I hate math.
It started at Avoca School in Miss Ostlund’s third grade class. I was breezing along with addition and subtraction and multiplication. But then we came to long division.
Uh oh. Even today, those two words strike terror in my heart.
By the time I hit seventh grade and had the daunting Miss Milner as my math teacher, it was all over. I got intimidated by places, and remainders, and decimal points, and “carry the one,” and I would shut down whenever I had to face my arithmetic workbook.
This fear of all things numerical carried over at New Trier. Although I still had done well enough in junior high to be placed in the three level (regular) algebra class, I was continuously dazed and confused. I couldn’t concentrate on a single thing my math teacher was saying.
So it came as no surprise when I flunked freshman algebra second semester and had to repeat it in summer school.
Actually summer school was fun. The second time around I had no problems with the pesky x’s and y’s that had so thrown me during the regular school year.
And morning summer school got me out just in time to hit the primo sun-tanning hours at the Glencoe beach. It gave a shape and structure to my days. (And it also kept me away from that dreary summer job at Schmidt’s Bakery my mother always threatened me with.)
I did just fine in remedial Algebra For Dummies. My new A was balanced with the F previously recorded, and now it was on to sophomore year- and geometry.
A rerun of freshman year. I now flunked second semester geometry. Although this time I had a shouting interest in failing and might have helped the process along a teensy bit. Summer School = Glencoe Beach + Fun Social Life – Boring Bakery Job. (It didn’t take a Pythagoras to figure out that theorem.)
And by that time, I was much more interested in other kinds of triangles. Like the idea of two boys fighting over me at the Glencoe beach. Now that was my fifteen year old idea of a triangle.
But college was starting to loom large, so before junior year rolled around, I took math precautions. I placed myself in two level algebra II class. Two level was, how do I put this tactfully, for the less-gifted academically. Math-wise, I fit in perfectly.
And I loved it.
The class was so dumb and so badly behaved that it was like watching a real-time version of Fast Times at Ridgemont High every day. I had never experienced anything academically like it. And I stared in amazement as the kids came in tardy, never did the homework, sassed the teacher, chewed gum, blatantly passed notes throughout the class period and generally scorned the entire algebraic process.
I had a ball. And with a minimum of effort I did not flunk this time around. I think I finished the year with a respectable gentleman’s C.
And better yet, I was done with mathematics. Forever. No more threat of nerdy protractors or scary slide rules.
True, my colleges choices were severly limited by the fact that I refused to take another math course ever again. When Bennington came prestigiously knocking- because of my writing ability- I took a good look at their course requirements and had to bid them a rueful adieu. Anyone who went to Bennington at that time had to take at least one math course.
Not this wordsmith, brother. Not on your Euclid.
So I went happily on to the math-requirement-free University of Wisconsin. You could take a language instead. And since I loved Italian and planned on continuing it in any case, this a real no-brainer.
My year-older-than-me boyfriend was already in attendance and I had spent tons of quality fraternity party time up there on week-end visits during my high school senior year. I knew the campus, had a built-in social life, my parents could afford it, and best of all, No More Math.
And other than balancing a checkbook, my life has remained happily numbers-free. I have never had to consider their importance again.
Until now. Yes, today numbers rule my life.
When I first started this blog, I had nothing more in mind than doing a 2.0 version of my column “Social Studies.” (In case you’re new to the proceedings, I was the humor columnist for the Pioneer Press. I appeared every Thursday in forty-six papers throughout the Chicago suburbs.)
I did this happily for ten years- until I finally crumbled under my then husband’s unrelenting insistence that I dump my beloved Winnetka house and move downtown. (This was merely a preemptive financial strike because he was getting ready to dump me.)
And when he did, I went into a mental tailspin. I was no longer able to tell you my own name- let alone amuse a big circulation base on a weekly basis.
I handed in my resignation to a very surprised Dorothy Andries. (Who in turn was very surprised when she was unceremoniously handed her own walking papers after twenty loyal years on the job. The company had been looted by Conrad Black and most of the employees were hastily terminated.)
My son, Nick, and I withdrew to Aspen, where a series of events landed me with my own talk show on public television. It was cleverly entitled “The Ellen Ross Show,” and the fact that I was now the producer-host-writer-talent coordinator more than satisfied my desire to do anything along creative lines.
But the urge to write cropped up again, and because I wanted to be read in many venues, I took it to the Internet. I started Letter From Elba in August 2012 and the response was gratifying. Literary agents soon got involved, but they made it only too clear that if I wanted a book deal, I’d have to bring my audience with me.
So that became the $64,000 question: How many people were reading Letter From Elba every week?
I’ll never tell and please don’t ask me. It’s an unlisted number.
(BTW, I think it’s impolite to ask a lady blogger for that information. It’s like asking her age or her weight.) Let’s just say it’s very respectable for a brand-new blog. And most importantly, my circulation is growing with every passing week.
But that’s all the agents and publishers ever want to know. How many? How many?
So no matter how hard I type, my literary future all comes down to numbers now.
I hate math.
I recall asking you this question over Memorial Day and getting the same answer, so I won’t ask you again, but . . . . Ther’s always a “but” (and I should get extra credit for that ellipsis, right?).
How many of these II-level Algebra II students are now CEO’s somewhere or, more likely in Chicago, traders (where math rules)? That would be an interesting survey whose results I bet NTHS really doesn’t wish to see.
An interesting question. And I’m sure that there must be some very successful guys in every walk of business life who were in two level math. However, I can personally speak about my alums in four level English and History. They have done fabulously well. Successful as CEO’s, doctors, politicians, lawyers, actors… well you get the idea. I think it was their work ethic as much as their smarts that determined their futures. And they all went on to great colleges. That doesn’t hurt, either.
Thanks for piping up early, my friend. Always thought-provoking.
I, too, suffered thru those 2 years of NT math. D’s and F’s on every algebra test. Miss Studer gave me a C. Got her again for geometry. Loved those odds until I got C’s and she gave me a D for final grade. Go figure? And you are right, no matter how we try to avoid them, numbers dictate much of life.
Live from New York, it’s Mary Lu. Thanks for the comment and thanks for “Tonying” up my blog, today. Break a leg with “Virginia Woolf” tonight.
And yes, as a latter day Max Bialystock, I know you know all about numbers. As in ticket sales, theater rents, star salaries and butts in the seats.
Have fun and how was Carnegie Deli? Did Kenny get the Jeff’s tatelah?
Yes all those numbers mean a lot when producing a show. Sort of funny, our run ended a bit early so Bette’s show could go in. She got the Shuberts their numbers but zero Tony Noms. There is some poetic justice in that.
We split a corned beef at midnite. And while our age is getting up there, thankfully no stomach ache. I’ll save that for later.
I love all this insider Tony chatter. It makes me feel like I’m there. And Oy Vey! Just the thought of a midnight corned beef sandwich makes me reach for the Bromo. You’re a better man than I am…
(And no stomach aches allowed. Especially not for Mr.Buster.)
Ciao, Ms. Producer. I will be live-tweeting tonight, I’m sure.
I’ve liked math ever since 4th grade at Francis Parker – a few of us stayed after school to learn long division from our wonderful teacher, Mary C. Davis.
And I LOVE that you remember her name. A great shout-out to a beloved teacher. Nice going, Herbie.
I once came home with a report card that had three “F’s” and a “D”.
My dad said, “Son, you’re spending too much time on one subject”!
This needs no comment from me, Bernie. Hilarious. Thanks for my laugh of the day.
I started in 2 level math and ended up as a math major. What’s wrong with that picture?
Interesting description- my one year older boyfriend.
What would you prefer? How about my handsome, sophisticated, older boyfriend? Will that meet with your approval?
Much more accurate and descriptive!!!
You got it. And I could add adorable, thrifty, left-handed, slim, dark, and … but that’s a post for another day.
I AM TRULY THRILLED TO HEAR SOMEONE ELSE WHO HAD THOSE DIFFICULTIES WITH FRESHMAN ALGEBRA. I WAS ONE OF ABOUT EIGHT STUDENTS BACK IN 1939 WHO WERE SKIPPED FROM 8B TO 8A – OR REVERSE. I DO NOT REMEMBER. GOING FROM FASTEST WHIZ IN PLAIN NUMBERS, I BECAME THE CLASS IDIOT IN ALGEBRA. THIS CONTINUED INTO FRESHMAN YEAR AT HIGH SCHOOL. FORTUNATE I DID NOT FLUNK BUT I SURE AS HELL DIDN’T IMPRESS MY TEACHER. ANYHOW I HAVE TOTAL EMPATHY WITH YOU. ALLAN
Thanks for this piece of painful math memory. And see, it still worked out okay for you without being a math whiz. You’re good at other things. Like blogging.
I know why you weren’t good in math!!! Miss Ostland was busy making you troll doll clothes !!! You had a bad start! But your writing skills far surpass any math you need. As long as you still don’t use your fingers!!!
OMG! Forgot about the troll doll clothes! What a riot. Thanks for the props. And thanks for persisting in posting this comment, Ellen. It was worth it! It made my day.
Glad I never lied to you since liars can’t easily separate fact from fiction after a few minutes. You have a prodigious memory for a petite woman. I recall the teachers and many others you mention but couldn’t do so independently without considerable effort. I knew you were funny and observant (secularly) but not to the degree you currently demonstrate. As pleasant as our encounters were, your writing makes me realize I missed something by not engaging you more deeply. What is this exile to which you refer with Elba. I surmise it’s a very pleasant Mediterranean Isle- if you’re outside the the gulag bars.
Thanks for all the sweet-talking. And you can engage me now. Just keep reading me! (I always thought you were the cutest boy in school and was proud to be chosen to sit in your “private” movie row during Visual Aids.) Do you remember that?