
                         Roanoke Times
                 Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.

DATE: MONDAY, February 7, 1994                   TAG: 9402080011
SECTION: EDITORIAL                    PAGE: A5   EDITION: METRO 
SOURCE: Monty S. Leitch
DATELINE:                                 LENGTH: Medium

WATERSHEDS

LAST WEEK I wrote here of the little rivulet that runs through our woods, suggesting that its waters, when combined with the waters of Goose Creek, eventually reach the Chesapeake Bay.

Yesterday I received this note from R. K. Culbertson in Blacksburg:

``Unless the recent earthquakes in California have somehow redone Virginia's topography, you may want to recheck your map before heading for the Chesapeake Bay via Goose Creek. If your Goose Creek drains into the James River basin, you'll make it, but if it originates in Floyd County, as I'm led to believe, you'll reach the Albemarle Sound in North Carolina via the Roanoke River and have to paddle up to the Chesapeake! An interesting excursion, but not in winter.''

When I wrote about my rivulet's drainage last week, I was so sure I was right that it never occurred to me to look it up. This week, I've looked it up.

I am, of course, mistaken. R.K. Culbertson is, of course, correct. And paddling up the Outer Banks and Virginia's coast - in February or at any other time of the year - doesn't appeal to me at all.

Avoiding mistakes when you think mistakes might be made is one thing. Avoiding mistakes when you're so absolutely convinced you're right that you don't for a minute consider checking yourself is something else again.

In college, I undertook to win departmental honors by writing a massive (and massively pretentious) paper defining the nature of American literature. Studiously ripping off the work of eminent scholars, I concluded that the continent's landscape was a major factor in how we've always viewed ourselves, and, thus, in how we've always written about ourselves.

The word "environment" appeared in all my arguments. The word ``environment'' was central to my theme.

And I spelled it ``enviornment'' every time I used it.

Around 150 pages of undergraduate sputterings, as I recall, and on each and every one of them this key word was misspelled.

I won the honors I sought, but pity no doubt played a role.

I'm sure you've had this conversation.

You say, ``How do you spell ... ?'' and name the word you want in the blank. Minuscule. Herculean. Chesapeake. Receive.

The person whom you've just asked smugly replies, ``Look it up.''

Of course, in theory it's possible to look up a word you don't know how to spell. Sound out the first couple of letters. Take it from there.

But suppose you think you know how to spell the word in question. Suppose you not only think you know, you're so sure you know that the possibility of a mistake never enters your mind. You won't look up a word under those circumstances. You won't ask another person how to spell it. You'll blithely write ``enviornment'' every time, pleased with yourself for handling so many syllables successfully.

I welcome the aid of those who seek to keep me from looking foolish. I wish I could figure a way for recognizing all those times when aid would be well-advised. In the meantime, I hope R.K. Culbertson keeps reading this page with his sharp eye.

\ Monty S. Leitch is a Roanoke Times & World-News columnist.

by CNB