In a Bob and Ray radio skit, one is reporting to the other from the Grand International Spelling Bee, where we listen as the word “Paleolithic” is spelled correctly until the very last letter is N. Next comes “interfenestration,” defined as the spacing of windows, again perfect till we hear C as the last letter. On the next week’s program, “propinquity,” meaning nearness, gets a D on the end, and “proximity,” closeness, is botched. These two guys are still funny.
When Ziggy appeared in a cartoon watching TV as he hears, “And in Oslo, Norway, today the Nobel Prize for spelling went to 12-year-old Sarah Jones of Oshkosh, Wis.,” I could almost believe it. Of course, there is no such Nobel Prize, but the TV screen is often filled with petty, inconsequential news made to sound big.
Anyone who has ever won a spelling bee has a high similar to that from winning any other competition. My brother and I made news in the Pioneer Times when we were both going to Caribou for the County spelling bee — he in the eighth grade for the junior high bee and I, a sophomore, for the high school bee.
Ina agreed to go with us, but another mother drove us all up and back. She had placed heated bricks on the floor in the back seat for our feet and heavy robes across our laps. In Caribou we saw thrilling results of the annual ice sculptures contest.
Now, I’ve been wondering if spelling involves talent beyond a simple ability. The internet is of little help. Perhaps it is possible to explain good spelling as a combination of visual perception, auditory perception, memorizing, rote learning and motivation. Ina and Porter were both very good spellers and expected us kids to be. We had the biggest-ever dictionary on a hassock, easy to use, on the front porch. I admit that my favorite page had little to do with spelling, but was full-color, glossy and showed all gems, precious and semiprecious. I loved opals, especially the Mexican orange ones.
Heading for the County bee, we knew two tricky words were “necessary” and “accommodate,” but Leonard went down on the former as Ina and I watched, stunned. I know not now what final word got me the big trophy that year or the next, when I took my second trophy home. Leonard would win his after I had graduated and left home.
A few months ago I wrote to SAD 29 School Superintendent Ellen Schneider, seeking a possible home for my trophies. She replied promptly that they could be displayed in the high school trophy case and, shortly thereafter, sent a photo she had taken of them in place.
My reaction to the placement of the trophies was to be jumping-up-and-down excited inside, just overjoyed at their appearing with trophies won by athletes. But at least I kept it to myself — till now, that is.
The photo is in a choice spot where I see it many times a day.
Byrna Porter Weir was born and grew up in Houlton, where her parents were portrait photographers. She now lives in Rochester, N.Y.
