Algebra Bye Bye Birdie Courage
I did okay with Math through the Eighth Grade and thought I would continue to do okay with Math when I entered high school and took Algebra I. Alas I had a terrible teacher and struggled mightily to make sense of what we were supposed to be learning. I managed to get a B both semesters of Algebra I, but dreaded the coming of Geometry in my second year.
To my surprise and delight, Geometry was fun and easy for me. My teacher was pretty good and I had an intuitive understanding of the relationships of points, lines, and planes. So with two A’s in Geometry under my belt I entered my junior year thinking the fun would continue with Algebra II.
Not to be. Not only did Algebra II baffle me, my Algebra II teacher, Mr. B, was a man who frequently and angrily lectured us about non-mathematical matters. I would have struggled with Algebra II with a friendly teacher, but with Mr. B yelling at us every day, the class was a disaster for me. My first quarter grade was a D-minus.
In my family getting a C was a serious crime. My sisters were both straight A students and often got A+’s. I got A’s in a few courses, B’s in the others, and the only C I’d ever gotten was the first quarter of Algebra I, a grade I was able to bring up to B by the end of the semester. For the purposes of getting into college, the only grades that mattered were semester grades.
My parents were enraged by my D-minus and told me if I did not bring that grade up to a B by the end of the semester I would not be allowed to be on the Soccer team or ever use the car again or be in another play (I was currently in The Diary of Anne Frank).
So I went to Mr. B and told him I needed to bring my grade up to a B by the end of the semester so I could get into Cal or Stanford and appease my parents. He was in a rare good mood that day and calmly asked me why I had taken Algebra II when it was not a required course for getting into the colleges I wanted to attend. And for some reason I decided to tell him what I’d only previously told my closest friends and had never told an adult, which was that my parents wanted me to be a medical doctor and insisted I enroll in science and math classes to prepare me for the science and math courses they expected me to take in college. However, after my sophomore year of high school I had informed my parents I wanted to take Drama and Ceramics and maybe not be a doctor. My father’s response was to rage at me and call me a coward and a quitter and a loser. But I held my ground and he finally agreed to let me take Drama if, and only if, I continued to take science and math. So that’s why I was taking Algebra II.
“Thank you for your candor,” said Mr. B, giving me a curious smile.
Then he proceeded to lecture me for a half-hour about something I don’t remember and tell me there were two other students in my class needing help and he was available to tutor us at lunch three days a week. I dutifully attended those sessions with him, during which he was cordial and refrained from lecturing us, and I ended up getting a B-minus for my semester grade, though I think he gave me the B-minus for my effort and not for my test scores.
*
Then came the second semester of Algebra II, during which semester I had the lead role in the spring musical Bye Bye Birdie. Yes. I was Conrad Birdie. Much to my surprise, Mr. B joined a handful of other faculty members in a faculty chorus that would take part in the show’s biggest musical numbers.
A few weeks before Bye Bye Birdie was to open, I got a C-minus for my third-quarter grade and resumed spending my lunch hour with Mr. B and a few other struggling students. However, my mind was elsewhere and I was resigned to getting a C or worse for my semester grade and possibly having to go to some lesser college to avoid being drafted and sent to Vietnam, which was a very real concern for most young men in those days.
Bye Bye Birdie was a great success, so much so that I got a haircut on the patio outside the multi-purpose room (I’d grown my hair long for the part of Conrad Birdie) and locks of my hair were sold for a dollar each, the money going to the Drama Club. The two-dozen locks, each tied with a gold ribbon, sold out in no time.
Who bought them? This was in 1966 when the reigning gods of the teen music world were The Beatles. What did young women do at Beatles concerts? They screamed hysterically. What did a mob of girls who came to all the performances of Bye Bye Birdie do? They stood at the back of the multi-purpose room and screamed whenever I sang a song, and it was they who bought the locks of my hair.
*
The Monday following the final triumphant performance of Bye Bye Birdie, I sat down at my desk in Mr. B’s class and waited expectantly with my classmates, as we always did, to see what kind of a mood Mr. B was in. He rose from his desk, looked around at each of us, and said, “I would like to begin today’s class by talking about courage.”
We shifted uncomfortably in our seats. Would this lecture rival his harangue about sloppy homework leading to the demise of our society? Would it top the one about laziness being a mask for our fear of failure?
“As some of you know,” said Mr. B, sounding uncharacteristically mellow, “I was in the faculty chorus of Bye Bye Birdie. This was the first play I’ve ever been in. I am forty-nine and it had never occurred to me to be in a play, though I enjoy going to plays. When Mr. Baker asked me if I’d like to be in the faculty chorus that would portray older townspeople in some of the scenes, and that we’d sing and dance, my immediate response was No. But the next day I decided to give it a try. I was extremely anxious about being in a play, but the first rehearsal was quite interesting and enjoyable, and I got to know my fellow faculty members I’d known for years and never spoken to except to say Hello. And with every rehearsal I felt less and less anxious and more and more caught up in the excitement of the play coming to life. And then came the moment two weeks before dress rehearsal when the faculty chorus joined the student performers to run through the big musical numbers. And in all of these big numbers, the entire cast was focused on the character of Conrad Birdie played by our very own Todd Walton.”
At this point Mr. B gestured to me and smiled like a sunrise.
I squirmed in my seat and prayed he wouldn’t embarrass me further. But he did.
“And I realized as I watched Todd singing and dancing and acting,” Mr. B continued, “I was in the presence of an actor so completely invested in his character that he was entirely free of fear. And I further realized that this freedom from fear is the essence of courage.”
*
Mr. B gave me an A for my final semester grade in Algebra II. My test scores did not support this grade, but who was I to argue?
fin
Through the Fire from Todd’s album Much Too Beautiful