Instructor: Elden Cozort.

Text: CALCULUS with Analytical Geometry, Dale Varberg, Edwin J. Purcell

Incubation Period: 36 months, 2 semesters, 4 evaluations

Goal: Pass the Calculus AB AP Test in May (get an A in the class)

Means: Cold, hard, despotic analytical mathematics

I knew my task. I was to tackle this course with the same reckless abandon that I had used to fell the mighty Chemistry and English programs with which secondary education had taunted me. Pathetically, I was pleased that I would not be needing to take the optional Advanced Placement (AP) Test in May.

The room both frightened and appalled me. Mr. Cozort had hung signs with patronizing phrases such as "Calculus need not be made easy; it is easy already!" Pieces of paper filled the walls with quirky calculus humor. They only made for more of an unsettling sight as if they were there to reinforce my confidence in my own stupidity.

Mr. Cozort stalked into the room. He was the school's math chairman. He was short. He was squatty. He was grinning in a most disturbing manner. I knew Mr. Cozort was learned in the ways of all mathematics: from the lowliest of applied mathematics to the upper-echelons of pure theory. I feared what he had to teach me. I knew nothing about Calculus. Sure, I had heard the "Calc" folklore, but no one had ever conveyed its palpable theory to me. Frighteningly, the students around me seemed collected. Their blank stares fell coldly on the white-haired, bright-eyed man who searched valiantly for his newest guiding lights.

He spoke.

"My name is Elden Cozort. You may call me Mr. Cozort or, if you prefer, The Magnificent Zort!"

I shuddered. Great, a mathemagician.

"Welcome to Calculus AB. Where shall we begin?"

Suddenly, I began thinking about how I had come to this classroom. Not by what physical means, but by what steps had I ascended the mathematical staircase? I thought back to the beginning ... the very beginning.

"One...two...three..."

"Two apple plus one more apple equals...um, uh, hmmm. Four? No! Three!!!"

"Two times two is four; two times three is six; two times four is eight..."

"One hundred thirty-two divided by eleven?"

SCREEEEEEE EEEEEEEEEEEECH !!! Flashback. Counting. Adding. Subtracting. Multiplying. Simple division. Then, the bloated function of doom that squashed me like an insignificant bug came along. Long division swept through me like a hurricane hopped-up on too much crack. It twisted and turned me around until I didn't have the slightest idea where I was. I couldn't get it. I just couldn't understand long division!!! My streak of A's was shattered by a big, fat C. I fell off the math rollercoaster—and hurt my head.

Stumbling vaguely through math for the next five years, middle school and the first two years of high school didn't seem to matter. Although the long division incident was forgotten by everyone around me, it still burned coldly and painfully in the back of my skull. That feeling of not being able to "get" something, no matter the effort, never has left my memory.

One day, I realized something scary: My junior year of high school has to be great. In fact, it has to be the best ever. That scared me, for until then, I had floated through school with very little effort, managing half-assed B's. I didn't care—until the rest of my life began staring at me. And, being the wuss that I am, I backed down to my own self-intimidation. I would take 1996 by the horns and wrestle it to the ground until I wrested A's (or grade point equivalents) from each class I took. In fact, I wanted not just the best, but better than that. 4.0 Grade Point Average? Hah! I was looking for the 4.2 or the 4.4!!!

Then, I realized: All roads run through the Math Department. Damn! My plans of grandeur were flawed. I knew I would have to kill the math skeleton that had infested my closet for so many years. But where do I begin such a monumental task?

I decided it was time for some hard work. I studied every night. I did every assignment (except one, according to Mr. Day, but I know I did that one, too). I earned all four of my A's. Such a feat was rare with this particular teacher. In fact, it was considered such an accomplishment, that he handed out commemorative pencils on which he inscribed "I got an A from Mr. Day!" That year I conquered Geometry, Trigonometry, and Algebra III, thus catapulting myself deep into the murkiness of Calc.

Suddenly, I realized I would have to begin anew. In order to tackle this new monster, I would have to return to my essence: relentless hard work, plenty of questions, and a little bit of intrinsic luck.

I shook the fuzz from my sight and looked up to make eye contact with my new best friend, Mr. Cozort. He smiled at me, and began—from the beginning.

Quotes of Random and Questionable Relevance

"No hero is immortal till he dies."

- W. H. Auden, "A Short Ode to a Philologist"


"and silence contagious in moments like these, consumed me and strengthened my will to appease the passion that sparked me one terrible night and shocked and persuaded my soul to ignite"

- Phish Rift