Unit 1B - Making the Grade
Making the Grade
Varda One
In 1951, I was eighteen and traveling with all the money I had in the world-fifty dollars. I was on a bus heading from Los Angeles to Berkeley. My dream of attending the university was coming true. I'd already paid tuition for the semester and for one month at the co-op residence. After that, I had to furnish the rest-my impoverished parents couldn't rescue me.
I'd been on my own as a live-in mother's helper since I was fifteen, leaving high school at noon to care for children till midnight. All through high school and my first year of college, I'd longed to participate in extracurricular activities, but my job made that impossible. Now that I was transferring to Berkeley, I hoped to earn a scholarship.
That first week I found a waitress job, baby-sat and washed dishes at the coop as part of my rent. At the end of the semester, I had the B average I needed for a scholarship. All I had to do was achieve the B average next term.
It didn't occur to me to take a snap course: I'd come to the university to learn something. I believed I could excel academically and take tough subjects.
One such course was a survey of world literature. It was taught by Professor Sears Jayne, who roamed the stage of a huge auditorium, wearing a microphone while lecturing to packed rows. There was no text. Instead, we used paperbacks. Budget wise, this made it easier since I could buy them as needed.
I was fascinated with the concepts he presented. To many students, it was just a degree requirement, but to me, it was a feast of exciting ideas. My co-op friends who were also taking the course asked for my help. We formed a study group, which I led.
When I took the first exam-all essay questions-I was sure I'd done well. On the ground floor, amid tables heaped with test booklets, I picked out mine. There in red was my grade, a 77, C-plus. I was shocked. English was my best subject! To add insult to injury, I found that my study mates had received Bs. They thanked me for my coaching.
I confronted the teaching assistant, who referred me to Professor Jayne, who listened to my impassioned arguments but remained unmoved.
I'd never questioned a teacher about a grade before-never had to. It didn't occur to me to plead my need for a scholarship; I wanted justice, not pity. I was convinced that my answers merited a higher grade.
I resolved to try harder, although I didn't know what that meant because school had always been easy for me. I'd used persistence in finding jobs or scrubbing floors, but not in pushing myself intellectually. Although I chose challenging courses, I was used to coasting toward As.
I read the paperbacks more carefully, but my efforts yielded another 77. Again, C-plus for me and Bs and As for my pals, who thanked me profusely. Again, I returned to Dr. Jayne and questioned his judgment irreverently. Again, he listened patiently, discussed the material with me, but wouldn't budge-the C-plus stood. He seemed fascinated by my ardor in discussing the course ideas, but my dreams of a scholarship and extracurricular activities were fading fast.
One more test before the final. One more chance to redeem myself. Yet another hurdle loomed. The last book we studied, T.S.Eliot's The Wasteland, was available only in hardback. Too expensive for my budget.
I borrowed it from the library. However, I knew I needed my own book to annotate. I couldn't afford a big library fine either.
In 1951, there were no copying machines, so it seemed logical to haul out my trusty old Royal manual typewriter and start copying all 420 pages. In between waitressing, washing dishes, attending classes, baby-sitting, and tutoring the study group, I managed to pound them out.
I redoubled my efforts for this third exam. For the first time, I learned the meaning of the word "thorough". I'd never realized how hard other students struggled for what came easily to me.
My efforts did absolutely no good. Everything, down to the dreaded 77, went as before. Back I marched into Dr. Jayne's office. I dragged out my dog-eared, note-blackened texts, arguing my points as I had done before. When I came to the sheaf of papers that were my typed copy of The Wasteland, he asked, "What's this?" "I had no money left to buy it, so I copied it." I didn't think this unusual. Improvising was routine for me.
Something changed in Dr. Jayne's usually jovial face. He was quiet for a long time. Then we returned to our regular lively debate on what these writers truly meant.
When I left, I still had my third 77-definitely not a lucky number for me-and the humiliation of being a seminar leader, trailing far behind my ever-grateful students. The last hurdle was the final. No matter what grade I got, it wouldn't cancel three C-pluses. I might as well kiss the scholarship good-bye. Besides, what was the use? I could cram till my eyes teared, and the result would be a crushing 77.
I skipped studying. I felt I knew the material as well as I ever would. Hadn't I reread the books many times and explained them to my buddies? Wasn't The Wasteland resounding in my brain? The night before the final, I treated myself to a movie.
I sauntered into the auditorium and decided that for once I'd have fun with a test. I marooned all the writers we'd studied on an island and wrote a debate in which they argued their positions. It was silly, befitting my nothing-to-lose mood. The words flowed-all that sparring with Dr. Jayne made it effortless.
A week later, I strolled down to the ground floor (ground zero for me) and unearthed my test from the heaps of exams. There, in red ink on the blue cover, was an A. I couldn't believe my eyes.
I hurried to Dr. Jayne's office. He seemed to be expecting me, although I didn't have an appointment. I launched into righteous indignation. How come I received a C-plus every time I slaved and now, when I'd written a spoof, I earned an A?
"I knew that if I gave you the As you deserved, you wouldn't continue to work as hard." I stared at him, realizing that his analysis and strategy were correct. I had worked my head off, as I had never done before. He rose and pulled a book from his crowded shelves. "This is for you." It was a hardback copy of The Wasteland. On the flyleaf was an inscription to me. For once in my talkative life, I was speechless.
I was speechless again when my course grade arrived: A-plus. I believe it was the only A-plus given.
Next year, when I received my scholarship, I co-wrote, acted, sang and danced in an original musical comedy produced by the Associated Students. It played in the largest auditorium to standing-room-only houses.
I reviewed theater for the Daily Cal, the student campus newspaper.
I wrote a one-act play, among the first to debut at the new campus theater.
I acted in plays produced by the drama department.
The creative spark that had been buried under dishes, diapers and drudgery now flamed into life. I don't recall much of what I learned in those courses of long ago, but I'll never forget the fun I had writing and acting.
And I've always remembered Dr. Jayne's lesson. Know that you have untapped powers within you. That you must use them, even if you can get by without trying. That you alone must set your own standard of excellence.
参考译文——取得好成绩
取得好成绩
瓦尔达·翁
1951年，我18岁，带着我所有的钱--50美元去旅行。我坐在从洛杉矶开往伯克利的车上。我上大学的梦想即将实现。我已付了一学期的学费以及在合租公寓一个月的住宿费。除此之外，其余的费用都靠我承担，我贫困的父母帮不了我。
自从16岁起我就自食其力，以帮助住在雇主家的母亲，中午我离开我所念的高中，回家照顾孩子到半夜。整个高中以及大一期间，我就一直渴望参加课外活动，但是我的工作不允许。既然我转到伯克利来，我希望能获得奖学金。
第一周我找了份服务生的工作，在合租公寓做临时保姆并洗碗碟以支付我的部分租金。学期结束的时候，我的平均成绩是B，这是申请奖学金所需要的成绩。我需要做的就是下学期也能拿到平均成绩B。
我从没想过选修容易（通过考试）的课程：我来这所学校是要学习东西的。我相信我在学业上出类拔萃，能够选修有难度的课程。
这门课程就是由教授希尔斯·杰恩所教的《世界文学概论》。他在诺大的会堂舞台上漫步，戴着麦克风给满座的学生演讲。没有课本。我们用平装本。在预算方面，这对我较为合适，因为我能买到需要的这些书。
我对他提出的概念入迷。对许多学生来说，这只是学历要求的，但对于我，这是扣人心弦的思想盛宴。一些同样选修这门课的同室朋友找我帮忙。我们就组成了一个学习小组，由我带头。
当我参加第一次考试（都是论述题）时，我确信自己考得很好。我从一楼堆满试卷册子的桌子上挑出我的试卷。那儿红笔写着我的分数，77，C+。我大吃一惊。英语可是我最擅长的科目啊。雪上加霜的是，我发现我的同学得了B。他们都因我对他们的辅导而感谢我。
我当面质问助教，他将我带到杰恩教授面前。杰恩教授听了我慷慨激昂的争辩后，仍不为所动。
我以前从未质疑过一个老师所打的分数--也不需要这样做。我从未想过拿我对奖学金的需要作理由；我想要公平，而不是同情。我相信我的答案应获得更高的分数。
我决心更加努力，尽管我不知道那意味着什么，因为对我来说学习一直很容易。我在找工作或在擦地板时坚持不懈，但在督促自身学习进步方面没有做到这一点。尽管我选修了具有挑战性的课程，我习惯了不费力地拿到A。
我更加认真地读了平装本书籍，但我的努力换来了另一个77。我再次得了C+，而我的朋友得了B或A。他们对我千恩万谢。我再次回到杰恩博士身边，毫不客气地质问他的评判标准。他再次耐心地听，并与我讨论起资料，但却毫无回旋余地--C+岿然不动。他看起来对我有关课程思想的讨论有兴趣，但是我要获得奖学金和参加课外活动的梦想迅速消逝了。
期末考试前的最后一次考试。这是提高成绩的又一个机会。然而另一个障碍隐约出现。我们最后学的一本书-T·S·艾略特的《荒原》--只有精装本。这对我来说太贵了。
我从图书馆里借了一本。然而，我知道我需要自己的书籍好做注解。我也付不起图书馆较多的罚金。
1951年的时候还没有复印机，因此拉出我信赖的皇家老式打字机将420页全部复制下来的做法也是合情合理的。在做服务生、洗盘子、上课、照看婴儿以及辅导学习小组的间隙，我设法将这些文字敲打了出来。
对于第三次考试我加倍地努力。第一次，我知道了"彻底"的含义。我以前从未意识到其他学生要付出多少努力才能达到我轻松获得的成绩。
我的努力完全付之东流。一切，乃至可怕的77，一如既往。我径直冲进杰恩博士的办公室。我拿出我那卷了角的、记着黑乎乎笔记的课本，像以前一样陈述起我的观点。当我拿出一捆纸张，即我打出的《荒原》的副本时，他问："这是什么？""我没有剩余的钱买这本书，因此我复制了一下。"我不认为这有什么特别的。我习惯了随机应变。
杰恩博士通常快乐的脸色有了一些改变。他沉默了许久。然后我们又回到我们通常进行的对这些作家真正意义的激烈辩论上。
当我离开时，我仍然拿着我的第三个77分--这对我来说绝不是一个好数字--并且作为一个学习组的组长我蒙受着羞辱，（这成绩）远远落在那些对我感激涕零的学生后面。最后一道关是期末考试。不管我得多少分，都不会抵消3个C+。我也许只能与奖学金失之交臂了。并且，这又有何用？我可以为考试苦读，直至双眼流泪，但结果还会是凉彻心骨的77。
我没有再学习。我觉得我对资料的理解像以往任何时候一样透彻。我不是已经重读过课本多次并向我的朋友解释过它们了吗？《荒原》不正在我的脑海里回响吗？期末考试的前一天晚上，我看了一场电影以慰劳一下自己。
我从容地走进了会堂，决定仅此一次，享受一场考试。我把我们学过的所有作者都放逐到一个孤岛上，并记下了他们各抒己见的一场辩论会。这简直愚蠢至极，只能迎合我的输无可输的心情罢了。我文如泉涌--与杰恩博士的所有争论使这一切不费吹灰之力。
一周后，我闲逛到了一楼（对我来说是零楼)，从试卷堆里挖出了我的那一份。那儿，蓝色封皮上用红色墨水写着A。我简直不敢相信。
我急忙跑向杰恩博士的办公室。他看起来正在期盼我的到来，尽管我没有预约过。我变得义愤填膺。为什么每次我埋头苦读只得到C+，而这次我写了一篇讽剌性文章却得到了A？
"我知道如果我给了你应得的A，你就不会这么努力了。"我注视着他，意识到他的分析和策略是对的。我一直在苦读，读得从来没有这样苦。他站起身从他塞满书的书架上取出一本书，"这是给你的。"那是一本精装版的《荒原》。扉页上的题字是送给我的。我有生以来头一次哑口无言了。
当我的课程成绩到我手上的时候我再一次哑口无言了，是A+。我想这是我得的唯一的A+。
第二年我拿到了奖学金，我在学生会制作的一个原创的音乐喜剧中与人合作创作、扮演角色、唱歌跳舞。该音乐剧在最大的会堂上演，会堂里座无虚席。
我为校园刊物《每曰加州》写戏剧评论。
我写了一部独幕剧，它是第一批在学校的新剧院里上映的作品。
我在戏剧学院制作的戏剧中扮演角色。
一直埋没于杯盘碟子、尿布和杂务之间的创作火花现在迸发出生命之光。虽然很久以前在那些课程里学到的许多东西我都想不起来，但我永远不会忘记我在写作和表演中获得的乐趣。
杰恩博士给我上的那一课，我一直铭记在心。知道你内心有未开发的力量。你必须利用它们，即使你不尝试它们也可以得到想要的东西。你自己必须设定一个优秀的标准。
Key Words:
heading ['hediŋ]
n. 标题，题目，航向
动词head的现在分词
residence ['rezidəns]
n. 住处，住宅，居住
excel [ik'sel]
vt. 超过，优于
vi. 胜出
achieve [ə'tʃi:v]
v. 完成，达到，实现
extracurricular [.ekstrəkə'rikjulə]
adj. 课外的
rescue ['reskju:]
vt. 营救，援救
n. 营救，救援
participate [pɑ:'tisipeit]
vt. 分享
vi. 参加，参与
coop [ku:p]
n. 小屋，（鸡等）笼 vt. 关进鸡舍，关进
impossible [im'pɔsəbl]
adj. 不可能的，做不到的
impassioned [im'pæʃənd]
adj. 慷慨激昂的，热烈的 动词impassion的过
convinced [kən'vinst]
adj. 信服的
survey [sə:'vei]
v. 调查，检查，测量，勘定，纵览，环视
microphone ['maikrəfəun]
n. 麦克风，扩音器
insult ['insʌlt]
vt. 侮辱，凌辱，辱骂
n. 侮辱，辱骂
plead [pli:d]
v. 辩护，恳求，提出借口
pity ['piti]
n. 同情，怜悯，遗憾，可惜
v. 同情，怜悯
unmoved
adj. 不动摇的；无动于衷的
intellectually
adv. 智力上；知性上；理智地
challenging ['tʃælindʒiŋ]
adj. 大胆的(复杂的，有前途的，挑战的) n. 复杂
fading ['feidiŋ]
n. 褪色；衰退；凋谢 v. 使衰落（fade的ing形
budget ['bʌdʒit]
n. 预算
vt. 编预算，为 ... 做预算
redeem [ri'di:m]
vt. 赎回，挽回，履行
ardor ['ɑ:də]
n. 热情，狂热 =ardour(英)
extracurricular [.ekstrəkə'rikjulə]
adj. 课外的
persistence [pə'sistəns]
n. 坚持，毅力
hurdle ['hə:dl]
n. 栏干，障碍 [计算机] 障碍 vt. 跨越某物
annotate ['ænəuteit]
v. 注解
absolutely ['æbsəlu:tli]
adv. 绝对地，完全地;独立地
wasteland ['weistlænd]
n. 荒地，未开垦地
jovial ['dʒəuviəl]
adj. 天性快活的；主神朱庇特的
typewriter ['taip.raitə]
n. 打字机，打字员
debate [di'beit]
n. 辩论，讨论
vt. 争论，思考
thorough ['θʌrə]
adj. 彻底的，完全的，详尽的，精心的
unusual [ʌn'ju:ʒuəl]
adj. 不平常的，异常的
manual ['mænjuəl]
adj. 手工的，体力的
n. 手册，指南，键
lively ['laivli]
活泼的，活跃的，栩栩如生的，真实的
routine [ru:'ti:n]
n. 例行公事，常规，无聊
indignation [.indig'neiʃən]
n. 愤怒，愤慨，义愤
debate [di'beit]
n. 辩论，讨论
vt. 争论，思考
humiliation [hju:.mili'eiʃən]
n. 耻辱，丢脸
wasteland ['weistlænd]
n. 荒地，未开垦地
sparring ['spɑ:riŋ]
n. 对打；夹条板，保护条 v. 拳击（spar的现在分
righteous ['raitʃəs]
adj. 公正的，公义的，当然的
hurdle ['hə:dl]
n. 栏干，障碍 [计算机] 障碍 vt. 跨越某物
effortless ['efətlis]
adj. 容易的，不费力气的
comedy ['kɔmidi]
n. 喜剧，滑稽，幽默事件
talkative ['tɔ:kətiv]
adj. 喜欢说话的，健谈的，多嘴的
untapped ['ʌn'tæpt]
adj. 塞子未开的，未使用的
analysis [ə'næləsis]
n. 分析，解析
debut ['debju]
n. 初次登场，首次露面 v. 初次登场
spark [spɑ:k]
n. 火花，朝气，情人，俗丽的年轻人
original [ə'ridʒənl]
adj. 最初的，原始的，有独创性的，原版的
deserved [di'zə:vd]
adj. 应得的；理所当然的 v. 值得；应得；应受报答
acting ['æktiŋ]
n. 演戏，行为，假装 adj. 代理的，临时的，供演出
strategy ['strætidʒi]
n. 战略，策略
参考资料：