Prodigious Crop

Dailies which subscribe to the North American Newspaper Alliance were privileged one day last week to publish half a column of disconnected words. Numbering 600, the words comprised the vocabulary of Carol Lynn Rowe, 20-month-old daughter of a Creston, Iowa dentist. Carol thus knew five times as many words as the average baby of her age. Dr. Wendell Johnson of the University of Iowa accorded her an Intelligence Quotient of 165 (normal: 100), called her a prodigy.

Some words Carol knows: lemonade, candy, ice, cream, lollypop, cigar, cigaret, tobacco, pants, pajamas, locust, katydid, Mae West, come, up, see, me, some, time, buzz, rhumba, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, nine, ten, seventeen, hippopotamus, lavatory, belch, sneeze, Jesus, pop, eye, goofy, flush, toilet, groceries, fruit, nuts, nertz.

What readers of the NANA story were not told was that Carol Lynn Rowe has been blind since birth. Savs her father:

"We have taken particular pains to explain her surroundings to her. We describe the things she touches, the things she tastes, hears and smells. That probably accounts in large measure for her vocabulary."

Most U. S. parents are only too glad to spread tales of their more or less prodigious youngsters. Out of a current bumper crop, the following are noteworthy:

Louis Miller, 6, is the pride of University of Pennsylvania psychologists because of his speed in solving arithmetical problems in his head. To the Press, however, he is the Philadelphia Pinochle Prodigy. Playing three-handed pinochle with a sly expression which makes him look like Jackie Searl, Prodigy Miller puts his mental agility to good use calculating the cards in his opponents' hands.

Vernon King, 13, of Salt Lake City recently titillated classicists by grouping some irregular Latin verbs with "u" stems into a ''fifth conjugation," making a plausible case for his "discovery." More versatile than most prodigies, he has also worked out an original demonstration of the fourth dimension (time). Bedridden since he fractured a knee playing hide-&-seek, he gets most fun out of chemical experiments.

Marvin C. Ettlinger, 9, son of a University of Texas mathematics professor, will be a senior next month in Austin (Tex.) High School. Credited by psychologists with a reading speed of 2,200 words per minute, Marvin has already covered the reading of a four-year college chemistry course. At his present rate of progress, he should have no difficulty in entering University of Texas at 10.

Philippa Duke Schuyler, 4, daughter of a Manhattan Negro writer, startles visitors by repeatedly spelling pneumonoultra-microscopicsilicovolcanoniosis,* informing them that it is the longest word in the English language. A forceful pianist, a determined rhymester, an avid reader of fourth grade books, Philippa has the added distinction of never having eaten cooked food.

*A lung disease contracted by inhaling volcanic rock dust.

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