Vol II, No 1 [May 1975]

INTER ALIA: II.1.1

Pursuing the problem of language and misrepresentation, attention is called to an article in The New York Times [February 2, 1975] by Boyce Rensberger, “Scientists Find Public Is Often Misled by Faulty Research Data.” It begins:

Scientists, like others, have an ax to grind; to secure support for their projects, they frequently rely on sensationalism as much as others do. It is up to us to assess the validity of what we read and hear; that is particularly true of subjects of which we cannot be expected to have a detailed, technical understanding.

ETYMOLOGICA OBSCURA

□ We frequently assume with names that seem to describe a feature in an obvious and appropriate manner that the feature is the direct source of the name. Here is an item from The New York Times, 10 August, 1963, p. 5: “And Mr. and Mrs. Sanford have mailed engraved and crested invitations for cocktails at Ideal View. They named their Saratoga house for a horse rather than the view of the golf course nearby.” [Eric P. Hamp, Univ. of Chicago]

□ “In the eighteen-fifties… a man named Henry Yesler built a lumber mill at the bottom of the steep slopes running down to Elliott Bay [in Seattle]. From the top, the settlers and their oxen dragged logs down to Yesler’s Mill, and the path they followed became known as ‘Skid Road.’ …Taverns, bawdy houses and cheap hostelries clustered in the area to cater to the lumberjacks and sailors…. The name Skid Road… is generally considered the origin of the term ‘Skid Row,’ which is applied to derelict districts across the land despite Seattle’s continued protests that it is a base corruption.” [Douglas E. Kneeland, The N. Y. Times, 23 Mar. 1975]

The Art and Technique of Citation Reading

Laurence Urdang, Editor, VERBATIM

The uninitiated often wonder where lexicographers find the words they list and describe in the dictionaries they compile, edit, and revise. Nonprofessional and unprofessional dictionary compilers may often get them from secondary sources, but “creative” lexicographers, bent on basing their work on original research, rely on the accumulation of large quantities of citations that illustrate the occurrence of words and expressions with enough context for the researcher to determine the meaning and use of a given word.

Earlier lexicographers, particularly Johnson and the original editors of the Oxford English Dictionary, devised and perfected the practice of gathering citations. But the OED is a historical dictionary and its editors were generally satisfied with any citation that provided evidence for the earliest use of a word; if meaning and usage were also illustrated, so much the better.

The purposes of the modern lexicographer are usually quite different. In many cases, he may require that a word be embedded in sufficient explanatory text to reveal as much of its meaning as possible. Some words have transparent meanings, occasioning little difficulty for the definer. For instance, the neologisms stagflation (an obvious blend of stagnation and inflation) and neonatology (the study of neonates, or new-born infants) have obvious meanings. But what of disintermediation? To be sure, it has something to do with ‘eliminating an intermediate,’ but its application in the field of finance is far from obvious, and the definer must seek the aid of a specialist, in this case someone familiar with finance.

Many periodicals, when introducing a neologism, are careful to give it a gloss. The New York Times is to be commended for its efforts in this respect, and it goes even further by providing explanatory comments (if not outright definitions) for most of the terms, new or old, that may be unfamiliar to its readers.

The OED, which, as we said, is a historical dictionary, was based on something like six million citation slips. However, many of its citations yield little semantic information. For example, without the definition, “Unconformable to the common order; deviating from rule; irregular; abnormal,” it would be almost impossible to derive from the following citations the meaning of anomalous:

Contrast the citations given in Merriam-Webster Third International (1961):

Citations for names of ostensive objects, e.g., apple, dog, microbe, are worthless for defining purposes, though they may provide vital evidence for the existence of a term.

Both dictionaries give workable definitions, but we are discussing citations here, and the point is that unless either the definer already “knows” the meaning(s) of the word or determines its meaning(s) from some other source, it is highly unlikely that the sense(s) could be derived from the citations. (Because the OED sometimes uses definitions from other dictionaries as citations, those citations are generally more useful for deriving meanings, though they may offer little in the way of context for purposes of determining syntax and grammar.)

The OED citations were gathered by thousands of readers recruited from the ranks of the general public. Needless to say, some readers were more adept than others at ferreting out valuable citations. Also, some read a great deal more than others, and the quantities of citations produced varied greatly from reader to reader. My experience with citation readers has shown that those who use English as a second language–that is, those who are not native speakers–are sometimes more adroit at identifying new or unfamiliar senses of common English words than are native speakers. Neologisms, on the other hand, are more readily identified by the native speakers, perhaps because nonnative speakers seem to lack the security of being able to admit they are ignorant of a word, which, for all they know, might be a common word in the language.

If a given neologism or new sense for an old word (e.g., the slang sense of dig ‘understand’) appears only once, it may be a nonce coinage or use, and, if so, it is important to know that fact. Therefore, once a citation has been prepared, it is not enough to stop there, for the frequency of use of the word or phrase becomes a matter of equal importance. For example, if the engineers at Bell Laboratories had coined the word transistor and used it only in their original research reports, that would be interesting, but scarcely as important as the word’s subsequent extraordinary frequency in the language, evidenced by its widespread use. In using a citation file, the lexicographer pays close attention not only to the fact that a word or phrase occurs at all but also the number of citations gathered for it and to the variety of publications from which they were culled. Another factor to be reckoned with is the “exposure” of the work from which the citation is taken, for a technical term appearing ten times in a highly specialized monograph dealing with computer circuits is less important to the general-dictionary lexicographer than its one-time appearance in The New Yorker or The New York Times. By the same token, the regional distribution of a term is of importance to the lexicographer: it is more likely that words dealing with, say, oil drilling will have a higher frequency in the U.S. southwest than in the northeast.

The modern citation reader is not, necessarily, just an intelligent speaker of English, though that, obviously, constitutes one of the criteria. A more basic requirement is a familiarity with the language sufficient to be able to guess whether a new word selected for citation is already in the dictionary without having to waste time looking it up.

It is essential that the citation-reader include enough surrounding context from the original material to make the clipping meaningful, for the collection of citations is not merely the compilation of a word list.

A more-or-less standard form for citations is a 4" × 6" slip of paper (slips are usually used because cards take up very much more room in filing cabinets) to which is fastened the clipping (using only “Scotch Magic Tape”–the frosted, not the transparent kind) and on which the cited word is written in the upper left-hand corner with the source and date marked in the lower left-hand corner. Here is a typical citation form:

One splendid effort in 1971 featured districts that looked like giant chickens, districts that looked like coiled snakes, and districts with remarkable pimples in their boundary lines, zits that popped up to include the home of one liberal incumbent in the district of another liberal incumbent.

The individual citation-reader collects these and sorts them into alphabetical order.

All sources of language, written or oral, are grist for the citation mill. Needless to say, the early citation-readers for the OED had no access to radio, television, and recordings; but that has changed, and citations from broadcast material are today quite as important as those from printed matter, especially when it comes to pronunciations, though those require an expert phonetician for their accurate transcription. The form used would be the same, the difference being that the text would have to be written out longhand (or typed) in the space usually devoted to the printed citation.

If any of our readers are interested in conducting their own citation research and in accumulating files, the principles laid out in this article should be sufficient to make a beginning. We at VERBATIM are interested in such collections and those with the time and inclination to become involved should write to us for further information at VERBATIM, Essex, Ct. 06426.

Bureaucratic Possessives

Elbridge Colby, Charlotte, Vermont

In the 1890s a board of scientifically-minded men declared hostilities against the possessive form of American place names. In one twelve-month period, the apostrophe disappeared from 1,665 town names in the U.S. Postal Guide. The “Board on Geographic Names” contained no linguist, no American historian, not even a hillbilly. The geologists and geographers on the Board have steadfastly maintained that they give full consideration to local usage. I suppose they would have us believe that over a thousand towns dropped their apostrophes in a single year!

Included in the discard was the apostrophe in Martha’s Vineyard. Her people launched a year-long campaign for its return and, with the aid of the governor of Massachusetts, got back their prized apostrophe. Theirs was the only victory.

Up in Vermont, the residents of Thompson’s Pond were not so lucky. Local citizens, the town selectmen, and the State Library, which by law has jurisdiction over place names, tried to restore the apostrophe, citing usage as their defense. Across the state is Joe’s Pond, named after an Indian of Revolutionary times who lived on Joe’s Island in the middle of the little lake. In both instances, in spite of the protests of citizens, town government, and the Library, the Board on Geographic Names in Washington continues to drop the apostrophe on Geological Survey maps. No Vermont governor has been willing to intervene.

The “most unkindest cut of all” came when a mountain above the Winooski River, called Camel’s Hump, had its name adopted for a new middle school. Architects and school officials (not teachers) did their “research” and placed on the outside wall in huge lettering “CAMELS HUMP MIDDLE SCHOOL.” Future generations of young scholars will pass under that nonapostrophic label every morning for years until they pass on to the high school, where their English teachers will have to work to undo years of subconscious training in bad spelling.

Nor is Vermont the only state to suffer. Down in Mencken’s “Free State” of Maryland, you can find St. Mary’s City, St. Mary’s River, St. Mary’s County, and St. Mary’s College on federal maps, all lacking their proper apostrophes. However, residents include them on their stationery, the county commissioners use them officially, and the English Department of the college still teaches the use of apostrophes with proper names, in spite of the bureaucrats upriver.

INTER ALIA II.1.2

Many Cinqs

To the Editor:

Apropos of David Alpern’s problems with French in Canada,…I am reminded of the experience of a friend of mine visiting in northern Quebec. He ordered Sanka in place of coffee–and got five cups of coffee.

Bro. Francis Huethler Christian Brothers Novitiate Providence, R. I.

[from The N.Y. Times, May 13, 1975]

INTER ALIA II.1.3

We were struck by the incongruity of the spelling of consensual vs. ?_consentual_ or _consentaneous_ or _consentient_ in a _N.Y. Times_ article [3 Feb. 1975] the headline of which reads “Judge Supports ‘Consensual Sodomy.’ ” The proper legalism is _consensual_, notwithstanding its sensual over (or under) tones…. _The N.Y. Times_ [27 Feb. 1975] published an article by William Safire “On Political Similes,” in which the author suggests replacing the old cliches (e.g., _happy as a lark, snug as a bug in a rug,_ etc.) with some refreshing new expressions, modeled on a comment made by Birenda Bir Bikram Shah Dev, at his coronation as the new ruler of Katmandu: “I will be popular like the raindrop. I will be friendly like the sun.” Safire suggests (among others) these types: (rhyming) _cheeky as a chic sheik;_ (personal characteristic) _unassailable as Nader;_ (categorical) _leaky as a Senate committee;_ (situational) _as greasy as a public opinion poll_…. _The Times,_ which is, obviously, read with some regularity around here, discussed [27 Feb. 1975] the legalities concerning the information required by the U.S. Treasury Department’s Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms of all vintners and distillers marketing their products in America. It is legal, it appears, to conceal the name of the manufacturer of a wine or spirit by using a registered trade name in its place. All of which explains why the United Farmworkers, who are in dispute with Gallo over representation of grapepickers, have filed a complaint with the Federal Trade Commission charging that the commercials for Madria Madria Sangria, made by Gallo, are misleading because they don’t say so. Legal or not, of course they are misleading…. We wish we could reproduce the exchange that appeared in _The Los Angeles Times_ [16 Dec. 1974 and 25 Dec. 1974] “Letters to the Times” concerning Alfred Connor Bowman’s consternation at “…the growing predilection of men whose prime business is the use of words for using in place of the right word another of totally foreign meaning which merely happens to sound or look like the right one.” Mr. Bowman takes to task such pairs as _cohort/companion, allay/alleviate, assuage/appease, aura/era, avid/acid_ [criticisms], _blatant/flagrant, foment/ferment, impute/impugn,_ etc., all of which were represented at some time in _The L.A. Times_. The replies by readers (apparently _The Times_ didn’t want to risk a rejoinder of its own) are amusing…. Dr. H.M. Truby reports that _pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis_, with 45 letters, is outranked by _aequeosalinocalcalinoceraceoaluminosocupreovitriolic_, with 52 letters. And it can hardly be called the “latest” contender for the longest word in English: it is attributed to Dr. Edward Strother, who coined it to describe the spa waters in Bristol, England. When? In 1700!…. _The New York Times Magazine_ [9 Mar. 1975] published Theodore M. Bernstein’s “I Favor the Doom of Whom,” an attempt to give its quietus the (_New Yorker’s_) “Omnipotent Whom.”… We are ineluctably drawn to the conclusion that the so-called Creative Directors of the Madison Avenue ad agencies are bent on Creative Logic, Creative Grammar, and Creative Syntax. Note our recent gleanings: “Nobody cares as much about you as Schraffts”; “Coffee Brandy ice cream–a refreshing after-dinner apéritif”; Datsun offers a “39 miles-per-gallon” model…. Leo Rosten’s “Diversions,” a regular feature of _Saturday Review/World_, records the following (among others) from his memory bank of trivia: “In Africa, when the natives tell their young the story of Hansel and Gretel, the witch’s house is not made of cake but of–salt; for salt is much more highly prized in Africa than cake ever was.' ”

Mr. Przybysz and the Czech O’Shaunnessy

Leonard R. N. Ashley, Professor of English, Brooklyn College of the C.U.N.Y.

“I’m not mentioned at all,” says a character in John Osborne’s play, Look Back in Anger, “because my name is a dirty word.” But most people’s names are used a lot, and much to their pleasure. As Byron wrote, “ ‘Tis pleasant, sure, to see one’s name in print.” If a man hears his name used, he’s interested. If he overhears it, his ears prick up. Even if it used in an unflattering connection, he generally feels it is better to be singled out than not noticed at all, and the publicity-hungry say they don’t care what you say about them as long as their names are spelled right.

There is legal property in a name–and magical property, too. God Himself wouldn’t give his name (He just said, “I am”), lest it give the hearers magical power over him; for a name can be used, the superstitious believe, just like hair, or fingernail parings, or other bits for voodoo dolls. Your name is you. Genealogy (even when derided as “the science of fools with long memories”) uses your name to explain your ancestry. Modern psychologists use your name to explain your personality. You may have a name to live down or a name to live up to. Your name affects the way others treat you and the way you think of yourself. In the Old Religion (witchcraft) or the new one (psychology), names are power.

In Mencken’s The American Mercury, in June 1932, Howard F. Barker reported that one in every 85 Americans was then named Smith and that the next most common American surnames were Johnson, Brown, Williams, Jones, Miller, Davis, Anderson, Wilson, and Moore, but that the Smiths included many Schmidts, Smeds, Haddads, and Kowalczyks; the Johnsons many Johanssons, Jansons, and McShanes; the Browns many Brauns, Braunsteins, and so on. In New York City, it was reported, the most common names then ran: Smith, Cohen, Miller (some formerly Muller, Muhler, Möller, Millar, etc.), Brown, and Schwartz. Mencken was quick to point out that many “American” names were of German origin: Waldo from Waldow, Poe from Pau, Armistead from Armstädt, Custer from Köster, Pershing from Pfoersching, and Hoover from Huber. The so-called “Teutonic plagues,” which at one time saw Eisenhower in America, Diefenbaker in Canada, the Battenbergs in Britain, etc., or (to bring us up to date) the days of Haldemann, Erlichman, et al., are nothing new.

In a country where the Czech name Ocenásek (diminutive of “Our Father”) was changed to O’Shaunnessy and where a terrified arrival at Ellis Island said (in Yiddish), “I don’t remember,” only to be given the name Fergusson, the history of surnames can be colorful. A Swedish immigrant named Esbjörn entered the Union Army in the Civil War as Esbyorn and was mustered out as Osborn. Mencken notes that many new Americans translated their names into English–Podelsnik into Underwood, Alessandro Smiraglia into Sandy Smash–or altered them– Moiseyev to Macy, Blumenthal to Bloomingdale–in the same way that elsewhere the Blumbergs had become the Montefiores.

More recently, the change has been in the other direction: LeRoi Jones has become Imamu Baraka; Cassius Clay, Muhammad Ali; Lew Alcindor, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. I recall the television interviewer who, trying hard to be polite to the late Malcolm X, kept calling him “Mr. X.” Today, probably nothing is more “American” than the combination of an African given name with, say, Johnson or Washington to exhibit a mix of cultures in a full name. At Brooklyn College, for instance, it seems as if Jews bear the forenames Scott, Brian, Stuart, Bruce, Norman, Seymour, Sidney, Morton, Morris, and Milton more often than do those with Anglo-Saxon surnames.

What’s your name? What does it mean? Where did it come from?

The study of names–onomastics–is a fascinating one. Of course, you may come up with facts you don’t like or didn’t expect (as might happen when you start to trace your ancestors): Calvin means ‘bald’; the surname Best once was Beast; if your name is Bradley, you may be related to the Chickahominy Indians of Virginia (all of whom bear the name and seem to be descended from a very prolific early colonist); if you are named Esposito, Benedetti, de Angelo, della Chiesa, or della Croce, one of your ancestors was probably abandoned on the steps of an Italian church as an unwanted baby. If your name is Marlowe, you may be (very distantly) related to the Elizabethan dramatist Christopher Marlowe (who never spelled it that way) or, possibly, to some Finns (Määrälä) who adopted the name. If your name is Macgregor or Ruthven, you may or may not be pleased to learn that your name was once illegal. If your name should be Grugno, you have a story to tell about Cardinal Grugno, who became Pope Sergius IV in 1909 and who is said to have introduced the custom of pontiffs assuming a new name on accession to the throne of St. Peter: since his name meant ‘swine-snout,’ a change was felt to be in order. On the other hand, in 1940, when Albert Przybysz of Detroit legally changed his name, he changed it to Clinton Przybysz.

You may become a collector of other people’s names, treasuring Ima Hogg (“Houston social and cultural leader,” according to The New York Times), Conway Twitty (country singer), and the man named Uren who changed his name to Wren (1897)–not to mention ecdysiasts who invent such wonderful names as Rachel Prejudice, Sybil Rights, Candy Barr, and Norma Vincent Peel. Many a serious onomastician has begun by collecting odd names for fun, together with the stories that go with them. Just one here: Robert Graves gives us the epitaph for a man named Longbottam who died young: “Ars longa, vita brevis….”

Reviews: MACMILLAN DICTIONARY FOR CHILDREN

William D. Halsey, Editorial Director,Christopher G. Morris, Editor. Macmillan, 1975

Let the dictionary first define itself: “A book that has words of a language arranged in alphabetical order, together with information about them. This dictionary tells what words mean, how they are spelled, how they are used, how they are pronounced, and where they come from.” And how does this one measure up? Very well, on the whole. It gives more than this quiet definition promises, not only in what it presents, but in how.

Assuming age 12 as the limit of “child” is easier for the child than for the elders (it makes us all that much older); but some of the MDC definitions are hardly childlike. For example, diaphragm, 2: ‘A disk used to change sound into electrical signals, or to change electrical signals into sound. It is used in telephones and microphones.’ Thus the “for children” in the title might well deprive this book of some of its most responsive and needful readers. Oh, for the day when the stuffier world of letters breaks down and owns in print the best word we have, the one we all use: This is a kids’ dictionary–and kids is a word they use, accept, and are reluctant to part with.

MDC is a pretty good book, with information on etymology and pronunciation and definitions that don’t depend on the well-done illustrations. The definitions are, on the whole, well-said, concise, and helpful, and not condescending. They make the way to an intermediate dictionary easy and natural. The definition is given first, immediately after the headword which–praises be!–doesn’t bother with the traditional and usually unetymological syllable breaks. Then come verbal illustrations, which are generous, and then the headword again, followed by pronunciations, parts of speech, and plurals or past tenses. Etymologies are not provided for every entry, but are given for some of the interesting and simple ones, e.g. pasteurize, kindergarten. Also helpful is a note occurring at homophones, e.g. knight says: “another word that sounds like this is night.”

The definitions and the words selected for entry are basically sound; but limiting a plumber to water pipes is pretty narrow, and defining Nazi in terms that make one sound no worse than a Whig or a Tory seems odd; so does restricting the definition of Jew to ‘A person whose religion is Judaism.’ The definition of reservation won’t delight Indians; and defining middle age as 40-60 without specifying old or young is amusing.

Kids sometimes go to a dictionary to look up words that scare or puzzle them and that they instinctively don’t ask adults. MDC does quite well here with the likes of cancer, divorce, and alcoholism; it is less helpful on sex. Though male, female, mammal, and breast are well said, pregnant is not even entered–a ridiculous omission in a book that defines tetanus, overture, and marsupial. Religious bias, if any, seems Christian. Crucifixion, Mass, Christmas, and Easter are all in; Passover is, but not seder, menorah, Purim, Yom Kippur, Rosh Hashanah–and Israel and Israeli are defined with no mention of Jews.

A happy forward-looking note is the inclusion of metric definitions, e.g. at kilometer, meter, gram, liter. Some headwords are followed not by definitions but simply by a series of verbal illustrations: the, and, to, yet, but, is are handled thus. Some of the verbal illustrations are less than helpful. At calico: “Sara has a calico cat.”

Pronunciations try to be fair, but essentially represent eastern U.S. Praises to the realistic “poinsetta” in the same moment of bewilderment over the pedantic 3-syllable notation of licorice, though both the -iss and the -ish forms are given.

A brief practical test, based on ten words chosen at random from Charles M. Schulz’s Snoopy Come Home (1962) and The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (1973 printing of the first of C.S. Lewis’s Narnia Chronicles), shows MDC doing fairly well by both authors. Narnia’s reindeer, enormous, pillar, hatchet, exclaim, shrug, and larch are in; sledge (a vehicle), Turkish De-light, and rampant are not. From Snoopy…, the notorious mad punter is covered at mad but not at punt or punter; and when the question is, “Is there no stopping that fiend?”, MDC omits fiend. The definition at vulture, on the other hand, is excellent; stew, burglar, ancestor, and frustrated are all right; loathe is left out; and though the word doesn’t occur in this book, Linus’s friends will miss the ophthalmologist.

…which brings us to the pictures, where kids are presented in various shapes and colors, and several are wearing glasses. The sizes of the pictures are often out of proportion, especially in the natural history area where trout and whale are both 2½” long; some illustrations are too cluttered–the stoop is barely visible, since it is filled by six people of various colors plus a dog and a cat, and for good measure there’s a white man and a caged bird looking out the window.

But by and large, MDC is a good dictionary for young readers. It is less helpful for young hearers, since profanity, obscenity, and ethnic slurs are all absent. Perhaps it’s about time we aired these and said point blank that they are offensive?

Audrey R. Duckert, University of Massachusetts

Reviews: APES, MEN, AND LANGUAGES

_Eugene Linden, Saturday Review Press/E. P. Dutton & Co., Inc., 1974

In 1966 R. Allen and Beatrice Gardner, behavioral psychologists at the University of Nevada at Reno, began teaching a young female chimpanzee, named by them Washoe, how to communicate with them via the American Sign Language, or Ameslan, one of the sign languages used by the deaf in North America. Five years later, when Washoe could use 160 words singly and in combination, she moved with Dr. Roger Fouts, who had been the Gardners' chief assistant, to the Institute for Primate Studies at Norman, Oklahoma. There she joined a colony of chimps who were being taught Ameslan. They live in part with human teacher-families and in part on their own island. They can communicate with both humans and with each other using Ameslan. As far as their teachers, certain behavioral scientists, and author Eugene Linden are concerned, they have language. This, in summary, is the content of part one of Apes, Men, and Language.

It has been known for years that, intelligent as they are, chimps are not apt students of human speech. The Gardners rightly guessed that their experiment might have better results if they made use not of the chimps' vocal but of their motor and gestural skills. In spite of their success with Washoe they did not push the idea that Washoe now had language. For what she could do didn’t seem to them at first to match what linguists have called language. In fact, a number of linguists and psycholinguists were quick to deny that Washoe had language, only to have to backtrack eventually on their nonacceptance of the high level of her talents.

Now it is no secret among professional linguists that no one has defined human language in such a universal way that one can say to everyone’s satisfaction that this is language and that is not. So to this reviewer disputes and hard feelings have been both unfortunate and, in the long view, unnecessary. Linguists will simply have to re-emphasize the requirement that speech enter into the definition of language as they study it. For the major difference between humans and chimps as far as communication is concerned is that the chimps just don’t have the proper equipment (supralaryngeal tract, to be technical) to speak as humans do.

As an anthropocentric linguist, I want to put in a word for man. It is humans who have taught chimps a new way to communicate, not vice versa. And they have used as the medium for this communication a gestural language, which, as far as I can see, is a surrogate for English. (Traditionally linguists do not devote their primary energies to speech-surrogates.) To Linden I would say that some of the communication between man and chimp he describes is what has been going on between pets and their owners through the ages. And to the researchers in this significant area I would say that it is a pity that the gestural system of chimpanzees in their native habitat, noted by some observers, has not yet been studied. We may learn more about chimps from seeing how they communicate naturally than how they handle human sign-language.

To me the second part of the book falls below the level of the first when Linden presents himself as an evaluator of historical trends and social critic. He sees a revolution in the behavioral sciences wherein the Platonic view of man as separate from nature is being replaced by the Darwinian view of man as part of it. He thinks that the Platonic view has allowed man to exploit nature and is heartened by the Darwinian philosophy that has led to the founding of the Animal Behavioral Society, whose members he characterizes as young and vigorous, with a propensity for life and research in the wilderness. Perhaps I am a bit hard on him here, but the current back-to-nature movement of the young that thrills him may be more of a fad than his youth leads him to believe. In any case I am certainly sympathetic to the aims of this new Society.

It is only youngsters that have been taught to “sign.” They are an interesting group, each with its own personality and intelligence. Charming drawings of them by Madelaine Gill Linden, the author’s wife, add to the attractiveness of this volume, which, I daresay, will have a major impact.

Karl Rosen, University of Kansas

Reviews: NEW ACRONYMS AND INITIALISMS 1975

_Edited by Ellen T. Crowley, Gale Research Co., 1975

As some of our readers may know, since 1953 Gale Research Company has published a series of valuable reference books, like the Encylopedia of Associations (9th edition, 1975), a Directory of Special Libraries and Information Centers (3rd edition, 1974), Contemporary Authors (containing bio-bibliographical information on more than 38,000 current authors), and others. The volume under review here is a 1975 supplement to The Acronyms and Initialisms Dictionary (4th edition, 1973) that includes a 1974 supplement.

We usually define an acronym as a pronounceable word made up of the first letters or syllables of the name of an organization, product, etc. Thus, familiar acronyms as Jeep (GP vehicle = General Purpose vehicle), Nabisco (National Biscuit Company), radar (radio detecting and ranging), laser (_light a_mplification by stimulated _e_mission of _r_adiation), etc. We are not quite certain what the editor of NAI means by ‘acronym’ for, in the Foreword to NAI she refers to MFSB (Mother, Father, Sister, Brother) as an acronym, and it’s bevond us how one pronounces MFSB as a word ([?]?). She also identifies WFL and WTT as acronyms, though we couldn’t imagine pronunciations other than [\ill] and [\ill]. Those, to us, are abbreviations. Abbreviations are distinguished from acronyms in that they consist of only the initial letters of a title name and are usually unpronounceable (except as a sequence of names of alphabetical characters), like NBC, CBS, and ABC. There is, it must be acknowledged, an area where the two overlap as in SNCC, normally an unpronounceable sequence, which is actually pronounced [snIk], and in AID (American Institute of Decorators) and ACTH (_a_drenocorticotropic _hor_mone), which though quite pronounceable, never are in practice. This overlap, however, can be resolved by proper linguistic research that would determine whether a given item is, in fact, pronounced as a word or as a sequence of names of alphabetical characters. Unfortunately, NAI doesn’t resolve this question, for it simply lists the entry and follows the listing with the fully spelled-out form, offering no further information.

As a reference book, its value is thereby undiminished; but as anything but an unedited list of acronyms and abbreviations its usefulness to the linguist and lexicographer is limited by the paucity of attendant information.

This Gale book is expensive if the purchaser considers only such factors as composition, paper, printing, and binding. But when consideration is given to the fact that Gale’s is the only game in town, the price must be evaluated in terms of how badly one needs the information it contains: if you cannot do without it, New Acronyms and Initialisms is not too expensive at $30 for a 131-page, large-format, softcover book. (Incidentally, NAI, at $30, contains 19,000 terms, while the Acronyms and Initialisms Dictionary, at $27.50, contains 103,000.)

Turning to the entries themselves, little can be added to this review save to comment on the amusement and speculation raised by some of them. One would think that an abbreviation or acronym comes about not only because the original term is too long but because it is very frequently used in conversation, or writing, or both. Therefore, we were somewhat mystified by the circumstances requiring shortening of terms like Amicale des Anciens Volontaires Français en Espagne Republicaine (AVER), Business Office Must (BOM), Flat-Tile Roof (FTR), Mean Time Between Unscheduled Removal (MTBUR), and Stealing Takes Everyone’s Money (STEM)–the last of which we can imagine no context for even when freeassociating.

There is no doubt that English and other languages have added to their lexicons through the use of acronyms, and New Acronyms and Initialisms, together with its predecessor, can provide a valuable collection for study of this aspect of word-building.

Reviews: A CONCORDANCE TO THE POEMS OF ALEXANDER POPE

compiled by Emmett G. Bedford and Robert J. Dilligan, Gale Research Company, 1974

A concordance is a detailed index of all or most of the words in a literary work or in the collected works of an author. In an earlier issue of VERBATIM [I, 3, 6], we had occasion to offer a brief review of The Harvard Concordance to Shakespeare, compiled by Marvin Spevack and published by The Belknap Press. Of course, everyone is familiar with the many concordances of the Bible that have been published. Before us is a concordance to the poems of Alexander Pope, including his translations of the Iliad and the Odyssey. Why this seeming preoccupation with concordances?

To the linguist the values of concordances are manifold. Since most concordances are prepared for classic works of literature–that is, works read by an enormous number of people at some time during their lives–the lexicographer seeks the concordance as a source list for words to which a substantial number of speakers of the language are exposed. These words may not be in the speakers' speaking vocabulary, but they are very likely part of their reading vocabulary, hence form an important base for the selection of entries for a dictionary.

Linguists interested in style in language have developed techniques for analyzing the lexicon and syntax of writers to determine the authorship of anonymous or disputed works of literature; they use concordances as an aid in identifying individual authors. To some extent, those familiar with the writings of certain authors may be able to say, “That sounds like Milton,” or, “I can’t imagine that Swift wrote anything like that!” The use of computer-generated concordances coupled with grammatical and syntactic analyses developed by linguists concerned with stylistics provides a systematized procedure for doing much the same thing.

Again, the linguist specializing in the history of the language can easily trace a given lexical item with the help of a concordance or a series of concordances, for the compared rank frequency of a word in a variety of concordances can yield considerable information about its history.

The work at hand, an impressive, two-volume concordance based on the Twickenham edition of Pope’s poems, lists 20,892 words that are illustrated by 269,625 lines of text. In the Appendix are set forth a clear statistical summary derived from the analysis of the completed concordance, a list of words in (descending) order of frequency, and the distribution and type/token ratios in the entire work. [Type means an individual word; token means the total number of occurrences of that word. The ratios between them (type/token ratios) reveal important information about the way the language is used by a given author.] The first volume contains an alphabetical list showing the frequency of each word in the poems of Pope, followed by the main concordance, which lists under each of the alphabetized headwords the lines (indexed) illustrating all of the instances of the use of the headword. In keeping with common practice, the words of extraordinarily high frequency (like a, and, but, the, etc.), although counted, are not illustrated.

All this is more or less standard among modern concordances, but that in no way diminishes the value of the present work. In fact, the more concordances made available to scholars, the more useful comparisons among them become, adding immeasurably to our continually expanding knowledge of something we all use in all our activities almost every day of our lives but of which we still know so little–language.

ETYMOLOGICA OBSCURA

□ “Captain [Hazelton] Seaman’s design [in 1836, for a round-bottomed, kayaklike duckboat to be used in the bays of southern New Jersey]…[was] originally called… ‘The Devil’s Coffin.’ Baymen using them to sneak up on waterfowl quickly amended this to ‘sneak boat’ and probably because sink boxes–boxes sunk under the water–were popular, the name finally settled on sneakbox.” [Zack Taylor, The N.Y. Times, 23 Mar. 1975]

□ A couple of comments on VERBATIM I, 4: The royal family word “hoosh-mi” (p. 7) for the nursery mixture of chopped meat, potato, and gravy is obviously from hoosh (OED: slang, 1905, ‘thick soup’). My Scots-New England grandmother used the word in the thirties to mean oatmeal with meat or vegetables added. I’ve used the phrase “Pas de lieu Rhône que nous” as a reverse shibboleth. The better your French, the longer it takes to get it. [Dan Lufkin, Ph.D., Frederick, Md.]

Letters {F.W. Doolittle, Jr.}

VERBATIM [I, 3, 4] gives examples of words with senses that are antonyms. One is inflammable, used in the senses of ‘not flammable’ and ‘highly flammable.’

Two solutions for avoiding the confusion between the two in-s come readily to mind: 1. Where the negative is intended, trade the ambiguous in- for non- or un- (e.g., “…that all men…are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights”). This is probably nonpracticable, since the present usage is widespread. Many would consider such a trade nonelegant or unept (though perhaps not unseemly). 2. Where in- is merely for intensification, drop it altogether (flammable is a perfectly respectable word) or substitute highly. But this latter usage is also deeply grained in the language, and my suggested solutions might be thought not to provide sufficiently high tensification.

The prospect, therefore, is of nonaction, continued confusion, and further fun for all.

Incidentally, what is your source for the use of impregnable in the sense ‘pregnable’? It’s easy to sense the “action” (cf. in medias res), but I don’t find the usage in the OED. Perhaps I need an “American” English dictionary. _F.W. Doolittle, Jr., Towson, Maryland

Mr. Burchfield replies:

impregnable

The usual adjective in the OED, 1. Of a fortress or stronghold: that cannot be taken by arms (illustrated by quotations from 1430 to 1885); 2. fig. That cannot be overcome or vanquished (1582-1862), ‘we are impregnable in our furs,’ ‘A man politely impregnable to the intrusion of human curiosity,’ is not being joined in the forthcoming second volume of A Supplement to the OED by the etymologically unrelated impregnable ‘able to be impregnated.’

When we dealt with words in impr- we had no examples of this new use and the position remains unchanged. My scientific colleagues looked at the 1970-73 KWIC indexes of the Biological Abstracts, the decennial and quinquennial indexes of the Chemical Abstracts, and various textbooks on embryology, including avian embryology, and have not found the word used in print. It looks as if it is not commonly used though printed evidence of its currency presumably exists somewhere as the word is treated in Webster’s Third and in most other American dictionaries.

The feeling here is that if anyone ever needed such a word, impregnatable would be the obvious form–as Fowler suggested in Modern English Usage in 1926.

We must be behind the times since the only comments on the word in our files are anecdotal. One of our readers (she is in her seventies) still laments the use of impregnable at all because of the presence of the unetymological -g-, and went so far as to suggest that the writer of the following example was ‘illiterate’:

And another wrote ‘And how!’ at the bottom of the slip containing the following example:

R.W. Burchfield, Editor, Oxford English Dictionary Supplement

Letters {Frank B. Moorman}

In your remarks in Ex Cathedra of VERBATIM [I, 4, 2], I think you are too easy in your dismissal of the role of radio in selling. Along with that, you seem to be underestimating the damage to language caused by listening to the radio. I earn my living from this broadcasting medium, and the problem worries me as I work at my job and listen to other radio stations.

Radio is more a part of people’s lives than many probably expect. How many automatically turn on the radio as they get up and get ready to go to work? How many turn on the radio in the car? And how often is the radio on just to provide some background noise? It is a subliminal communication, less direct than television, so it might seem less obnoxious; but I am willing to bet that it has its own brand of effect on people’s attitude toward language and their use of words.

One suburban radio station in the New York area, considered even by its competitors as one of the best of its size, referred to a gift store in its area as “the most unique shop of its kind.” This error was compounded by a second use of the same expression to advertise a similar gift shop about fifteen minutes later. In another advertisement, the same writer referred to a line of swimming pools as being “at a price competitive with pools that are far less superior.”

Nor should the newscaster be left uncriticized; I include myself in this not only because I am one, but also because I am not as semantically pure as I would like to be. The reporters of the business are the ones who repeat the expressions and misuses invented by politicians, bureaucrats, lawyers, and others (such expressions as Vietnamization). They also make their own mistakes, since they are not necessarily educated above the average (whatever that might be). Indeed, education does not have all that much to do with their mistakes, because I know broadcasters who did not get beyond high school who have a greater respect for language than many of those who have been to college. The mistakes of the newscasters are compounded by the general attitude toward them that they are authorities, not only on the subject they are reporting, but also on anything they happen to touch, including language.

Let me offer a few insider’s comments about what the individual can do about this. First, find some others who feel as you do: nothing will work unless there are several people pressing the same point. I suggest there is little hope in writing the FCC: it moves very slowly, and usually only in response to heavy, well-organized pressure. Don’t expect too much from letters to senators, congressmen, or the networks: they are far removed from such things and also respond only to heavy pressure. Chances are much better with the local TV and radio stations, particularly outside of New York: they need the local audience much more than the larger networks, and tend to be a little more responsive. But don’t forget the local advertiser himself: dealing with the national companies can be hopeless, but local dealers need the business. If one advertiser gets the idea he is going to lose customers because of his obnoxious commercials, he might be inclined to ask for a change. Never forget that the profit motive can sometimes be used to a customer’s advantage. Frank B. Moorman, Bedford Hills, N. Y.

Letters {G. J. Grieshaber}

…Anent “Family Words in English” [VERBATIM I, 4], my wife formed her own word for too much hustle and bustle: hecticity, an almost natural word formation and better than hecticness. Everyone uses FHB, but only our family uses KB! When we are served a drink consisting of one small jigger of bourbon plus 10 to 12 ounces of water and ice, that, to us, is a KB. So obvious–a ‘Kidney Buster’! G. J. Grieshaber, Lackland, Ohio

Letters {Michele W. Fletcher}

Allen Walker Read’s enjoyable article on family words forced me to concentrate for a bit to think of my family’s coinages. Out of a possible list of ten or so, I’m offering one to the larger language community.

One Sunday morning, shortly after my family had moved from Boston to Knoxville, Tennessee, my mother announced to us that, according to the newspaper article she was reading, there were more phee-dees in Knoxville than there were in Cambridge, Massachusetts. When my father asked what on earth a phee-dee was, she was stumped, finally saying, “You know, a phee-aitch-dee.” Needless to say, as a family that boasts three college professors, including my mother, we found this slightly foolish word uniquely appropriate and have adopted it as our own. Michele W. Fletcher, New Haven, Ct.

Letters {James J. Storrow, Jr.}

Why does the British sovereign identify her/himself as “Dear Edmond Wright”?

Why did those leaders nod to Penn Station?

What economic group was Abe Lincoln addressing at Gettysburg? Was he telling farmers: “Force corn, save into ears to go”? Or, as I suspect, was he addressing the financial analysts: “For scorn, savings to your escrow!”? Of course there are those who hold Lincoln was a closet podiatrist: “For his corns eventually has to go.” (Remember his syntax occasionally slipped.)

You–or someone you know–have invented a challenging new and semantic indoor sport that deserves a name less sick than “phonatics.” Perhaps the Persian Gulch, Wadi Dhesai would do.

Seriously, I am enjoying VERBATIM very much indeed; best wishes for success from your fellow publisher. James J. Storrow, Jr., Publisher, The Nation

Letters {Evelyn M Perdue}

Of course we’ll subscribe again! VERBATIM is the most delightful item the mailman delivers. Continued success to all concerned.

How do you like this [“phonatic”] effort?: Un petit d’un petit s’attend du alle, Un petit d’un petit à degré val. A le quinze sources A le quinze main Coup dent peut un petit d’un petit Dégat de regain.

Evelyn M Perdue, Peterborough, Ont., Canada

This Peculiar Boston Accent

Mary Louise Gilman, Boston, Massachusetts

Can a small-town girl from Kansas and Indiana make good as a reporter in the wilds of Greater Boston, with its strange welter of pronunciation and idiom? Well, she can, but it’s not easy.

“Pray your Honor’s judgment,” said the lawyer.

“Mavvit,” ruled the judge.

This curious exchange struck my ears in the first few minutes of my first court case in Massachusetts; in Middle-sex Probate, to be exact. (It was in 1955; we were up here while my husband attended Harvard Business School. I was an experienced reporter–but only in the American language.)

Dazed, I kept my mouth shut and continued writing. But after the same thing recurred a time or two, I hit on the translation:

“I object.”

“Objection overruled.”

Courtroom language tends to be rather formal around here, and a lawyer often objects by praying his honor’s judgment. But either his honor’s enunciation was a bit informal that day or I wasn’t tuned in. He was simply saying, “He may have it,” that is, that counsel might have his question answered.

I got out of that one without showing my ignorance. But other and more dangerous linguistic pitfalls lay ahead.

Besides the Harvard interlude, I now have nearly twelve years' full-time residence in the area to my credit, so I feel equipped to analyze Boston’s baffling language. It’s the marriage of the misplaced r and the unpredictable a, I have decided, that gives Bostonese its peculiar flavor and so frequently bewilders us auslanders. Down South they drop their r’s, but they don’t pick them up and use them later to link words (or syllables) containing two consecutive vowel sounds: Yeste’day ahfte’noon we sawr a man drawring cahtoons.

Does the witness mean Dr. Brancha (pronounced Branker) or Dr. Branker (pronounced Brancha)?

There doesn’t seem to be much inclination in these parts to pay even lip service to the lowly r when it precedes a strong consonant. Perhaps it’s considered uncouth to give r its full value in combination like rd, rk, rl, rn, and rt. Well, the lost r may one day ruin my professional reputation–by converting the word that’s meant into an unrelated sound-alike–but it doesn’t offend my ear as does the gratuitous r found in the practice of lawr in Boston! (I suppose it would sound like anarchy to say I could do without lawr-and-awder.)

I started out with the common misconception that the Boston a is always broad. In truth it’s often down-right narrow. Sure, Bostonians say cahn’t and tomahto; that’s no bother. But when the unbroad a teams up with the elided r, a real teaser can result. Many people–more women than men, it seem to me–pronounce park almost like pack. Thus if your hostess suggests you pa’k your bags, you’d better know whether you’re coming or going. Speaking of bags, my face must have gone blank the first time I met a Boston baggin. The divorce-case libelant (as they’re called here) was tearfully testifying that, from being accustomed to buying her clothes in the most exclusive shops, she was now reduced to grubbing for baggins at the Baggin Shop. Who would expect bargain to rhyme with wagon?

Just to confound the confusion, people around here aren’t necessarily consistent among themselves. (Incidentally, I’m talking about native citizens, not those whose speech patterns are modified by Irish, Italian, or other influences.) Some of them pock their cars. I was saddened when a neighbor told me that a man down the street had “taken a hat attack.” Another friend confirmed the report: it was indeed a serious hot attack.

Take patent cases. Besides coping with the technical terms, a Boston reporter is forever having to decide whether counsel or witness is saying patent or pattern, since there is seldom any difference in pronunciation. I’m waiting for the day when Mr. Patton sues for patent infringement of his die pattern. Things will get snarled up like a nest of wire clotheshangers when they start talking about the Patton patte’n paten'!

I don’t dare be too smug about it, but I can now usually tell whether the witness comes from Waban or Woburn. But who can distinguish whether he lives on Western or Weston Avenue, when there is no distinction? Of the ninety cities and towns street-indexed in the Atlas of Metropolitan Boston, twenty-four have either a Western or a Weston, and two have both: Boston lists Western Avenue, Western Place, Weston Place, and Weston Street; Hull has a Western Avenue and a Weston Street. My only recourse: Spell it, please.

One thing mystifies me. I’ll swear Bostonians always pronounce famed Faneuil Hall as Thannel Hall. And my ears are as good as the next woman’s; probably better.

I am now used to the fact that many people, mostly female, make two syllables out of yes. But I’m still startled when I hear the word on used as a shorthand form for (as near as I can make out) the phrase to Massachusetts. My first encounter with it was embarrassing. I cornered a lawyer at recess and said, “I must have missed something in your opening statement. I understood you to say the plaintiff’s parents came on from California. On what?” He looked puzzled. “What’s your problem? As I said, they came on. Drove, as a matter of fact.”

I had an unsettling experience back in the early days. In the manner of the foreigner who thinks he understands the Japanese people in a few weeks or months of living among them, I was confident, after six months in the Boston area, that I knew all the nuances of the language. Besides, wasn’t I married to a native?

The witness was a fisherman, and he was talking about what sounded like the cod end of the net. But you couldn’t fool me–I was too smart to fall for that one. Asked to read back an answer, my voice was loud and clear as I began, in my no-nonsense Midwestern accent, “When we hauled in the cord end of the net….” “No, no,” yelled the witness and at least two lawyers, almost in chorus, “cod, c-o-d!”

I am wiser now. At least, I hope so. And I know that, while I still don’t always understand this strange tongue I live and work with, and probably never will, I’m not alone. The other day, walking to the elevator with a longshoreman whose deposition I had just taken, I complained, “You fellows have a language all your own, and it isn’t easy for us landlubbers.”

“Yes,” he said, “I can see how it might throw you. But it’s nothing compared to the Boston accent, I tell you. I come from Pennsylvania, been here twenty years, and I still can’t get used to it. Like when I was pretty new here, I got a call from union hall to report to pier such-and-such. The guy said, ‘We shot a man.’ Well, I was kinda scared, but I needed the work so I went down. Come to find out, what he’d said was, ‘We’re short a man.’ So it was all right.”

NOTE: This article appeared originally in The National Shorthand Reporter, May 1973, and is reprinted by permission. Mrs. Gilman, still a resident of Massachusetts, is now Editor of NSR.

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