Toboggan to Psychiatry

As soon as the delegation had checked into their rooms at Washington's Hotel Willard, they sat down and wrote a joint letter to the manager. He had misspelled the word "loveliest" on some hotel signs.

That was just the sort of thing this particular delegation would notice. They were some of the 40 crack teen-age spellers, the pick of four million schoolkids from all over the U.S., in Washington for the 21st annual Scripps-Howard National Spelling Bee. The prize ($500) looked almost as big as some of the words they would be asked to spell.

On a muggy afternoon last week, the 15 boys and 25 girls (spelling is a literal-minded business) clustered around microphones in the National Press Club for the finals. After a few rounds of easy ones, the spellers began to trip. Escutcheon, toboggan, chrysalis, mollify, appurtenant, desecrate, diaphanous, discernible, penitentiary . . . (The master of ceremonies tried to soothe the kids who flubbed: "Too bad, Sara, you stayed up there real long.") Troche, scintilla, poliomyelitis, calyx, cirrus, piccalilli, lachrymose, geodesy, insipid . . . ("That's all right, Martin. I always spell 'insipid' with a 'c,' too.") Syllabus, addendum, flaccid, desiccate, accordion, surcingle, maraschino . . .

After more than five hours, only two contestants were left--14-year-olds Darrell Flavelle and Jean Chappelear. Jean, a blonde eighth-grader in the Ravenna (Ohio) Township School, had been boning up for weeks. She had been taking word lists on her baby-sitting jobs--and even to bed.

"Spell ponchol" said the master of ceremonies. Darrell took a deep breath and plunged: "P-a-u-n-c-h-o." Jean spelled it: "P-a-n-c-h-o." Both also missed on termagant and Pharisaical. Darrell muffed oligarchy, but Jean got it right. Then, rubbing a lucky penny, she rattled off psychiatry without a pause.

Before she knew it, people were shaking her hand and calling her "Champ." She planted a consolation kiss on Darrell's reluctant cheek. What would she do with the $500? Her mother thought she ought to save it for college. Said beaming Mrs. Chappelear: "I only finished high school. My husband almost finished college. I'm sure Jean will make it all the way, now."

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