“Bodhran — b-o-b-h-r-a-n — bodhran.”
“That is incorrect. The correct spelling is b-o-d-h-r-a-n.”
Almost before Mr. O’Neil was finished speaking, Daniel cut in, “Excuse me, Sir, but that’s what I said. That is exactly how I spelled bodhran.”
Mr. O’Neil looked over at his fellow judges briefly for confirmation before replying, “I’m sorry, young man. You said b-o-b. . . h-r-a-n.”
Daniel paused with incredulity, trying to decide how to comport himself. “Sir, with all due respect, you must have misheard me. I’m quite positive I said d. Could you. . . . Is it possible to play back the audio for verification?”
There were a couple of voices raised from the audience at this point — people calling, “Go sit down, kid.” and “You spelled the word wrong.”
Again the judges held a momentary consultation consisting of looks more than words. Mr. O’Neil spoke to the sound technician, “Phil, can you replay the word?”
“It’s ready as soon as you say go.”
“Thank you, Phil. Please, go ahead.
The recording, with the volume turned up, spelled, “Bodhran — b-o-b-h-r-a-n — bodhran.”
There was an awkward silence after the recording stopped. The judges were waiting for the contestant to acknowledge his mistake or leave the stage or something. The audience was less patient, with lots of feet shifting and whispering.
In his best calm, assertive voice Daniel spoke into the microphone, addressing the judges, “You must know that was completely unintentional. You’ve heard me spell enough words to know that was an utter slip of the ton-”
One of the judges interrupted Daniel’s explanation, “Son, it’s time for you to leave the stage now.”
Daniel was not leaving the stage. For the next three minutes, with his feet planted, he tried to argue his case, while the judges alternated between trying to reason with the contestant and trying to figure out if force was going to be needed to remove him from the competition. It was needed.
The school janitor, who had stepped into the auditorium to hear his niece take her turn, witnessed the present conflict and decided he could help move things along. Dave was a large, burly New Yorker, who knew how to exert a lot of influence with very few words. He quietly came up the side aisle, walked onto the stage, and over to Daniel at the microphone.
In the midst of his diatribe, the teenager seemed not to notice Dave. The judges did and stopped arguing.
“Hey, kid,” Dave said with a manner at once easy going and definitive.
Daniel looked over and his face fell in despair.
A mixture of applause for David and boos for Daniel came from the crowd as the janitor escorted the young man out of the auditorium. When the disturbance in the room settled down, the spelling bee continued.
What a different ending this story might have had if the people in the audience were united in support of Daniel’s claim. “The boy didn’t mean it.” “It was an accident.” “Don’t penalize him for some fluke mistake.”
How detrimental that would have been to all future spelling bees. I imagine it would have sounded their death knell. A competition is inherently social, and all participants have to follow the same external guidelines, regardless of their internal dispositions, if a competition with any meaning is to take place. Otherwise it would turn into a free-for-all.
Notice, it wasn’t necessary for Daniel’s knowledge or intentions to be brought into question. Because the wrong letter came out of his mouth, he was “guilty” of spelling the wrong word. This is a hard truth for some who reject the possibility of guilty acts existing alongside innocent intentions. Some people think strangling children should only be punished if the one strangling meant to do harm. . . or fully meant to do harm.
It seems to me changing the rules for spelling bees to allow for slips of the tongue would be far less dangerous then changing the rules for murder to allow for slips of the mind.
