Free Gifted Hands: The Ben Carson Story by Ben Carson Page B

talked to representatives from the schools they might have waived the fee. But my mother had pushed the concept of self-reliance for so long I didn't want to start out owing a school just to get accepted.
    At that time the University of Michigan—a spectacular school and always in the top ten academically and in sports events
—actively recruited Black students. And the University of Michigan waived the fees for in-state students who couldn't afford to pay. However, I wanted to attend college farther away.
    I looked hard at my future, knowing that I could get into any of the top schools but not knowing what to do. Graduating third in my class, I had excellent SAT scores, and most of the top colleges were scrambling to enroll Blacks. After college, with a major in premed and a minor in psychology, I'd be ready for medical school, and at last on the real road toward becoming a doctor.
    For a long time it bothered me that I had graduated third in my senior high school class. It's probably a character flaw, but I can't help myself. It wasn't that I had to be first in everything, but I should have been number one. If I hadn't gotten so sidetracked by the need for peer approval, I would have been at the head of my class. In thinking toward college, I determined that would never happen again. From now on, I'd be the best student I was capable of being.
    Several weeks flew by as I struggled over which college to send my application to, and by late spring I had narrowed the choice between Harvard and Yale. Either would have been great, which made the decision difficult. Strangely enough, my final decision hinged on a television program. As I watched College Bowl one Sunday night, the Yale students wiped the Harvard students off the face of the map with a fantastic score of something like 510 to 35. That game helped me to make my decision—I wanted to go to Yale.
    In less than a month I not only had my acceptance at Yale to enter in the fall of 1969, but they offered me a 90 percent academic scholarship.
    I suppose I should have been elated by the news. I was happy, but not surprised. Actually I took it calmly, and perhaps even a bit arrogantly, reminding myself that I had already accomplished just about everything I'd set out to do—a high scholastic record, top SAT scores, every kind of high school recognition possible, along with my long list of achievements with the ROTC program.
    Campus accommodations befitted students of my stature. The student housing was luxurious, the rooms more like suites. The suites included a living room, fireplace, and built-in bookcases. Bedrooms branched off from the main room. Two to four students shared each suite. I had a room to myself.
    I strode onto the campus, looked up at the tall, gothic-style buildings, and approved of the ivy-covered walls. I figured I'd take the place by storm. And why not? I was incredibly bright.
    After less than a week on campus I discovered I wasn't that bright. All the students were bright; many of them extremely gifted and perceptive. Yale was a great leveler for me, because I now studied, worked, and lived with dozens of high-achieving students, and I didn't stand out among them.
    One day I was sitting at the dining room table with several class members who were talking about their SAT scores. One of them said, “I blew the SAT test with a total of just a little over fifteen hundred in both parts.”
    “That's not too bad,” another one sympathized. “Not great, but not bad.”
    “What did you get?” the first student asked him.
    “Oh, 1540 or 1550, total. I can't remember my exact math score.”
    It seemed perfectly natural to all of them to have scores in the high ninety percentile. I kept silent, realizing that I ranked lower than every student sitting around me. It was my first awareness of not being quite as bright as I thought, and the experience washed away a little of my cockiness. At the same time, the incident only slightly deterred me. It would be