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I Was a Spelling Bee Loser — but I Won Anyway
Fifty years later, and on the 100th anniversary of the bee, a competitor takes stock
Rob Dobi
Fifty years ago, as an eighth grader, I competed in the Scripps-Howard National Spelling Bee (NSB).
I didn’t win. I didn’t even come close. But the adventure had an e-n-o-r-m-o-u-s impact on me. Since this week is the 50th anniversary of my bee experience and the 100th anniversary of the NSB itself, it seemed like a good time to check in with a few of my fellow contestants about what this annual competition meant to us, and what it may mean to kids today.
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An only child of a widowed mother, I was a reasonably well-rounded junior high student, but never part of the in crowd. I worked on my Illinois school’s newspaper, played clarinet in the band and participated in the school spelling bee — which I won. Next came the county bee, and from there I went to the regional bee in St. Louis, where I prevailed over dozens of contestants. My prizes included a TV, a Movado watch, a set of Britannica encyclopedias and an all-expenses-paid trip to Washington, D.C., to compete in the NSB. I had tasted victory, and it was sweet.
(From left) 1975 Scripps-Howard National Spelling Bee contestants Richard Spontak, Brian Throckmorton and Amy Blakely, the author of this remembrance. Today, Spontak is an engineering professor in North Carolina, Throckmorton is a retired editor for the Kentucky Legislative Research Commission, and Blakely is a freelance writer who previously worked as a journalist and media relations professional.
Courtesy Amy Ragsdale Blakely
The flight to D.C. that spring of 1975 was my first-ever airplane ride, and it heralded a week full of firsts. With my mom as my chaperone, I joined other spellers and their families at a whirlwind of parties and sightseeing trips. We visited the Smithsonian Institution, Capitol Hill, Arlington National Cemetery and George Washington’s home in Mount Vernon, Virginia. We even got a White House tour, after which first lady Betty Ford — beautifully coiffed and dressed in a smart salmon-colored suit — came out on the Truman balcony to offer some general greetings to our group, gathered on the South Lawn below.
Most of the contestants were like me: good students, but fun-loving and eager to enjoy every moment of the week. Our parents allowed us to roam our hotel, the stately Mayflower, and we used that freedom to have elevator races and explore every inch of the building. My fellow contestant Brian Throckmorton, now a retired editor for the Kentucky Legislative Research Commission, told me recently that he’d felt a special kinship with the other brainy kids. Back home, as someone who had known he was gay since kindergarten, “I was always one of the top two or three contenders to be the ‘weird kid’ in the class,” he joked. The NSB “was probably the first time that I had met a bunch of new people, and it worked.”
The actual competition took place over a day and a half in the hotel ballroom, which held a sea of families and news reporters. I struggled to keep my jitters in check each time I approached the microphone to spell. In the sixth and final round of the first day, I tripped on the word “onyx.” As a 14-year-old, I’d never heard of this semiprecious stone. I guessed “o-n-i-x.”
A clipping from a June 1975 issue of the St. Louis Globe-Democrat highlights the author's appearance at the Scripps-Howard National Spelling Bee in Washington, D.C.
Courtesy Amy Ragsdale Blakely
I left the stage feeling sad but also relieved. The stress was over; I could relax and enjoy the rest of the week. A few people told me they felt devastated when they were eliminated, but that time and life softened the blow. Still, whether they took the loss easy or hard, no one ever forgets the word they went out on. In the end, it was Hugh Tosteson Garcia of Puerto Rico who clinched victory on the words “brilliantine” and “incisor,” taking home the $1,000 top prize.
When I returned from D.C. at the end of the week, people told me I seemed different. And I was. My self-confidence had soared. I had walked into a group of strangers and made friends. I’d felt accepted and popular. And I’d experienced what it meant to show grace under pressure. Not winning had been a lesson in humility.
It’s an experience that has always stayed with me, through careers in journalism and public relations, and now as a retiree. A few years ago, I discovered a Facebook group for former NSB contestants. I scrolled through the posts until, to my surprise, I found a photo of myself with Throckmorton and fellow contestant Richard Spontak, now an engineering professor in North Carolina. (I was identified in the post as “a girl whose name I can’t remember.” That early lesson in humility continues to pay dividends!)
The photo piqued my curiosity, and I decided to try to track down everyone else who competed with me in 1975. Where had they ended up? And did they treasure their memories of the experience as much as I did mine? They wouldn’t be easy to find; 50 years is a long time. People move. Women take married names. Some folks simply disappear.
But my experience as an investigative reporter kicked in. Starting from my scrapbook of the event, I pored over old newspaper stories, scoured Facebook and LinkedIn, and even searched through online obituaries. To date, I’ve located 74 of the 78 contestants who competed with me in the 1975 NSB. Of them, I have interviewed 48. Three are deceased; four declined interviews. I still have hopes of talking to the other 19 for a longer project I’m working on about the bee.
The spellers I’ve reached are an accomplished crew. One former 1975 speller is an Emmy Award-winning creator of visual effects software used in movies, TV shows and music videos; another shows award-winning Appaloosa horses; there are multiple doctors and lawyers and nonprofit founders. Many former spellers still tune in to the national bee each year to marvel at how sophisticated today’s spellers are, how difficult the words have become — and how glad they are to have competed in simpler times. (If you want to see how stiff the competition is, this year’s finals will be streamed on ION on May 29.)
Peter Francis, an oncologist in Northern Virginia, told me the NSB taught him the importance of dedication and focus. Peggy (Long) Brozovich, who lives in Michigan and works in health care, says the NSB probably taught her as much about life as about words. “I learned that I can’t give up on my dreams,” she said, “and to be happy with many of my accomplishments.” And Kent Hartman, a longtime math teacher from San Diego, said that spelling bees underscore life’s unpredictability: “No matter how much you prepare for anything, there is a factor of luck. Don’t fight it. Keep your sense of humor.”
As for our year’s winner, Hugh Tosteson Garcia, who according to online profiles is a historic researcher, translator and editor, he’s one of the people I haven’t talked into an interview — yet. But I’m a fairly determined person, so I’m hoping he’ll come around. As Brozovich discovered all those years ago, you can’t give up on your dreams.
AARP essays share a point of view in the author’s voice, drawn from expertise or experience, and do not necessarily reflect the views of AARP.
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