In the 18th century, a board of British refused to acknowledge a nonscientist's elegant method to determine longitude. Mr. Cala sees parallels to the present-day situation in New York, where educational leaders stubbornly resist thoughtful alternatives to the scientifically based high- stakes testing model. THE YEAR was 1714, and author Dava Sobel recounts that Great Britain was long tired of losing sailors by the hundreds each year due to the inability to determine longitude. So crucial to the future of the nation was the discovery of a means to determine longitude that the British Parliament passed the Longitude Act, offering a king's ransom to the person who discovered how to determine longitude at sea. The Board of Longitude (BOL), composed of who looked upon anyone out of the mainstream of science with disdain, reviewed countless schemes and scams intended to solve the conundrum and, of course, win the award. Meanwhile, John Harrison, the son of a carpenter and himself a mechanic and not a scientist, designed and built an extremely accurate timepiece that would work at sea and so allow navigators to determine longitude. It is Harrison's 40-year struggle to get his timepiece accepted that Sobel writes about in Longitude: The True Story of a Lone Genius Who Solved the Greatest Scientific Problem of His Time (Walker, 1995). What made matters worse for Harrison was that he was an extremely poor writer. Sobel notes, No matter how brilliantly ideas formed in his mind, or crystallized in his clockworks, his verbal descriptions failed to shine with the same light. In his last published work describing dealings with the BOL, Harrison's first sentence runs for 25 pages without a single punctuation mark. After years of pestering by Harrison and innumerable failed proposals from scientists, the BOL agreed to at least listen to him. He was permitted to test his sea clock on a voyage to Lisbon. During the difficult voyage, Harrison cajoled the captain into taking the course determined by his timepiece. The result: the course was accurate; the ship reached land safely. In her book, Sobel recounts the continuing resistance to Harrison and his idea. The BOL refused to believe that a nonscientist could solve a problem that had been perplexing Her Majesty's finest minds. Fortunately, Harrison did have a few supporters in the community, and the BOL continued to listen and minimally supported his work in developing an accurate seaworthy timepiece. Harrison worked on this project for over 40 years. All his test runs proved to be incredibly successful, yet the BOL would not grant him the award. Each time he presented proof of success, the BOL added more requirements, new resolutions, and new regulations, thereby allowing time for the real scientists of the day to solve the problem. One of the who attempted to solve the problem by using the stars was the Rev. Nevil Maskelyne. Logic (and cloudy nights) should have put an end to this exercise in futility. Yet the BOL continued to give Maskelyne's work credence. More years passed with no solution from the scientists. Harrison was on his fourth version of a seaworthy timepiece. Each successive version had gotten both smaller and more accurate. The fourth version was about the size of a large pocket watch and kept nearly perfect time. After more badgering, the BOL agreed to a double test run, allowing Harrison's son William and the Rev. Maskelyne to set out in separate ships to Jamaica. The result: Harrison's clock guided his ship with precision; the reverend's scientific method failed. It didn't matter. The BOL remained obstinate in its position and just added more restrictions, regulations, and demands. Not until 1773, when Harrison was 80 years old, did Parliament, not the Board of Longitude, award Harrison the full prize. LITTLE DID I know when turning the first page of Dava Sobel's Longitude that I was reading the parallel history of Commissioner of Education Richard Mills of New York, the New York State Board of Regents, and its chancellor, Carl Hayden. …