificates (You wouldn't believe how many books I read about weapons and war machinery!), report cards, and birth certificate, is my letter of acceptance from Bowling Green State University. I was surprised to see that it was dated June of 1976 as I seem to recall starting my classes in January of that year. Ah well...

In any event, what I find most entertaining about the letter is that it notes that I was "Admitted based on high school record."

This makes me chuckle every time I think about it. I was in the bottom 25th of my class in high school. Not the bottom 25%, mind you... the bottom 25th! That means the bottom 4% of my class, which if you do the math, in a class of about 200 people, my grades were no better (or worse!) than about eight other people.

I suppose that just goes to show that education or intelligence can't always be judged by numbers. Grades are most surely a measurement of effort, but as far as I'm concerned, not much more.

I managed to make the Dean's List one time while at BG, but I fell back on my old study habits a bit more as socializing took up more of my time. Once I found my major in Visual Communications and filled up my schedule with those classes, I was more studious and interested in classwork.

One of the most amazing experiences I've ever had occurred while at BG, and it involved grades...

As part of our core coursework, I had to take the introductory Economics class. My girlfriend at the time had taken the same instructor's course prior to me and raved about him as a teacher, even nominating him for a teaching award of some sort.

I had fun in the class, despite not seeming to really grasp the subject all that well. I suppose that had I read the material and tried to understand it, I might have had better test and quiz results. The professor gave out recitation points, however, and, as classes got into discussion, I began to understand things a bit better and made every effort to contribute. [A favorite, though less significant, memory of the class came after a student had made a very good point about something and Donald (the professor's first name, if I recall correctly) decided to announce that he was going to give recitation points for the comment. After a slight pause due to his looking up the student's name, I blurted out, "I was going to say that!" which brought a good laugh to the class and a chuckle from the front of the class.]

When finals came around, we were told that the final was optional. If we didn't take it, we'd receive the grade we'd earned through our essay work, homework, tests and quizzes. If we'd opted to take the test, of course, we had the opportunity to raise our grades.

On the day before finals, I stood to receive a high "C" in the class. If I were to score a perfect 100% on the essay final, I only stood to raise the grade to a middle to high "B". The class was at 9:00am. I think it might have even been a Friday.

I took the test.

Instead of staying in bed – after all, what sane college student without any real serious chance of raising his grade significantly would have gotten up early to take an exam if it weren't necessary? – I made my way to the Business School and took the exam. I finished up and handed it in. I thought I did pretty well. We were told when the results would be posted, so I made note and went on my way.

A couple of days later, I made my way to the prof's office to find my grade and he was in his office. I said hello and asked him about my grade. He sat me down and told me that there comes a time when an instructor has to ignore numbers and give a grade that he thinks is reflective of what the student has learned. He told me that I wrote such a good final that he was giving me an "A" for the class.

I was stunned and amazed and shocked. Yet, I was proud that I'd actually fought through my own laziness the second half of the term to find the interest in something that seemed as foreign as the Greek language to me (well, except for the alphabet!) and to write in a learned fashion. I was also proud to have known what is probably an exception in the world of academia.