The Churchville School Spelling Bee Looking back (through slightly cynical eyes) the annual elementary school spelling bee was a bit more sinister than it appeared at the time. By Bob Neubauer It all started innocently enough. Mrs. Payne, my fifth grade teacher, announced to the class one day that we were going to have a little spelling competition in the room. Nothing big; nothing we should study for; just a little contest to find the best speller in the class. I smiled. My spelling skills were top notch. I'd gotten "A"s on every spelling quiz that year. This would be a piece of cake. I would win the drill and boost my status in Mrs. Payne's eyes at the same time. The outcome, however, was different than I expected. I blew it. Oh well, I thought, as I drew another rocket in the space mural on top of my desk. It was only a stupid game. It didn't count for anything. Then sly old Mrs. Payne sprang her surprise. Grabbing a piece of chalk she ceremoniously scrawled "1975 Spelling Bee" on the blackboard. Then, with her proud hand on Bobby Rudolph's shoulder, she announced to the class that, because of his victory, Bobby would be the first of five people from our class to be entered in the school Spelling Bee, to be held in three weeks. Bobby beamed. The rest of us leaned forward and drooled. We were hooked. If only we had known better. In some strange way, I suppose, the annual Churchville Elementary School Spelling Bee was intended to be fun--much like tossing people to the lions was considered quite a blast in its time. Every spring, for a few brief weeks, the Spelling Bee became the talk of the school. In retrospect, we mustn't have had much else to talk about because the contest itself was one of the most boring productions ever to hit the stage. It consisted of 25 goofy 10-year-olds marching awkwardly, one by one, up to a microphone and mumbling into it. All day long. What a blast. There's more. Keep reading?