I loved physics in college. It was a subject I could sink my teeth into, it describes the universe in rational terms. It's reproducible. My introduction to Physics was physics 201, calculus based physics. 16 week course instead of the 12 normally offered, 4 credits and a lab credit. It came with massive, expensive, comprehensive text book that I have to this day. I loved it.
I was teeing up to take the second part of this to fulfill the degree requirement for two science classes, when the US government, in a cost saving measure, announced that they were moving my separation up by three months. Suddenly I was behind the 8-ball. My carefully laid plans of how to finish my degree requirements before I separated went out the window, and I was scrambling to finish on time. I had to give up the Physics II course and settle for the 12 week 102 course, what we affectionately referred to as "Dumbshit physics." The textbook was about a quarter the size of the one I had. In the first class the British instructor announced that we would be graded on our mid-term and final only. Well, shit, I won't need the textbook then, will I? No homework!
I was also taking some ECI video courses through the university of Chicago to bang out some easy credit for history, as well as another regular class that doesn't come to mind. As well as working midnight to 7am. I showed up for about half the Physics class, and slept through some of those. It was mostly administrative people and non-technical types, Law enforcement, etc, looking to fill their science requirement. One night as class was letting out and I was waking up in the back row, the instructor came over and asked, "Mr. Emerson, you're not asking many questions. How do you think you're doing?"
I was wiping sleep from my eyes, and looked up at him and said, "Shit, I could teach this stuff!" I probably could. I was just here for the credit.
Mid-term time was coming up, and I figured it might be a good time to take a few hours and crack a book and bone up a bit. then the whiners and admin rangers, the guys who had been head scratching their way through the class, started pestering the teacher to make it open book. After much wailing and crying, the prof relented and declared that it would be open book, open note. Well, hell, why even study?
I arrived at the mid-term and he announced, "All right, clear your desks of everything but scratch paper and a pen." WHAT??!! What about the open book, open note? "Yes, that's what I agreed. You may use my notes. and he handed us a sheet of paper filled with formulae. No explanations, and worse, no units of measure.
I was clueless, and the "notes" were no help at all. I had a very solid foundation in my previous physics class, so I spent the next three hours re-inventing physics from the ground up.
The next week he was handing out the results, and announcing the grades as he did so. C, B, D, C. . . and then he got to mine. "Mr Emerson. That was a rather creative solution you gave for the pressure-volume question."
"Did I get it right?" I asked hopefully.
"Yes, unfortunately," he said dryly, "A+"
I was teeing up to take the second part of this to fulfill the degree requirement for two science classes, when the US government, in a cost saving measure, announced that they were moving my separation up by three months. Suddenly I was behind the 8-ball. My carefully laid plans of how to finish my degree requirements before I separated went out the window, and I was scrambling to finish on time. I had to give up the Physics II course and settle for the 12 week 102 course, what we affectionately referred to as "Dumbshit physics." The textbook was about a quarter the size of the one I had. In the first class the British instructor announced that we would be graded on our mid-term and final only. Well, shit, I won't need the textbook then, will I? No homework!
I was also taking some ECI video courses through the university of Chicago to bang out some easy credit for history, as well as another regular class that doesn't come to mind. As well as working midnight to 7am. I showed up for about half the Physics class, and slept through some of those. It was mostly administrative people and non-technical types, Law enforcement, etc, looking to fill their science requirement. One night as class was letting out and I was waking up in the back row, the instructor came over and asked, "Mr. Emerson, you're not asking many questions. How do you think you're doing?"
I was wiping sleep from my eyes, and looked up at him and said, "Shit, I could teach this stuff!" I probably could. I was just here for the credit.
Mid-term time was coming up, and I figured it might be a good time to take a few hours and crack a book and bone up a bit. then the whiners and admin rangers, the guys who had been head scratching their way through the class, started pestering the teacher to make it open book. After much wailing and crying, the prof relented and declared that it would be open book, open note. Well, hell, why even study?
I arrived at the mid-term and he announced, "All right, clear your desks of everything but scratch paper and a pen." WHAT??!! What about the open book, open note? "Yes, that's what I agreed. You may use my notes. and he handed us a sheet of paper filled with formulae. No explanations, and worse, no units of measure.
I was clueless, and the "notes" were no help at all. I had a very solid foundation in my previous physics class, so I spent the next three hours re-inventing physics from the ground up.
The next week he was handing out the results, and announcing the grades as he did so. C, B, D, C. . . and then he got to mine. "Mr Emerson. That was a rather creative solution you gave for the pressure-volume question."
"Did I get it right?" I asked hopefully.
"Yes, unfortunately," he said dryly, "A+"
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