Her classmates in the fifth grade knew her as Loutricia Newberry, but to almost everyone else she was the spelling girl.  That she was known at all outside the fifth grade was surprising since she was such an unlikely celebrity. She was so quiet and unassuming that you could forget she was there most of the time.  In fact, had she not found her surprising niche, she would have remained largely anonymous.  But for some mysterious reason, she could spell words that most of us couldn’t even pronounce.  It was an esoteric skill to be sure and likely would have gone unnoticed except for the National Spelling Bee, an annual ritual that shined a spotlight on precocious spellers like Loutricia.

I believe that it was Mrs. Harris, our fifth-grade teacher, who discovered Loutricia’s talent.  The scuttlebutt was that Mrs. Harris was strange, and she was every fourth-grader’s worst nightmare.  When I found out that I was going to be in her class, I dreaded the approach of school more than usual that August.  As it turned out, Mrs. Harris was unorthodox, but wonderfully so, and we did all sorts of fun things.  One of my favorites was a weekly spelling bee.  We would line up along opposite walls and spell until only one was left standing.  I was nothing if not competitive, and I loved it.

Except for those spelling bees, I wouldn’t have thought much about Loutricia.  After checking out the competition, I had assumed that I would win most of the spelling bees.  There was always the chance that I’d get one of those devilishly impossible words that the Spelling Bee is famous -- or infamous -- for and go out, but I didn’t expect it to happen often.  But, it did.  Oh, I won sometimes, but I lost more often.  It was obvious that Loutricia had a special talent.

Mrs. Harris noticed it too and cultivated it.  Whenever possible, she would send Loutricia and a classmate off to the relative quiet of the coatroom to practice spelling.  As the weeks passed, Loutricia became unbeatable in our classroom bees.  I never quit trying though, and I imagine that she benefited from having someone push her.  I don’t like to admit it, but I probably benefited from losing too -- especially to someone that I had so thoroughly underestimated. 

Sometimes, though, I lamented that it was unfair that spellers had a national stage while whizzes in other obscure pursuits remained anonymous.  I couldn’t figure out why the Spelling Bee, begun in 1925, hadn’t spawned a host of imitators over the years -- like a Geography Bee, for example.  Let’s see how many foreign capitals Loutricia could name -- not to mention assorted straits, isthmuses and peninsulas.  She might spell Reykjavik but let her try to find it on a map.  I was sure that I knew more geography than Loutricia or any other kid in the entire school.

But, alas, no one seemed to care much about geography in 1957.  It was spelling or nothing.  And I couldn’t out spell Loutricia.  She would get to represent our class in the local spelling bee and bask in the spotlight for a moment.  It wouldn’t be easy though.  The Spelling Bee included students from fifth through eighth grade, and Loutricia would be one of the youngest contestants.  It was the intellectual equivalent of David vs. Goliath. 

But, in classic underdog fashion, Loutricia stood her ground, dispatching every challenger until she was the last speller standing: first, at Ashford School; then, in Houston County.  Her win at the county level qualified her for the State Spelling Bee in Birmingham.  Nothing this notable had happened in our little town since “Shot” Johnston signed with the White Sox. And Loutricia could no longer be spelled a-n-o-n-y-m-o-u-s.  

Loutricia's word finally came up in Birmingham, and she missed out on a trip to Washington, D.C. for the national Bee, but it hardly mattered.  The spelling girl was a local celebrity. 

But, not for long.  Spelling’s not exactly sexy, and nobody pays any attention at all except for a few weeks every spring.  So, soon enough, Loutricia faded into the background again.  I often wondered if she wanted it that way since she seemed content enough in the shadows.  I do know that Loutricia taught me an important lesson: Never underestimate the competition.