The Room 18 Theorem

Most of this e-mail's backstory will be evident in the e-mail itself, but here it is anyway: About five years ago, I learned that my ninth grade geometry teacher teaches at Gilman, which is right down the street from Boys' Latin, where I teach. The Gilman website he has been there since 1997, but we crossed paths at Newark Academy, a private school in new Jersey that I ended up attending for only one year before returning to public school. So it's quite a coincidence that now, twenty years later and almost two hundred miles away from where we originally met, we are virtually neighbors.

Truthfully, I was a little shy about contacting him, but I know that's kind of irrational. It would make my year if, after twenty years of teaching, I were to receive a note from out of the blue from a student who remembers my class as vividly as I remember Mr. Jacobs', even if I don't remember that student. And I'm assuming he doesn't remember me - although actually, I remember a very high percentage of my former students, even the quiet ones, which goes to show that teachers often have better memories than their ex-students give them credit for.

Anyway, I'm about to click "send" on this e-mail. I'll let you know if he responds.

____________________________________________________________________________________

Hi Mr. Jacobs,

I've been meaning to e-mail you for quite a while. I'm not sure you remember me: my name is Alex Barron and I was a student in your 9th grade geometry class at Newark Academy during the 1996-1997 school year. I was a shy ninth grader who lacked confidence in many areas, including math. So I don't think I spoke much in class and I'll understand if, after more than twenty years, you have trouble placing me.

I do remember a great deal about your class, though. I remember writing down proofs and theorems in a little black book. I remember reading Flatland by Edwin Abbott (the first and only fiction I was ever assigned in a math class). I remember the Saccheri quadrilateral (which you called the "Scary" quadrilateral). I remember that you dubbed one of the theorems (I forget which one) the Room 18 Theorem, because our class met in Room 18 and because its real name was kind of a mouthful. And I remember that it was your dream to start a rock band called Skew, in which all of the members would stand at different angles while they played.

That school year turned out to be my only one at Newark Academy. I had a hard time making friends, and I transferred back to public school. I sometimes regret that I didn't give N.A. more of a chance: in my one year there, I had some really fantastic teachers. Mr. Ball for history, Ms. Aquadro for English, Ms. Heaney for Bio, Ms. E for music, and you, of course.

The Gilman website says you've been on board since 1997, so I guess we both left N.A. at the same time. It would take me another fifteen years to move to Baltimore but now, lo and behold, it looks like we're basically neighbors. For the past five and a half years, I've been right down the street at Boys' Latin, teaching upper school English.

I put all of this together a while ago, while browsing the Gilman website to look for a classmate who I thought was teaching there. Turned out he wasn't - but you were. I was recently reminded of this coincidence again by during a conversation with my colleague, __________, whose son (or sons) I think you teach? And she suggested that I get over my shyness and send you a note. So that's what I'm doing.

I'm sure you're in the middle of exams right now, but I'd love to hear from you when things die down. Maybe I can even drop by Gilman for a visit some time soon.

Happy Holidays,

Alex

Honestly, I don't remember what this is or why it's important.
But I do remember that the Saccheri Quarilateral is a thing, so thanks, Mr. Jacobs.