What is CTY?
A little more than 20 years ago, some professors at Johns Hopkins University, in their infinite wisdom, got together and said, "Hey! These here smart kids are bored! Why don't we set up a nifty little experiment and see what happens when we put a bunch of them together for three weeks in the summer and have them take challenging classes and coexsist?"
   Thus, the Center for Talented Youth (CTY) was born. Each summer at each of about 5 or 6 college campuses in the north eastern US and California, between 100 and 450 gifted teenagers gather together for a rockin' good time and for a bit 'o that learning stuff.  In order to qualify for CTY, one must be entering at least the eighth grade, be less than seventeen years old, and score above a certain amount on the SATs.
   So, that's more or less the textbook definition of CTY. However, to those kids that are lucky enough to attend, it means so much more.  It means a chance to be yourself, to express your ideas, and, most of all, to make phenomenal lasting friendships. It's something that can't be clearly described in words, but it does something inside of you, turns on a light, perhaps. All I know is that it's been the best experience of my life, and I will always cherish it.
Long, long time ago, I can still remember how the music used to make me smile. And I knew if I had my chance then I could make those people dance and maybe they'd be happy for awhile. But February made me shiver with every paper I delivered. Bad news on the doorstep, I couldn't take one more step. And I can't remember if I cried when I read about his widowed bride; but something touched me deep in side The day the music died. So bye, bye, Miss American Pie, Drove my chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry And them good old boys were drinking whiskey and rye Singing this'll be the day that I die; this'll be the day that I die. Did you write the Book of Love, And do you have faith in God above if the Bible tells you so? Do you believe in rock 'n roll; can music save your mortal soul, and can you teach me how to dance real slow? Well, I know that you're in love with him, 'cause I saw you dancing in the gym. You both kicked off your shoes. Man, I dig those rhythm and blues. I was a lonely teenage broncing buck with a pink carnation and a pick-up truck, but I knew I was out of luck The day the music died I started singing bye, bye, Miss American Pie, Drove my chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry And them good old boys were drinking whiskey and rye Singing this'll be the day that I die; this'll be the day that I die. Now for ten years we've been on our own, and moss grows fat on a rollin' stone, but that's not how it used to be. When the jester sang for the King and Queen in a coat he borrowed from James Dean, and a voice that came from you and me Oh, and while the King was looking down the jester stole his thorny crown. The courtroom was adjourned; no verdict was returned. And while Lenin read a book of Marx, the quartet practiced in the park, and we sang dirges in the dark The day the music died. We were singing bye, bye, Miss American Pie, Drove my chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry And them good old boys were drinking whiskey and rye Singing this'll be the day that I die; this'll be the day that I die. Helter Skelter in a summer swelter. The birds flew off with a fallout shelter; eight miles high and falling fast. It landed foul out on the grass. The players tried for a forward pass, with the jester on the sidelines in a cast Now the half-time air was sweet perfume, while the Sergeants played a marching tune We all got up to dance, Oh, but we never got the chance 'Cause the players tried to take the field. The marching band refused to yield!Do you recall what was revealed The day the music died? We started singing bye, bye, Miss American Pie, Drove my chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry And them good old boys were drinking whiskey and rye Singing this'll be the day that I die; this'll be the day that I die. Oh, and there we were all in one place: a generation lost in space, with no time left to start again So come on, Jack be nimble, Jack be quick; Jack Flash sat on a candlestick, 'cause fire is the Devil's only friend Oh, and as I watched him on the stage, my hands were clenched in fists of rage! No angel born in hell could break that Satan's spell. And as the flames climbed high into the night to light the sacrificial rite, I saw Satan laughing with delight The day the music died. He was singing bye, bye, Miss American Pie, Drove my chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry And them good old boys were drinking whiskey and rye Singing this'll be the day that I die; this'll be the day that I die. I met a girl who sang the blues and I asked her for some happy news, but she just smiled and turned away. I went down to the sacred store where I'd heard the music years before, but the man there said the music woudn't play. And in the streets the children screamed, the lovers cried, and the poets dreamed But not a word was spoken. The church bells all were broken And the three men I admire most- the Father, Son and the Holy Ghost- they caught the last train for the coast The day the music died. And they were singing bye, bye, Miss American Pie, Drove my chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry And them good old boys were drinking whiskey and rye Singing this'll be the day that I die; this'll be the day that I die. They were singing bye, bye, Miss American Pie Drove my chevy to the levee but the levee was dry Them good old boys were drinking whiskey and rye Singing this'll be the day that I die.
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