Dumb and Ugly - Part 3, The IQ Test

When things are not going well kids react in one of two ways. They either become troublesome or they try to disappear into the woodwork. I chose the latter. I didn't want attention. I was shamed.

I tried to be inconspicuous. Garrison Keillor speaks of shy people on his radio show, The Prairie Home Companion. I have a deep sympathy and understanding for shy people. I was one of them. I would not call attention to myself if it were at all possible.

I once stood at the blackboard in that fifth grade class, with chalk in one hand and text book in the other. I was trying to do math problems, but my full bladder was making me squirm and prance. I tried to concentrate on the work, but the figures in the text blurred with purple spots. Asking to be excused was out of the question. The recess was only minutes away; I had to make it. The mounting pressure proved too great. A warm stream began running down my leg. I leaned over, dropped the book on the floor while mumbling something to Miss Gilbert about not being able to wait, and left the room.

I was standing at the urinal when Kenny Rush came into the bathroom. Miss Gilbert sent him to see if I was alright. He had a concerned look on his face. He was a good looking boy but one of his eyes was crossed. He was looking at me in that indirect way that might have been comical in another situation. I told him I was OK. I just had to use the bathroom. I returned to class, picked up the text book, and stood in a pool of urine, red faced with humiliation, and worked on math problems until the bell rang a short time later.

A major turning point in my life came that year. It was in the form of an IQ test. The examination must have come at the high point of my mental cycle. The questions seemed easy; the test was even fun. When the results came back mine was one of the highest scores, and my life was never quite the same.

I have never put much faith in such tests, but the society of the Fifties certainly did. I don’t remember, maybe Miss Gilbert spoke to the class, but I seemed to gain higher social status overnight. The kids treated me differently. There was curiosity and a bit of awe. I noticed some scrutinizing me out of the corner of their eye. I was the class dunce mysteriously transformed into a brilliant kid. Maybe I was a freak, but it was of an acceptable form of freakdom. The attention I was getting was different, but it was mainly positive. I could take it. It was a welcome change.

A week later Miss Gilbert ask that I stay after school. She was a little woman and able to sat next to me in one of the small student desks at the back of the room. Miss Gilbert pointed out that most of the students in class were a year older, and suggested that I repeat the 5th grade. I would be with kids of my own age next year . She told me I had the right to pass to the 6th grade, but she felt it would be better if I stayed behind. She had talked to my parents and they agreed, but felt it should be my decision. I had found a friendly and understanding person; I was not about to disappoint her.

The following year I enjoyed an elevated position in the society of fifth graders. It was magic - unimaginable. I became the teacher's pet. Miss Gilbert constantly praised my actions and citizenship. I glowed in the spotlight. It was as much of a blushing glow as one of delight. The attention was embarrassing and I had no experience in handling accolades. I accepted them with a quiet modesty and bashfulness most of the time. There were a few occasions were I slipped into more boastful behavior, but that model did not feel right. A person's self-image does not change over night. I had thought of myself as being dumb and ugly for too long. There is an inertia to consider when events take abrupt turns. People were suddenly telling me I was smart, but things were nearly as difficult as ever. Learning is an endeavor that requires a foundation on which to build. I had my feet firmly anchored in thin air.

In high school it dawned on me that I was not really ugly, or even homely. Throughout those years, and many after, the ugly duckling self-image still haunted me. It was always a surprise should a girl seem interested in me. The shyness lasted into college and beyond. A prolonged metamorphosis eventually changed the shyness into a quiet reserve. To this day there are vestiges of me that have their roots in those dumb and ugly years. I am yet hesitant to call attention to myself.

I owe a lot to Miss Myrtle Gilbert. I kept contact with her over the years, and she visited me in Alaska in 1979. I wish I had a copy of the photo a friend took of the two of us standing on the beach near Seldovia. I was building my cabin, and Miss Gilbert helped carry boards along the beach to the cabin site; 76 years old and still in there pitching.

She stayed at a friend’s place in Seldovia. We had a fish fry that evening, and served fresh halibut. She didn’t much care for fish but said she would have “just a bite“. Miss Gilbert sampled it carefully, took another bite, and decided it was pretty good. She had a second helping. Miss Gilbert said the visit was a highlight of her life - a small payment for the services rendered so many years before.

P.S. My wife, Mary, says the ugly duckling is now the best looking seventy year old she has seen, but she is prejudice. I think age is The Great Leveler. It makes us all a bit more ugly - the others just caught up with me.