As we walked to the microphone, I noticed something strange: The umpire had a dictionary. This meant a tiebreaker round.Īfter all the other teams cleared the stage, we were called to go first. But because of our intense practice session, we managed to finish with a perfect score.
#THE NECKLACE DATELINE SERIES#
Then, in a series of 10 “innings,” we had to spell read out by a “pitcher” and accept the judgments of an “umpire” who repeatedly reminded us that her decisions were final.Īll seven of our competitors were strong, and they missed only a few words. The Saturday event started as you might expect a baseball-themed adult spelling bee to start: We had to jog out on stage and sing “Take Me Out to the Spell Game” as the audience laughed at us. Then, not wanting to make a fool of myself in front of them, I cleared my schedule and devoted myself to studying the word list for three days straight.īy Friday, I had memorised enough words to partially mask my incompetence as we quizzed each other. I also suggested a Friday practice session. I quickly sent an emergency e-mail to my teammates to warn them about the difficulties of spelling in this modern age.
What if the publisher heard about it? Would he send me to a spelling conference? Would I lose my job to a primary school student? What if Beacon readers found out that I couldn’t spell my way out of paper bag? Would they stop reading? This meant I was in a pickle: I’d promised to compete in the contest, but my reputation as an editor was at stake. With a sinking heart, I understood that technology had made me too lazy to spell. (This happened, in fact, when I typed “semblence” in the preceding sentence.) Now, I just type a semblance of a word and let my computer’s automatic spell-checker do the rest. As a child, I actually had to spell on a daily basis. In fact, I couldn’t spell simple two-syllable words that I’m sure I would have aced back in primary school.
To my embarrassment (a word that I was shocked to learn has a double R and a double S), I soon realised that I’m not the speller I thought I was. Half joking, I gave my girlfriend the list and asked her to quiz me. “Back when I was the undisputed spelling champion of Gateway Elementary School, I used to spell words like ‘zyzzyva’ and ‘ichthyophthiriidae’ every morning before breakfast. “Who needs a list for words like these?” I said. It was about 50 pages long, but it included mostly easy words, such as “yacht,” “rainforest” and “novice.”Įven the hardest words didn’t seem to pose much of a problem: “kaleidoscope,” “liaison” and “Paracetamol,” for instance. “What kind of a spelling bee has a word list?” I thought. When I registered for the event, I was asked to come pick up the word list. But I signed him up anyway, along with a friend who teaches English at H. Looking back on it, I think he might have been speaking to someone else on the phone. Then I approached Beacon Business Editor Jason Smith. “You could win a fancy necklace for a year, like Miss BVI,” I told another. “You could win a new car, like the first-place calypsonian at Festival,” I told one Beacon reporter. I immediately started trying to find other good spellers for the three-member team that was required for the Saturday event.
So when I learned a few weeks ago that the BVI Reading Council was planning an adult spelling bee, I was thrilled. Now I make my living as a newspaper editor. For most of my life, I considered myself a good speller.Īt my primary school in Travelers Rest, South Carolina, I won the class spelling bee year after year.
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