SAT Story

A few days ago, I found myself reminiscing about the bad old days of formal public education. They were hard times in a sense, although this bird now fondly recalls the security and sense of direction provided by the cage in which he sang. As high school drew to a close, a world in which one had to earn the next level of education finally had to be faced. Due to my adventures in unlicensed charter schools, I had found myself quite far behind in credits, and so in my senior year was frantically and assiduously struggling to catch up with a full load plus correspondence courses and a class at the community college. This was just for my diploma.

So that I might have some hope of attending college, it seemed wise to tune up on the old Scholastic Aptitude Test. It was, I gather, different then than it is today, for they have now apparently decided to make it a real and effective means of determining suitability for university admission. At the time, there were the two sections, Verbal and Mathematics. Each was worth 800 points, making 1600 a perfect score. I knew full well how weak I was in the latter section, as did my mother. It was decided that a prep course would be  a good way of bringing me up to snuff in that area. It seems as much now as it did then that such courses are more a way of gaming the system than actually gaining knowledge.
Initially, the course I was to attend would be in my own neighborhood (at my own middle school, I believe, though my memory is a bit hazy). Regrettably, it was cancelled, and the only remaining possibility was way out on the fringes of human civilization in Maricopa County. It was Queen Creek, I think, or Cave Creek- might as well have been another planet on the outskirts of the universe to my mind at the time. It took forever to get out there, and I did not enjoy the whole of the experience at all, but a certain routine established itself which became tolerable.

We always seemed to stop at a convenience store, where I would get a big Dr. Pepper and a hot dog laden with ketchup and onions I think that the effects of the hot dog on my breath probably had more than anything to do with any enduring impression I made on those administering the course or my fellow students. I still love hot dogs dearly, and am instantly submerged in memories should I get that particular combination.

There were two teachers. One handled the math, and the other handled the Verbal. They expected us to work on them both between classes. I enjoyed the Verbal and didn't need extra work on that. I hated the Mathematics section, and declined badly needed practice for that reason. Now, as the first class of the course began, a former student burst in declaring that it worked very well and helped him to a much better score. I expected, therefore, that I could expect improvement too. We took a sample test the first day to establish a baseline, and I recall my score was adequate for my home state public college. As an interesting digression, the application for that college consisted of a single two-sided sheet of paper, whereas the one for USC had the heft of a special issue of National Geographic.

Having conveniently and coincidentally heard from a success story (who did not volunteer an explanation for the evening visit to a high school campus of one who had gone through the SATs during a previous cycle), we set to work. It was perhaps an error on my part to dedicate myself most to the parts of the test which were fun. Verbal days I eagerly anticipated, and Math days I bitterly dreaded. Homework of the former I set upon with a fury. That of the latter was set aside and forgotten until the last moment if it was remembered at all.

Apart from that, I was most interested in two things. One of the teachers was devoted to the local arena football team, and I was a fan too. I didn't have a shrine to them as she did, but I was to become a season ticket holder a few short years later (I expect I'll tell that tale in time). That common ground failed to allow me to gain any special consideration in the class. The second matter which interested me was a Volkswagen pickup truck always present in the parking lot. I was and remain a big VW fan. Indeed, I today own a '77 Westphalia languishing in an Arizona pasture for lack of probably thousands of dollars in repairs.

We took a final sample test on the last day. This was to show how far we had come by dint of hard work and wise instruction. I had modest hopes of a bump in my score, remembering both my study habits and the words of that former student. It was with great alarm that I discovered that my new score was actually a few points lower than the old one. It was a trivial difference which I imagine was attributable to statistical variation. I take this as meaning that I hadn't gotten any dumber where the SAT was concerned, but hadn't realized any appreciable benefit from the course.

Upon graduation (which did come on schedule after I sweated it out up to the night of the ceremony), I found myself in community college. It was the best thing for me. The education I received there was good, and had many qualities which were not to be found when I moved on to a four year school (which put little stock in standardized testing) to earn my bachelor's degree. I very much valued the early hands-on experience I got in the film department. Moreover, I managed to mature some during that time. At any rate, that prep course was a small part of what made me who I am.