Evan Morris <words1@word-detective.com> wrote:

From: "Evan Morris"
To:
Subject: The Word Detective, November 24 through December 5, 2003
Date: Sun, 16 Nov 2003 22:21:00 -0500

The Word Detective
By Evan Morris
Copyright C 2003 by Evan Morris
For Release: Monday, November 24, 2003


So much for there being no such thing as bad publicity. There was an
unusual lexicographic dustup in the news recently when Merriam-Webster
announced that the new 11th edition of its Collegiate Dictionary would
include the term "McJob," defined as "a low-paying job that requires little
skill and provides little opportunity for advancement." McDonald's CEO Jim
Cantalupo denounced the definition as a "slap in the face" to his employees
and demanded its excision. Merriam refused, quite reasonably pointing out
that the phrase, popularized in Douglas Coupland's 1991 book "Generation X,"
had been in colloquial use since at least 1986 and was already similarly
defined in several other dictionaries, including the Oxford English
Dictionary. As the dust now settles, two predictable results emerge:
Merriam has sold a few more dictionaries (a good thing), and McDonalds has
inadvertently introduced the term "McJob" to few million more people (a
phenomenon we might call "Fox News Blowback").

The entry of new words, especially slang and colloquial terms, into
dictionaries has often been contentious, and many linguistic conservatives
have questioned whether some additions to our dictionaries will, in twenty
years' time, still belong there. That much of our slang is ephemeral is
obvious, but that fact raises another question rarely addressed -- isn't
there a case to be made for preserving a record of yesterday's slang?

Presuming that the answer is yes, Oxford University Press has just done us
all an enormous favor by publishing "Dewdroppers, Waldos and Slackers: A
Decade-by-Decade Guide to the Vanishing Vocabulary of the Twentieth Century"
by Rosemarie Ostler (Hardcover, $25.00). Ms. Ostler's inspired idea was to
track the popular speech of the twentieth century -- the slang, colloquial
terms, occupational lingo and notable buzzwords -- by the decade in which it
was popular and, more importantly, to firmly embed the terms in their
historical context. Thus the chapter on the 1950s contains a remarkable
rundown of the military slang of the Korean War, that of the 1930s
spotlights the rise of drugstore soda fountains and provides an extensive
glossary of lunch counter slang, and the chapter on the 1980s surveys both
the ruthless terminology of corporate raiders and the arcane lingo of
hackers. Each chapter also collects and explains the high-profile buzzwords
of the decade, from H.L. Mencken's 1920s "booboisie" (middle-class idiots)
to "payola" in the 1950s to the "Ebonics" fuss (astutely explained by Ms.
Ostler) of the 1990s. And in the unlikely event that anyone out there pines
for the days of "smokies" and "breaker breaker," the chapter on the 1970s
even includes a detailed rundown of the lingo of citizen's band radio.







The Word Detective
By Evan Morris
Copyright C 2003 by Evan Morris
For Release: Wednesday, November 26, 2003


Dear Word Detective: The phrase "foot loose and fancy-free" is not used
much now, but I spent a few years during the early 1970s around Sumter, SC
where I frequently heard the phrase used. As I understand it, the lead man
in a prison chain gang has one foot loose (not chained, while the others had
both legs/feet chained). The lead man is the only one allowed to speak to
the Bossman, determines when to take breaks, sets the gait for all work,
etc. So if Joe is the lucky one selected to lead the chain gang today, then
Joe was "foot loose and fancy-free," a level of freedom outside the prison
walls, meaning unattached, carefree, to bordering on having a total lack of
responsibility. Not knowing anyone who'd admit to living close to anyone
who'd been on a chain gang in the 50-70s, I can't confirm the derivation of
the phrase. But maybe you'd know of someone who'd quietly admit that they
have first hand knowledge? -- Larry Lathrop, via the internet.

Do I know of someone with first hand knowledge of chain gangs? Well,
there's Dwayne, the guy who's been hiding out in our barn for the past few
months, but I'm reluctant to ask him too many questions. Maybe after he
finishes painting the garage and fixing the porch. It's so hard to get good
help these days.

But seriously, I don't happen to know anyone with chain gang experience,
although now that the U.S. has the highest per capita incarceration rate in
the world that may soon change. For readers in less justice-rich zones, I
should probably explain that a "chain gang" is a work team of convicts,
chained together at the ankles, usually employed in repairing roads or
digging ditches, especially in the American South.
In any case, that's a dandy story you've heard about "footloose and
fancy-free," but unfortunately it bears all the hallmarks of having been
invented to fit the phrase, and completely fails to explain the "fancy-free"
part. As it happens, "footloose" has been used to mean "free to act as one
pleases" since the 17th century, and simply came from the sense of being
able to go anywhere one wishes.

"Fancy- free" is even less likely to have chain-gang origins. The "fancy"
part originally, back in the 16th century, meant "love or romantic
attachment," so to be "fancy-free" was to be not in love and thus unbound to
any other person. Put together in "footloose and fancy-free," you have a
prescription for unfettered wandering.








The Word Detective
By Evan Morris
Copyright C 2003 by Evan Morris
For Release: Friday, November 28, 2003


Dear Word Detective: What is the origin of the word "hotbed"? -- Werner
Linz, via the internet.

Gosharootie, that's a good question. As a matter of fact, I happened to be
tidying up my email files earlier today and discovered that in just the past
five years I have received more than 35,000 questions about words and
phrases. So I went back to those files a minute ago and searched for
"hotbed," and apparently you are the first and only person ever to ask about
"hotbed."

What makes that remarkable is the fact that we all hear, and many of us use,
"hotbed" nearly every day. The world is apparently full of places described
as "hotbeds" of terrorism, Hollywood is supposedly a "hotbed" of liberalism,
the government is a "hotbed" of meddling bureaucrats, and even poor,
innocent Idaho is said to be a "hotbed" of survivalist nut cases. There are
so many "hotbeds" lurking out there that it's a miracle any of us get any
sleep.

As you can tell from the examples above, "hotbed" is not something you want
nearby. The Oxford English Dictionary defines "hotbed" (also sometimes
hyphenated as "hot-bed") as "A place that favors the rapid growth or
development of any condition, especially of something evil." In use since
at least 1768 in this negative sense, "hotbed" was vividly used as a
metaphor to describe the social fallout of tenement living by the social
reformer Jacob Riis in his classic 1890 expose "How the Other Half Lives":
"[The apartment house] became a regular hot-bed of thieves and
peace-breakers, and made no end of trouble for the police."

But this "evil" connotation isn't really fair, and not since Charles
Baudelaire's "Les Fleurs du Mal" (The Flowers of Evil, a collection of
fairly morbid poems) has horticulture gotten such a bad rap. For "hotbed"
originally was (and remains) a gardening term, meaning a framed bed of
earth, often heated by decaying manure and usually covered with glass, used
by gardeners to give seedlings a head start in early spring. That an
innocent gardening gizmo used to nurture tender little plants became a
metaphor for festering human evil is a little unfortunate, but probably
irreversible. The gardening kind of "hotbeds" are more commonly today
called "cold frames."

----------
Do you ever wonder where a word or phrase came from? Send your queries to
The Word Detective, P.O. Box 1, Millersport, Ohio 43046. We can also be
reached via e-mail at questions@word-detective.com. A free archive of
previous columns can be found at www.word-detective.com.








The Word Detective
By Evan Morris
Copyright C 2003 by Evan Morris
For Release: Monday, December 1, 2003


Dear Word Detective: Why don't we use the word "pule"? I like this word
and I have been integrating it into my vocabulary. My question is, how can
I (a mere commoner) initiate a program to get this word out to the people so
that it can be used rather than have it sit in the dictionary in obscurity?
I've thrown this word out to a few other media in hopes that it will gain
popularity and become a handy, common word. EBay has a few "puley" auctions,
for starters. Maybe I could rent a billboard and post my word up there and
let the people pull out their dictionaries and look up the meaning
themselves. -- Carole, via the internet.

Sounds like a plan. By the way, I'm not certain whether you meant that
"puley eBay auctions" literally, but I searched eBay for "puley" and only
found one item, a poster for a concert in San Diego featuring a band named
"Puley." Seems like an odd choice for a band name when so many better
monikers (Psycho Doormats, Dead Gerbils, etc.) are available.

"Pule" (pronounced "pyool") is indeed an interesting, useful word, although
I can't really imagine becoming attached to it the way I am to "flapdoodle"
and "nincompoop." As a verb, "pule" means "to cry or whine weakly or
plaintively, as a child," and the adjective forms "puling" and "puley" evoke
constant whining and whimpering. Maybe it's not a bad name for a band after
all.

The roots of "pule" don't do much for the word's image. "Pule" is probably
derived from the French dialect word "piouler," meaning "to cry or cheep" as
a chicken or the young of an animal might.

Although "pule" is rarely heard today, and then more in the UK than in the
US, it's been around since at least 1534 and was once quite common. The
British poet Thomas Carew (1589-1639), in his poem "To a Lady That Desired I
Would Love Her," wrote "Then give me leave to love, & love me too, Not with
design, To raise, as Loves curst Rebels do, When puling Poets whine, Fame to
their beauty, from their blubbr'd eyn." John Keats (1795-1821) also knew
"puling" when he heard it: "Men were thought wise who could not understand
His glories: with a puling infant's force, they sway'd about upon a rocking
horse, and thought it Pegasus."







The Word Detective
By Evan Morris
Copyright C 2003 by Evan Morris
For Release: Wednesday, December 3, 2003


Dear Word Detective: I have been trying to find out why British soldiers
are called "Tommies." I always assumed it was because they used Tommy
guns, a name deriving from the Thompson machine gun, but have recently found
out this wasn't so. These guns never made it across the ocean to the First
World War, so it can't be from that. I know the Irish Republican Army were
the first to use these guns in hit and run conflicts, but that doesn't make
sense either as to why that would start the trend for calling British
soldiers "Tommies." I am totally flummoxed. -- Maria Bradshaw, via the
internet.

Good question. It's the sort of question that has popped up in the back of
my mind several times while watching old war movies, but has never quite
percolated up to the level where I actually go looking for an answer.
Sometimes I worry about what else might be gathering dust back there:
brilliant inventions, stunning ripostes to insults, the perfect Christmas
gift for a relative (always thought of in July). But when I try to conjure
up these ideas in usable form, all I get are old episodes of Gilligan's
Island. I think I need to defrag my mind.

Onward. As you note, the Tommy gun wasn't available during WWI, so the
rat-a-tat-tat "Tommy" cannot be the source of the soldier "Tommy," by then
in common use. (The Thompson machine gun, incidentally, was actually
invented by John T. Thompson and John N. Blish, but I'm assuming that it's
no big mystery as to why this formidable weapon wasn't dubbed a "Blish
gun.")

As a matter of fact, the use of "Tommy" to mean a British soldier goes all
the way back to the early 1800s, and is actually short for "Thomas Atkins."
And who, one might ask, was Thomas Atkins to have his name immortalized in
such fashion? Simple -- he was the British Army's equivalent of our "John
Doe." Starting in 1815, British Army manuals and regulation books used
"Thomas Atkins" as the example name, especially for privates, on most
specimen forms. By the time they got through basic training, soldiers had
seen the name "Thomas Atkins" a thousand times, and within a few years
"Tommy Atkins" or just "Tommy" had been adopted in both military and
civilian life as a synonym for "rank and file soldier."







The Word Detective
By Evan Morris
Copyright C 2003 by Evan Morris
For Release: Friday, December 5, 2003


Dear Word Detective: A friend and I dine regularly at a favorite
restaurant, and we usually arrive separately. He almost always arrives
before me and gets the most coveted seat at our favorite table. Last week,
on the rare occasion that I arrived before him, I beat him to the best seat.
I then used the phrase "I turned the tables on you" when he showed up,
referring to my getting his seat. Of course, he knew what I meant. How did
"turn the tables" come to mean what it does? -- Ed H., via the internet.

Well, once upon a time there were two friends who often met for dinner at
their favorite restaurant....

I wish it were that simple. To "turn the tables," meaning to suddenly
reverse the relative positions of two competitors, has spawned a number of
theories as to its origin. "Turning the tables" is, of course, a staple of
stage, screen and novelistic melodramas from boxing sagas to intergalactic
invasion scenarios, and the phrase itself has been current since at least
the early 1600s.

Many explanations of "turn the tables" trace it to one or another board
game, such as chess, played on a tabletop. It certainly makes sense that
anyone losing a game of chess would fantasize about rotating the board 180
degrees, but this seems a rather thin premise for such an enduring phrase.
Another possible source, cited by etymologist Charles Earle Funk, might be
the game of duplicate bridge, in which players, after one round, replay the
hand previously held by their opponent, but this procedure doesn't really
match the sense of reversing a fiercely fought contest midway through.

One of the more inventive theories comes from the 1898 edition of Brewer's
Dictionary of Phrase and Fable, which declares: "The Romans prided
themselves on their tables made of citron wood from Mauritania, inlaid with
ivory, and sold at a most extravagant price -- some equal to a senator's
income. When the gentlemen accused the ladies of extravagance, the ladies
retorted by reminding the gentlemen of what they spent in tables." As the
plot of a sitcom, yes, but as an etymological theory, go fish.

To me the most convincing explanation traces "turn the tables" to
backgammon, a devilishly complicated and ancient board game which was, as
recently as the 17th century, known as (ta-da!) "tables." Apparently the
arcane rules of backgammon allow sudden reversals of fortune which can
rescue a player on the brink of losing and thus "turn the tables" to his or
her advantage.




--
Evan Morris
words1@word-detective.com
www.word-detective.com

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