Chapter 10

He still didn't want to deal with us and asked that we be assigned a younger more personal adviser.

Every University in the Universe seems to have an East Indian scholar named Patil.

Dr. Patil graduated from Mallinson Girls School, located in Srinagar, Kashmir, India at the very young age of 11.

"We don't know what to do with her," said the Principal as she passed the young girl on to the Director of Higher Education, India.

"We'll find a place," he said.

The place was England ... Cambridge Universities Engineering Department to be more specific. She stumped her instructors time and time again. A Masters degree situation opened in the States.

An American Professor on a 'Busman's Holiday' dropped in on one of Miss Patil's teaching seminars and was astounded. The undergrad Senior was thirteen and posed questions to the staff in general that they couldn't answer ... but she could. The complex math she presented they were using calculators and slide rules to get the answers ... she was doing them in her head.

He ran her down in the hall after the tea and cakes and asked her bluntly to come to America and study.

"I'll find you a Masters spot if I have to pay for it myself."

The Dean of Engineering heard him, "Here now ... what's this? Stealing the best mind in eons?"

"Yes ... she's brilliant."

"I'm standing right here," she said.

That didn't seem to make any difference ... they talked around, over and under her and it was decided. University of Michigan. She ran right past the Masters and had her Doctorate before she was seventeen. A position opened in East Lansing ... she took it. Department head at twenty, she was importuned for dates many times.

"I'm sorry ... I can't date students. It's in the rulebook."

Now twenty-two she was sitting in the outer office chatting with her secretary when we stepped in. Neither my sister nor I had a clue who we were talking to.

Somehow she had signaled her secretary and settled into a rather informal interview. Informal?

You bet. She asked if we were students. When we said yes, she hauled out a senior text and said she was having trouble and could we help her?

"I don't understand," she said. She said it more than once.

The day grew long and the sun was setting when she suggested we move to a classroom and keep going. Chalkboard after chalkboard was filled and erased ... at midnight she said, "I forgot to eat."

My stomach announced that it had, too.

Grace said, "Mine is convinced my throat's been cut."