Spelling, a state of bee-ing

PETER BUFFA

Spelling. Are you good at it? I’m really good at it. Hate to brag,

but it’s true. I am a very good speller.

But last Thursday, in the final round of the National Spelling Bee

in Washington, D.C., I wouldn’t have been good enough.

The final round came down -- as it always does -- to the last two

spellers left standing from 264 national finalists, who were

themselves culled from millions of less spectacular spellers in local

and state competitions.

When the moderator went into his windup and hurled a 96-mph

fastball of a word at 14-year-old Scott Tidmarsh of South Bend, Ind.,

young master Tidmarsh ripped it, deep, deep, to the wall, to the

track -- back, back, back -- gone!

The word? “Autochthonous.”

Could you have spelled it? Me neither. Do you know what it means?

Neither do I.

But by spelling that odd little word, and I have no idea why I

said “little,” young master Tidmarsh pulled down $17,000 in cash and

a boatload of prizes.

I, on the other hand, would have heard the dreaded, tiny, tinny

bell the moderator uses to end dreams and break hearts. When you hear

that tinny, tiny bell, you just want to crawl into a hole and die. I

know. I have heard that bell.

When I was much younger, and much, much smaller, I was a spelling

bee terror in the village of New York from whence I came. I won the

annual competition at my own school, St. Francis of Rome in the

Bronx, more times than you can count. OK, twice. But my closest brush

with spelling bee glory was winning the Bronx finals. I was sure my

heart, or my head, or both, were going to explode before it was over.

In the citywide finals, I heard the bell. That’s all I can say at

this time. I have never gotten over it, I am still traumatized by it,

let’s leave it at that.

You may think spelling is dull and spelling bees are duller. It

isn’t and they aren’t.

Do you know what “bee” means, by the way? It’s a flying insect

that stings. I would have thought you’d know that. But seriously,

most people assume it’s called a “spelling bee” or a “quilting bee”

because you’re as busy as a bee (see “flying insect,” above) while

you’re doing it.

In fact, it’s a derivative of the Latin word “bene” or “well,” as

in “people who are exceptionally good at something coming together to

practice it.” Anyway, if you’ve ever seen the finals at the state or

national level, they are great fun. Adults spend a lot of time

worrying about the stress that organized sports places on kids. They

should try the finals of the National Spelling Bee.

If you saw Scott Tidmarsh deliver his winning “autochthonous”

answer on the Thursday evening news, you’d know what I mean. With

every letter -- with every “a,” “u,” “t,” and “o” -- he took a deep,

rasping breath, hyperventilating noticeably. It’s amazing he didn’t

pass out, which is exactly what the runner-up, 13-year-old Akshay

Buddiga of Colorado Springs, did.

In the sixth round, Buddiga was in the middle of spelling

“alopecoid” (it means “like a fox”) when he paused, started to list

badly to one side, then went down like a redwood whose time had come.

Incredibly, he popped up a few seconds later, waved everyone off

and started right back at “a,” and correctly spelled the word. The

audience leaped to their feet and gave Buddiga a standing ovation as

he was helped offstage for a medical check-up. A doctor gave him the

thumbs up, patted him on the cerebellum and sent him back onto the

field, where he was allowed to remain in his chair for the rest of

the competition rather than walk to the microphone.

Buddiga was eliminated when he booted “schwarmerei,” which is

German for “I’m warmer than you are.” That’s not true. It means

“unbridled enthusiasm,” like we didn’t know that. By the way, once

you make it to the spelling big leagues, it’s in your blood.

Buddiga’s brother, Pratyush, was the 2002 National Champion.

Who started all this, anyway? You can thank the Louisville Courier

Journal, which organized the first national spelling bee in 1925 to

boost young people’s interest and aptitude in spelling. I might have

had a shot in that first competition, which had a grand total of nine

finalists.

If the scribes in Louisville were worried about spelling in 1925,

they would be horrified today. I am continuously flabbergasted by the

misspellings you see these days in the media and in correspondence

from people who should know much, much better. And I’ve told you

before, “spell check” is a cancer across the land. You better not be

depending on spell check to make sure ewe no witch won is rite.

And now the time has come for “autochthonous.” Frankly, I’m

surprised anyone can pronounce it, let alone spell it. It’s usually

used in a scientific context, and that’s assuming it’s used at all.

“Autochthons” are the earliest known inhabitants of a particular

place, as in aboriginal people. In science, “autochthonous” describes

something that was found in the same place it was formed, like a

tumor or a lava rock.

Did Scott Tidmarsh know all that? Actually, he did.

After the competition, he said the reason he was hyperventilating

was not out of fear. Having spent months compiling a frighteningly

thick book of brain-twister words, when the moment of truth arrived,

Scott was praying he’d get a word from his Big Book of Big Words.

One of the first words in the book was -- “autochthonous.”

As soon as the moderator said it, Scott knew he was the 2004

National Spelling Bee Champion. Whew. Talk about reality television.

I gotta go.

* PETER BUFFA is a former Costa Mesa mayor. His column runs

Sundays. He may be reached by e-mail at [email protected].