Chapter 13. Academy

Adventists prize education. However, they are supremely suspicious of the subversive effects of public school education. So they have their own schools. Since Adventists are relatively few and scattered, most states had a boarding high school. Attendance at these “academies” was a rite of passage for most Adventist young people. I was no exception.
In Memphis, the local church school went to tenth grade, so I didn’t had off for boarding academy until my junior year. The level of academic challenge dramatically increased. The Spanish teacher was stern, exact and never wrong. The same teacher taught geometry and chemistry. He was ruthless, taught to the top ten percent of the class and never slowed down. There was no busy work. He didn’t even care about attendance.
“If you think you can make the grade without coming to class, be my guest,” he said. “But if you aren’t making it, you better be here because I won’t put up with any whining about needing help if you aren’t here for class.”
I was amazed to encounter a teacher obviously smarter than I was. I reveled in the structure and rationality of geometry. There was enough complexity to invite good argument about processes and conclusions and enough structure that if you stayed with the problem, eventually you could prove the correct answer beyond dispute.
In chemistry, Devasher insisted he was getting us ready for college, not running a program for building self-esteem. He didn’t care if it was hard. He was notoriously mocking in his interactions with students who didn’t instantly get it. This meant that Linda Sanderson–a gorgeous blond from Atlanta with the richest, most delicious accent I had ever heard–needed my help. Sometimes she was joined by a couple of her friends, also members of the in-crowd. It was my first taste of the social benefit of being smart. I never dated Linda or her friends. I was never part of their circle. But chemistry gave me a certain access.
In lab, DeVasher encouraged us to check things out, to experiment. He was more interested in our engagement with the subject than in fastidious safety. I burned my nose with hydrochloric fumes, scarred my fingers with sulfuric acid and stained them with iodine. DeVasher thought it was all great fun. When I recounted some of my adventures to the public high school chemistry teacher who attended our church back in Memphis, she was appalled. She would never allow her students to be exposed to such risks. My reaction to her horrified reaction: More points for Mr. DeVasher.
DeVasher taught physics and advanced math my senior year. There were only seven of us in advanced math, six guys and Jeannie. Jeannie was cute, quiet, gentle and brilliant. The guys often worked on our homework together. Jeannie worked alone. (School rules did not allow guys and girls to be together after supper.) She would still come out a few points ahead of us. She provoked me to the most intense diligence I had ever invested in school. In spite of my academic envy, or maybe because of it, around her I was perfectly at ease.