Multi-Variable Calculus 101

Math is a difficult field of study for most Americans. Few comprehend any process beyond multiplication and division. Algebra is a foreign language and calculus terra incognita. If it weren’t for calculators most people in the world couldn’t count numbers higher than their fingers and even taking off their shoes they would lose count pass the number 16.

For some strange reason I was good at math. The archdiocese of Boston awarded me a scholarship to Xaverian Brothers High School based on my test scores. Neither my teachers nor parents would accept my explanation that my excellence was due to an extraordinary ability to guess the right answers in multiple choice examinations instead of an innate gift for math.

No remedial algebra for my freshman year. I was in the advanced classes. My grades hovered around B without ever attaining the promise of my elders’ expectations. They considered me an ‘under-achiever. I strived to prove them wrong without success and went so far to choose math as my major in college.

Big mistake for nothing erases math skills faster than marijuana and I was dealing pot to pay for my tuition. My nights were spent behind the wheel of a taxi to afford my apartment. 9am Calculus classes were missed with regularity, however I scored well on my final and proceeded into sophomore year to study Linear Algebra under Rene Marcus. His mind could calculate missile trajectories without a slide ruler.

In 1971 no one had a calculator.

Grass gave way to LSD and I spent more time in the taxi than Multi-Variable Calculus 101. The professor was Rene Marcus. His daughter smoked pot with me. At the end of the autumn semester I arrived at the final and Professor Marcus pulled me to the side.

“You haven’t been in class more than three times.” Rene Marcus was about 45. A genius of telemetry. NASA paid him big money to figure out missile attack on Russia. The 70s were the height of the Cold War.

“That’s right.” I had won a high school scholarship thanks to my natural aptitude in math and a score of 710 in my Math SATs. No one cared about my grades or homework. I had a theory of permanent relativity in my head. LSD was a tool to grasp its fundamentals.

“How do you think you can pass this test?” The professor came from the school of intensive learning.

The rest of the class stared at me with pity. Multi-Variable Calculus 101 was not Geology 101 or Rocks for Jocks. I was a long-hair tripper to these brainacs.

“Give me a test paper and let me put my hand on the textbook.”

“And this will help?” Mathematicians only believe in numbers.

“It can’t hurt.” I placed both hands on the book. My palms read nothing. I took the test. My score was 45. The whorls on my flesh were very sensitive.

“I thought you’d get nothing right.” Rene was amazed by my idiot-savantism.

“I still failed.”

Yes, but if you drop out from Math, I’ll give you a D+”

“It’s a deal.” I accepted his advice and dealt with my parents’ disappointment. They thought their second son was going to work for NASA, however a failure would have resulted in my losing a draft exemption. Vietnam was a meat grinder and I was no John Wayne. My new major was economics. I graduated sine laude or without praise in 1974. The Vietnam War no longer needed my warm body and that summer I drove cross-country with my good friend AK to celebrate the end of my education.

It was a great trip and I haven’t opened a math book since then, although I have learned that western man didn’t come up with the concept of zero until well into the Second Millennium, while the Mayans always had zero or Pohp for their 20-based numeral system.

And I don’t have to use my fingers for long math, but if you think you’re smart just remember the words of Phil Pastoret.

“If you think dogs can’t count, try putting three dog biscuits in your pocket and then giving Fido only two of them.”

Arf Arf Arf equals three.