The Grades
During the first quarter at Georgia Tech, Tim Mallory became
overwrought; lashed out at his roommate because of Pet's pitiful study habits;
packed his belongings on a Thursday evening and drove all night to his
Hattiesburg home with no intentions of returning to Tech. At home, however, he
could not disclose his decision to proud family members. All praised him for
bearing the heat and rigorous challenges faced at that prestigious school.
Therefore, after a Sunday evening date and a final loving moment with the girl
of his life, the twenty-one-year-old headed north to strap it on again.
To his dismay, the tired Mississippian, woke his dorm roommate who rolled out of the sack promptly to help move items back into the room. Neither uttered a word about what had transpired. Pet was elated to have Tim return
and did not want to screw things up with foolish questions or comments. Tim's emotional critique of Pet had cut to the bone, caused much soul-searching, and the turning over of a new leaf. However, he'd not say anything about it. Wanted Tim to discover the new Pet Tatum in days to come. On the other hand, during the drive back to Tech, young Mallory had re-dedicated himself to the task ahead. "If the sons-a-bitches flunk me," he resolved, "They'll do it with me standing tall, looking 'em eyeball to eyeball, all the way. Damned if I'll give 'em the satisfaction of seeing my back, for I'll not quit. I'm not a quitter!"
Though dead-tired after classes the following afternoon, Tim hit the books and continued, except for a brief stop for a supper snack, until midnight. He was not studying alone anymore though because Pet was caught up in the knowledge-seeking fervor. The Mississippian was pleased with this change in his roommate's study habits, but refrained from saying anything. He'd hold congratulations and praise 'til later, after Pet's resolve had been tested.
After a few nights of studying, the Floridian had several visitors drop by to check on him. Wanted to find out why they hadn't seen him lately and tell about a girl who had the 'hots' for him, tonight.
"No thanks, Jerry," Pet declined to the visiting group leader. "I appreciate the information and invitation to kill a few beers, but I'd better not."
"Why not, man? It'd surely beat hell outta' what you're doing"
"Yes," Pet chuckled, "I agree. But, I have a test tomorrow."
"Test, smest! It doesn't make a damn, Pet. Ya' know you're gonna' flunk out one way or the other." Jerry and the rest of his crew laughed. "So, why not have good times in Atlanta before it happens and you hafta'
go home?" Pet cringed at the comment because this was exactly what Tim said was
happening, and had told him so very dynamically. He'd actually
conditioned himself toward flunking out of school, rationalizing that failure
was destined whether he studied or not. So, why not raise hell and have a ball
while the good times rolled.
"No, Jerry. I might flunk out, but I'm gonna' give it all I've got."
"Oh, well," Jerry guffawed, "It's up to you. Ain't no skin off my ass." He and his crew laughed again.
"Look, Jerry," Pet replied in a serious manner, "You've got this test tomorrow. Why not pull up a chair and study with me."
"No hell ya' don't!" Jerry blurted out while holding up his hands in a negative gesture and laughed. "You go right ahead and do your thing. But this ol' boy and his 'real' friends have some girls waitin' for us. So, we'll just leave ya' to your misery and see ya' 'round
the campus." As Jerry and his crew laughingly departed, the young man turned and made a parting shot, "I guess ya' know what an inconvenience you've caused. Now one of us will hafta' service two young ladies tonight."
Pet waited until the laughter subsided from the hallway before saying anything to Tim.
"Well, go ahead and say I told you so."
"I don't have too," Tim chuckled, "You already know it. But, just outta' curiosity, who was that?"
"His name is Jerry Tucker and he graduated as class valedictorian out of high school."
"What's is his major?"
"Chemical Engineering."
"How's he doing?"
"He's flunking everything."
"What a shame," Tim said.
"Yep," Pet agreed, "'specially in his case 'cause his daddy is a Tech engineer."
"Damn," Tim reacted, "That is bad. But, he has nobody to blame but himself."
"Yeah, I know," Pet added. "He just doesn't wanna' pay the price, right?"
"You've got it, big boy." The Mississippian laughed then continued in a more serious vein, "I'm proud of you, Pet." He offered a handshake and cautioned, "But, you've gotta' realize this was just the first test."
"Whatta' ya' mean?"
"He'll be back to further tempt you."
"Not tonight?" Pet asked worriedly.
"No," Tim laughed, "But, in days to come, he and others like him will try to pull you back into their rut of life. If they're gonna' fail, they also wanna' pull you down." Pet shook his head in amazement at this prediction. "Why would they want to do that?"
"Coach Dobie told me it's a natural social response. Some folks aren't gonna' pay the price to improve themselves, so they don't want you to do it either. They don't want you to break the status quo and are resentful that you are attempting to do so." Pet shook his head again at the revelation, partly because it was his first time to be involved in such a discussion, but more so from the fact that Tim was doing the teaching. "Hell," he mused, "I should be hearing such comments and analysis from a Psychology or Philosophy professor." For the first time, he truly appreciated the analytical and philosophical abilities of this Mississippian.
"Just for further enlightenment," Pet chuckled, "How about expounding a bit on that last statement." Tim chuckled
and continued, "It's really simple, Pet, if you think about it. On several occasions, coach pointed out specific examples of how people bring pressure to bear to keep everyone in a particular social grouping at the status level. They don't want you to improve
unless they're doing it at the same time. If you grow and they don't, then you'll be pressured to drift back to their level.
"What if I don't?"
"Then social pressures will be applied to return you to the status quo corral, even to the point of consciously or unconsciously ostracizing you if that's what it takes."
"Oh hell, Tim," Pet stated. "That's ridiculous."
"Ya' think so," Tim chuckled again, "Then why do ya' feel differently about some former high school friends when you return home? Better still, why do you feel better around former friends who're also attending college than with those who terminated their formal education upon high school graduation?"
"Well," Pet reflected pensively, "You might have something there. But I've never thought about it."
"Well, do so," Tim encouraged. "If you objectively, mentally retrace your last trip home, you'll recall incidents where former friends treated you somewhat differently, or you didn't feel quite the same around 'em. The point is some are either resentful or envious of what you've done since leaving high school, while they've simply maintained the status quo."
"Ya' know," Pet mused, "There may be some truth in what ya' say."
"Maybe, my ass," Tim laughed, "Ya' know it's the truth. Now, if you really wanna' make some of them happy, flunk outta' school and return home. They'll openly express sympathy and regret in your presence but, inwardly, your failure will increase their feelings of self-esteem."
"Aw shit," Pet exclaimed, "That's screwy. Why would it make 'em feel better if I failed?"
"Well," Tim smiled and continued, "If the school 'brain' tried and failed then they feel justified in not having tried at all. And, boy, will you ever be welcomed home with open arms. Hell, in your case, it might be likened to the return of the prodigal son. They'll wanna' drink and raise all kinda' hell with you." Both laughed heartily then returned to the business at hand: Study, study, and study.
Next afternoon, Tim came home disgruntled.
"Can ya' believe it, Morton gave me an 80 on a Calculus test paper?"
"Sounds like a damned good score to me," Pet replied. "I bet it was the top grade."
"It was," Tim conceded. "But that's not the point. I turned in a perfect paper but he gave me an 80."
"Did ya' tell him that?"
"I damned sure tried, but the arrogant bastard said he was too busy to discuss it. I should see him later."
"Sounds like a brush off," Pet stated. "Are ya' gonna' try again?"
"Ya' bet your sweet ass I am. The 80 score might stick but not before I get in a few words."
"How're ya' doin' in your other classes?" Pet questioned.
"They're all looking good right now, but the best is the Quantitative Analysis class where we're both doing quite well."
Pet smiled and acknowledged, "Man, it's hard to believe we have the highest class averages. I haven't done that well since high school."
"How about your other classes?" Tim chuckled.
"Great! I'm passing everyone of 'em right now, but I don't know if I can keep it up."
"Yes hell you can," Tim chided. "All ya' hafta' do is keep your nose to the grindstone and continue turning down party invitations."
"I plan to keep it up, Tim, but I don't think I could without your support."
"It's a two-way street, Pet. You help by being here, 'cause misery does love company." Both laughed at the old cliché.
"By the way," Tim continued, "I presently have the highest average in my Physics class and the Prof told me it's a shame I have to retake the other Physics courses. He said if I made a high enough average for the quarter, he'd personally visit the Department Chairman and recommend that I be given credit for my remaining Physic courses because I took and passed them at Pearl River Junior College."
"Hot damn," Pet responded happily, "That's great! What did ya' tell him?"
"I asked him if a hundred average was good enough?"
"No shit! What'd he say?"
"He chuckled unbelievingly and said yes, if I had a hundred average, he'd recommend I be given credit."
During subsequent days, the determined Mississippian tried three different times before the Calculus Prof would discuss the test paper.
"Okay, Tim, I'll look at it. You bring it next time and I'll review it."
"No need to wait Dr. Morton, I've got it with me."
"Oh. Okay," Morton relented, "Let me see it." Tim waited patiently while the test was flipped through. After the cursory review, Dr. Morton reared back in his chair, interlaced his fingers together and smugly asked, "Mr. Mallory, what do ya' think you made on this exam?"
"I made a hundred," Tim replied quickly with a forced smile on his face.
The Prof chuckled and countered, "Well now, I wouldn't have taken 20 points off if you had made a hundred, would I? Besides, yours was the top score. Isn't that good enough?"
"No, Sir, it isn't," Tim snapped back. "I made a hundred and will be happy with nothing short of that." This terse reply ruffled Morton's feathers and he mentally reflected, "Who the hell is this young turd who speaks to me in such a manner? Doesn't he have any respect at all?"
"Just for the sake of argument," he said to Tim, "Why do you think ya' made a hundred?"
"I've got all the right answers and showed every bit of my work on the papers," was Tim's quick reply.
"You think ya' know this subject very well, don't you?" Morton questioned in a snide manner.
"Yes, Sir, I do because I had the best Calculus teacher there is. She's back at Pearl River Jr. College (PRC) in Mississippi. As a matter of fact, she taught me so well that I could teach your class." These statements delivered by a confident young man, sporting a smug grin, caused more thoughts to flash through Morton's mind. "Would ya' listen to this smart-ass! Who the hell is he telling me someone else is a better Calculus instructor?" Tim sensed Morton's resentment but was insensitive to it. "Screw the son-of-a-bitch," he reflected. "It's time the pompous ass had a little hot air let out of his balloon."
"Leave the paper with me," the professor commanded. "I'll look it over again."
Back in the dorm room, the conversation was recalled for Pet.
"Boy," Pet guffawed, "I wish to God I coulda' been there."
"I don't think that woulda' been a wise move a'tall, Pet, 'cause he was some kinda' torque-jawed."
"I'll bet he was. As a matter of fact, I'd wager no other student has ever addressed him in that manner."
"I didn't mean any disrespect," Tim explained, "But my folks taught me to stand up and be counted whenever someone treats me unfairly. Doctor Morton was wrong and I made him aware of that fact. He might not swallow his pride and acknowledge it, but at least he'll know both of us are aware of his imperfections."
"Whew," Pet laughed. "Man, you don't cut any slack a'tall, do ya'?"
"There's no need too when truth is on your side," Tim chuckled.
Two weeks passed before the Doctor granted another audience.
"Here's your test papers," he stated and shoved them across his desk toward the young man. "As you'll notice, I changed the score to 90." Tim grimaced as he flipped through the test papers and finally fumed, "Why 90? All my answers are still correct."
"True. But no one makes a hundred in my class," Morton decreed smugly.
"I did." Tim snapped back with a forced laugh.
"No, you didn't!" Morton retorted. "I didn't like some of the procedures you used."
"Whatta' ya' mean you didn't like my procedures? You didn't tell me to use any special procedures; so, I used perfectly good ones I learned when I first took this course at PRC
under Ms. Webb."
"Will you listen to this ingrate!" Morton steamed internally. "You give 'em an inch and they want a yard."
"As I've said," he replied while attempting to control his anger at this upstart's challenging comments, "I counted off 10 points because I didn't like your procedures. Besides, I don't give A's." The smugness of this statement, especially the trailing portion of it, figuratively lit a fire underneath Tim. He stymied his passions a bit, forced a smile and staunchly stated, "Well, Dr. Morton, I'm gonna' make an 'A' in the course because I know it well enough to teach it." The forced smile vaguely camouflaged true feelings of anger at and disgust for this pitiful excuse of a human being. Tim felt that
he evidently got his kicks, or increased his own feelings of worth, by walking on others, much like bullies whom the young man despised.
"Well," Morton stewed, "We'll see."
"Yes, Sir, we will," was Tim's parting shot.
Dedication to academic workload and desires of both to excel drove the young scholars ever onward, oblivious of the clock and calendar, to the point where it was time to take quarterfinals. The school quarter was all but over and Mother Nature was into summer. Though both had good class averages, they worked even harder to insure high scores would be made on the all-important final exams.
Tim surprised the Physics professor and his classmates by completing the difficult Physics final in one and one-half hours.
"How'd ya' do?" The Prof asked his top student.
"I made a hundred," Tim replied confidently.
"You're kidding!" Prof exclaimed with a big smile.
"No, Sir, I made a flat one hundred."
"Sit down and let me grade it," the professor commanded
kindly as he began grading. Tim watched his worried countenance diminish then
turn into smiles and exclamations of glee as he progressed through the exam.
Finally, he gushed out, "Damned if you didn't make a hundred! Come with me and let's see the Chairman right now." Leaving a proctor in charge of the class, the Prof and Tim headed out to see the Physics Department Chairman.
"Doctor Hayden, this is the young man I spoke about. He has just finished the quarter with a one hundred average. I think it is a shame that he has to retake the other two quarters of Physics."
"I agree," the department head said after glancing over the test papers.
This little meeting with the Physics Chairman was all it took for two additional quarters of Physics to be transferred from PRC to Tech. "Damn," Tim mused, "Maybe these Profs aren't so bad after all. His jovial mood changed as he thought, "Except for that prick, Morton."
One day after the Physics exam, Tim strolled into the Calculus class to take the final. Two hours after receiving the exam, he dropped it on the desk of a slack-jawed Morton.
"No one finishes my exam in three hours, much less two hours," he smirked. "Are ya' giving up?"
"No, Sir," Tim replied with a grin, "I've completed the exam."
"Did you recheck it?"
"Yes, Sir, I did."
"How do ya' think ya' did?"
"I made a hundred."
"Well," Morton smiled and said unbelievingly, "Why don't you sit down and let's see what ya' actually made." Morton chuckled snidely under his breath before opening the exam and reviewing it. The smirk on his face slowly disappeared as he meticulously checked and rechecked each problem.
"Well, I'll be damned," he finally exclaimed, "You did make a hundred."
"Told ya' so." The young man gushed and glowed all over as he triumphantly walked out of the room, leaving behind a deflated Professor. Classmates cheered him until "Hard-Ass" glowered at them.
Normally, most students left campus immediately after finals and waited for the mailman to deliver good or bad news. However, Tim had too much riding on the exam results to drive home without first receiving the news, one way or the other. If he failed any courses, he'd have to drop out of school. However, should he pass them all, he'd be welcomed back to the Hercules chemical plant in Hattiesburg, Mississippi and be given a good-paying job as a co-op student during the upcoming off quarter. (Co-op students worked a quarter and attended school a quarter until their fields of study were completed.)
Each morning and afternoon, he and several other anxious students made the rounds looking on classroom doors for final grades. On the first day, he was seen standing outside the Calculus class.
"Why're ya' still here?"
"To get my grade, Doctor Morton."
"Well, It'll probably take several days," the Prof replied flippantly. "And, you know I don't give A's." Though infuriated by the totally heartless, intimidating statement, Tim simply forced a tight grin and retorted, "We'll see." Once again piqued, 'Hard-ass' turned and walked away.
It took four days before all the grades were posted, with the Calculus score being the last one placed on the classroom door. After retrieving the Calculus grade, Tim returned to the room, popped the top off a cold can of beer, plopped down in a comfortable chair, and truly relaxed for the first time since arriving at Georgia Tech. He had survived a most highly pressured ordeal with an overall average of 3.8 out of a possible 4.0. The final grades were English Lit, B; Physics, A; Organic Chemistry, A; Quantitative Analysis, A; and Calculus, A. The 'A' in Calculus was one of the few Morton had ever given. Though pleased for himself, Tim was horrified at what had happened to the classroom full of bright, young minds. 'Hard-ass' had wreaked sheer havoc in an obvious quest to enhance his already infamous image amongst the student body. Out of 43 students who entered the classroom on the first day, One made an 'A' (Tim Mallory), One made a 'B'(A math major taking the course for the third time), four made D's, and 37 either dropped out or made a grade of 'F'. What a tragedy. And what a pitiful example of faculty management. Though this obviously warped man had devastated most of the class, and had a track record of doing the same in previous classes, he would be assigned yet
more bright, eager students next quarter. "May God help 'em," Tim reflected, "Because that miserable son-of-a-bitch won't."
Before leaving campus, Tim called Pet and told him that he'd completed the quarter with a 3.2 average, which gave him an overall average in excess of the 2.0 required to remain in school.
"But, Pet," Tim gushed, "The best news is yet to come."
"What's, that, Tim?"
"There were two A's made in Quantitative Analysis. I made one, and guess who made the other?"
"You've gotta' be shittin' me!" Pet guffawed.
"Nope, I'm not. Congratulations, Pet."