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Will Weng's farewell puzzle

Will Weng's farewell puzzle
Credit...The New York Times Archives
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February 27, 1977, Page 210Buy Reprints
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Will Weng, left, and Eugene T. Maleska.

The puzzles on the following page are the last to he edited by Will Wang, who is retiring this week at the age of 70. Below, Weng's thoughts about his ups and downs — and acrosses — and those facing his successor.

By Will Weng

One can hardly call eight years as a puzzle editor much of a career. Some might even say that any number of years as a puzzle editor isn't much of a career. But it has seemed like a lifetime to me and I have enjoyed every minute of it.

Well, almost every minute. I wasn't too happy a few months ago when I let Erica Morini be described as an actress instead of a violinist, which instigated a flurry of mail to answer. Or when I described Peter Pan's land as Never‐Never, last summer. Somebody slapped my wrist for that, and I had to reread half of “Peter Pan” to realize that Peter's place was Neverland. Nary a Never‐Never in the book.

And so it has gone. Call an igloo an abode in Alaska and you get a letter saying there are no igloos in Alaska, only in Canada and Greenland. The writer was kind enough to back down a bit in a follow‐up note. He had learned since that igloos didn't necessarily have to be made of ice, so there could he some stone or sod ones in Alaska.

And coping with all the new nations. The gazetteer says that Dacca is in East Pakistan, and that's how it got defined in a puzzle, but it isn't. It's now in Bangladesh.

And finding out that many people refuse to let words take on new meanings. The newer dictionaries give “childish” as one of the synonyms for jejune, but define it that way in a puzzle and you hear from every diehard who ever read a wordusage book.

And one must remember never again to call the Lusitania a victim of a 1J‐boat. “Only people are victims, not inanimate objects,” said one reader. This time the dictionary refused to support me.

But, in the main, the eight years have brought a pleasant relationship with solvers, even those with complaints to make.

Some letters are sweet music: “I cannot tell you how much joy and relaxation the puzzle has given

And some aren't: “I used to enjoy The Times puzzle but I am now finding it more of an exasperation than a test of mental agility.”

And others voice generalized complaints. Lefthanded solvers keep demanding equal rights and want the definitions printed on the right‐hand side of the diagram, so the definitions won't be covered by the writing hand. When The Times changed to a six‐column format a while ago, the puzzle accidentally did have the definitions on the right. This lasted two weeks, after which the complaints of the righties won out easily.

And so I bequeath to my successor these minor joys and headaches. I also bequeath him my office chair. The padding has worn through and the springs are beginning to get sharp. But I know better than to ask for a new chair. If I got one, it would be filched after one day. I have been on The Times ever since 1930 and have never had a decent place to sit. While other corporations economize on pencils and paper clips, The Times saves money on chairs.

And to the solvers I bequeath a few theories about puzzles. Don't be conscience‐stricken if you use dictionaries, atlases and such in doing a puzzle. It's your puzzle and you can do it any way you please.

Don't let it bug you if somebody else solves a puzzle in half the time you do. That person is probably one who gulps down a gourmet French dinner too. And don't expect puzzles to teach you anything. They are for pleasure only.

And to myself, I bequeath the hope that I can put out an occasional book of puzzles with both hands instead of having to moonlight. And maybe to concoct an occasional puzzle of my own, if I can find anybody who will take a geriatric effort.

And who is your new editor? He is Dr. Eugene T. Maleska, a former assistant superintendent of schools in the New York City system, a former English and Latin teacher, and in between all that a poet‐200 of his poems have been published.

He is the only person in the system to have a school named for him while still alive. It is the Eugene T. Maleska Intermediate School (IS. 174) in the Bronx.

Nobody thought much about the name choice at the time. Dr. Maleska was a respected educator, and deserving of the honor. But when the school board had to pass on the name, the answer was no—no schools could be named for living persons. Where did it say that in the rules? As it turned out, it didn't. So the name stayed and the rules were changed, leaving Gene as one of a kind in the school system.

A native of Jersey City—a Capricorn of 1916 vintage—Gene went to Montclair State College in New Jersey, where he met his wife‐to‐be, Jean Merletto. They were a familiar couple in the chemistry classes, and their classmates called them Chromosome. (For those who don't know any chemistry either, a chromosome consists of two genes, or something like that.)

Throughout his 33‐year career in the New York City school system, Gene kept composing crossword puzzles for newspapers and magazines, and putting out books of puzzles. He has produced enough to cover the walls of the Pentagon—and all have been done with meticulous care, and a sense of humor.

I hope he takes his new job seriously, but not too seriously. He'll soon find himself ensconced in an ivory tower and will have to think of amusing things to say to himself. ■

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