Bee-sting: Extra ‘i’ dooms team

By Darrell Laurant

Published: March 2, 2008

I'm sure Joe Della Penna and Geneva Jackson learned a lot from their participation in the fourth annual Executive Spelling Bee at the Academy of Fine Arts on Friday night.

Like everyone else, they learned how not to spell words like deutoragonist and novillaro and devouchment.

But by virtue of being on my team, they also learned two other things - first, don't believe everything that comes from the media; second, just because someone is older than you doesn't necessarily mean they know what they're talking about.

Amazingly, out of 15 teams entered in this benefit for the Alliance for Families and Children, it all came down to our trio (Team 10) and Team 2, composed of Dr. Mott Robertson of the Piedmont Community Health Plan, Susan Tatom of Rehabilitation Associates of Central Virginia and Joan Foster. Yup, Mayor Joan Foster, who was filling in for an absent speller.

As a larger group, we had not been distinguishing ourselves. When 10 teams remained after about an hour in the Academy auditorium, it was decided to switch to a more difficult level of words. For the next two rounds, only one team got even one of those words right.

"I guess it's time to go back to an easier list," said pronouncer Joe Stinnett, no doubt envisioning standing at his post until dawn.

Come to think of it, if this was really an "executive" spelling bee, then Joe should have been spelling instead of me - as the managing editor of The News & Advance, he's my boss. I'm not actually an executive over anyone. I can't even get my dog and two cats to take orders from me.

But there I was, along with Geneva (from NB Handy) and Joe (an employee of Cherry, Bekaert & Holland), both of whom were young and enthusiastic.

Marc Schewel was the emcee, as always, and he managed to slip in a dig while introducing every competitor.

Of Cara Dotson, daughter of City Council member Bert, he said: "Cara gets her looks from her mother, and her brains … from her mother."

To Harry Dunn of Genworth, he speculated that in the midst of the souring economy, the company would soon change its name to "Genworthless."

"And here's the real reason Joan Foster wanted to be mayor," he said. "Can you imagine what it's like going through life and never being able to see a parade- Now, as mayor, she can always ride in the first car."

The mayor, who is 4-foot-11, laughed as hard as anyone.

The pronouncer did manage to banish any trace of his native Amherst County accent. The problem was, his podium was set off to the side of the spellers and facing away from us, which meant his pronouncements were delivered directly to the audience and not the people who really needed to hear them clearly.

Still, early on, scribbling on a notepad, I correctly spelled almost every word that the other teams were given. I could tell Geneva and Joe were impressed.

That all went up in smoke, however, at the pivotal moment.

With only two teams clinging to life, the competition went into sudden death. The Robertson/Tatom/Foster trio promptly nailed a word that I can't read in my notes (something like "zapatiendu.")

So it was all up to us. If we got the next word right, we'd live to spell another round. If not, the mayor's team would take home the trophy.

"Plangency," Joe Stinnett intoned.

Huh-

"Plangency. Having the character of a loud, deep sound; the quality of being resonant."

It was like that tense moment in a close basketball game where the coach calls time out with two seconds left to set up a final play. We had a minute or so for discussion, and so we huddled.

"I think it's p-l-a-n-g-e-n-c-y," said Joe.

Geneva, who had bailed us out several rounds earlier by correctly spelling "pseudodoxy," agreed.

No, no, I said - it's a trick. At this stage of the game, words are never spelled like they sound. For some reason that escapes me now but made perfect sense at the time, I decided that "plangency" had some connection with "plaintive" and suggested that we insert an 'I."

"OK," said Joe, finally, and strode up to the microphone to face judges Paul McKendrick (the city school superintendent), Nancy Young (former CEO of the Alliance) and City Council member Mike Gillette, who had taken on the role of Simon Cowell for this panel (or maybe Chuck Barris from the Gong Show, since he blew into a New Year's Eve noisemaker-style whistle to announce wrong spellings).

"P-l-a-i-n-g-e-n-c-y."

Gillette shrilled his whistle.

"It's p-l-a-n-g-e-n-c-y," the councilman said.

Had there been a large amount of money on the line, it's quite possible that Geneva and Joe might have turned and stabbed me to death with their pencils. But all that was squandered was a trophy - and a little lost face for me.

E-m-b-a-r-r-a-s-s-e-d. I can spell that.

And fortunately, we lost quickly enough that the bar was still open.