I loved these spelling bees. One time, when I knew there was going to be one the next day, I spent much of the previous night reading the dictionary looking for tough words. I randomly came across "pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis". It was only in Webster's 7th Collegiate, I found; other dictionaries only offered the short form, "pneumoconiosis". But I knew I had my word. I spent all night writing it out, rehearsing how to pronounce it, researching the meaning, looking up "black lung" and other related mining-related diseases. I did my homework on this word.

The next day, at the spelling bee, sure enough, when it came to my turn to challenge the kid at the front of the class, I spoke, in a very deadpan tone, asking him to spell, "pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis." The class shrieked and laughed. The teacher said no way is that a word. I had my dictionary with me. I showed the teacher. It was a word. Sure enough, I stumped the kid and got to go to the front of the class. The teacher told me to spell the word out on the board. This was one of those wide, wide chalkboards which extended from one corner of the room to the other -- and this was a wide room. So I went to the far left side of the board and began writing in huge letters, "p n e u m o n o . . ." all the way across the board to the far right edge, walking along as I spelled it out. Then I turned to look out at the class. The faces of the kids as well as the teacher were a mixture of awe and confusion, as if they were a moment away from figuring out the punch line of a tricky joke they'd just been told. Then they all let out a huge laugh, and I joined with them. It was indeed hilarious to look at how big that forty-five-letter word was.

Long story short, I won that spelling bee, and as far as I can recall, we never had another one after that.