Today I did a crossword by Bernice Gordon who was one hundred years old a few days ago. This is what I posted on the Rex Parker Does the New York Times Crossword blog:


I heard or read somewhere that orchestral conductors tended to live longer than people in other occupations. It would seem crossword construction would rival that, or so I have reasoned. Ms Gordon has done what "Life With Father" did, entering into her second century of constructing. Brava, Bernice!

I wonder if puzzles were graded Monday to Saturday in the 50s.
@r.alphbunker, I was in the third grade when that puzzle was published. I might have known balsa and mole but would not have had a hint to the other answers. That was a wonderful puzzle with every word standing on its own with nothing that smacked of "fill," existing only to create a crossing word. Ms. Gordon truly is a NESTOR of constructors!

Again, I say:

Brava, Bernice Gordon, many happy returns!


Third grade. I only have one memory of third grade: hating Mrs. Burns, my third grade teacher. 

I grew up on the fourth floor of an apartment building in Berkeley, California. Back then, it was two blocks from the Sather Gate entrance to the campus of the University of California. Years later, that block was razed to build the Student Union, but then, there were book stores and cafes and cigarette shops. I had some latitude as an eight year old and, after all, that urban environment was my back yard, that and the rest of the university campus which I roamed freely. In the book stores, they sold blue books for a few pennies. I had no idea what they were really for but they fascinated me. A little book I could write anything I wanted in. From time to time, with the pennies in my pockets, I bought a few.

I wrote a "play" in one of them and showed it to my mother. She was impressed. I took it to Mrs. Burns and showed it to her. Her response? "So what?" I was crushed.

Ok, so it wasn't really a play, it had no dialogue. It was more of a skit. There was a recreation center near my elementary school which I used to attend after school for something to do. They were mounting a talent show around about that time and I took my "play" there and showed it to them. They liked it and helped me put it on. They imposed changes on me that I wasn't real happy with but, hey, that's Hollywood.

Here's the gist of my third grade script: 
There is a model in a bikini holding an apple and sitting on a stool. The artist arranges and rearranges her pose until it's just right. He then begins painting. He stops once or twice to readjust the model's pose and then continues. when he's done, he puts down his palette and brush, shows the painting to the audience and then to the model who grabs it in anger and crashes it over the artist's head. Oh, yeah, the painting was of the apple.

I suppose there was some kind of biblical overtone there but I wouldn't put money on it.

I had to wear a stupid smock and a great big beret. In my grand dramatic vision, I saw Marylin Monroe in a bikini. The reality was a third grader in a poofy flowery 1920s bathing costume, complete with flowery puffed up bathing hat. Nevertheless we still got a laugh.