craps

A craps table

A craps table

30 July 2020

Every now and then when researching a word, you turn up a rather interesting historical character. And in the case of craps, there is not one, but two such men.

Craps is, of course, a dice game, but its name is an odd one. The origin of the game’s name is somewhat uncertain, but it is most likely related to a term used in an older dice game. And we do know that it has nothing to do with crap.

The present-day game of craps is a descendent of an older dice game called hazard, and in hazard a roll of two, the lowest roll, is known as crabs. This term comes from the two pips on the dice, which are said to resemble either the crustacean or crab apples. The term crabs dates to at least 9 January 1768 when the Earl of Carlisle uses it in a letter to our first interesting historical figure, George Augustus Selwyn:

I hope you have left off hazard. If you are still so foolish, and will play, the best thing I can wish you is that you many win and never throw crabs.

Selwyn (1719–91) was a member of the British Parliament, a backbencher—he sat in the House of Commons for forty-four years without ever making a speech. He was member of the notorious Hellfire Club, a group of high society “gentlemen” who reveled in taking part in activities that were generally considered immoral. On the surface, Selwyn was an unambitious, charming wit. He was expelled from Oxford University for mocking the holy communion. He was also an inveterate gambler who happily shrugged off his losses. But he purportedly harbored a taste for the macabre and was said to have enjoyed attending public executions—allegedly sometimes cross-dressing as a woman to disguise himself and, with the hooped skirt, his erections. The darker rumors were that he was a necrophiliac and that he bribed undertakers so he could visit the corpses. On his deathbed, Henry Fox, the first Baron Holland, is recorded as saying, “the next time Mr. Selwyn calls shew him up. If I am alive I shall be delighted to see him, and if I am dead he will be delighted to see me.” But otherwise he seemed to have little other sexual interest in women or in men, although some claim he was homosexual and an earlier version of the Dictionary of National Biography says that “his fondness for children was, however, extreme.” After his death, his friends claimed these darker rumors were slanders by those who did not like him. How much of his alleged sexual proclivities are true will probably never be known.

This is all, however, just an interesting aside.

The name craps for the variant of hazard that we know today first appears in New Orleans. The variant was the invention of our second historical personage, Jean-Bernard Xavier Philippe de Marigny de Mandeville. A descendant of French nobility, Bernard de Marigny was born into wealth in Louisiana. As a teenager, his guardian feared he was developing dissolute habits, and de Marigny was sent to England learn how to be a gentleman. Instead, once there he learned how to gamble and became particularly fond of hazard. He brought the game back to New Orleans with him, altering the rules to his liking. He would spend his life as a land developer and speculator and serving in the Louisiana state senate, but his passion was always dice, and he would blow through several fortunes on his way to dying impoverished.

The name craps is first recorded in 1843, although since this is some time after de Marigny introduced the game to New Orleans, antedatings are likely to be found, especially in writing from New Orleans, particularly works in French. The earliest use I’m aware of is by Jonathan Green (no connection to the slang lexicographer that I’m aware of), who wrote of the evils of the game in his 1843 book An Exposure of the Arts and Miseries of Gambling:

The Game of Craps
This is a game lately introduced into New Orleans and is fully equal to faro in its vile deception and ruinous effects.

And a few years later, the Charleston Courier in South Carolina, on 28 May 1845, reprints this story which had appeared in the New Orleans Bee:

On Tuesday night, Captain Youennes of the First Municipality Police, paid a visit to a room in the St. Fouis Hotel Building, and there found Adolphe Poulard, whom he arrested on a charge of keeping a banking game called “craps.” On making a search $225 30, eighty-five checks, two dice boxes and nine dice were found in the drawer of the gaming table, all of which, with the table were seized.

The most likely explanation for the name craps is that it is simply a variation on crabs, the pronunciation shifting as it moved from English to Louisiana French and then back into English.

A more complex explanation, which is less likely but cannot be ruled out, is that craps is a shortening of crapaud, literally toad in French, and a derogatory epithet for French people. This explanation would have English citizens of New Orleans looking down upon the Creoles who played the game, and called it craps after them.

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Sources:

Carter, Philip. “Selwyn, George Augustus.” Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, 3 January 2008.

Charleston Courier (South Carolina), 28 May 1845, 2. Newsbank: America’s Historical Newspapers.

Green, Jonathan H. An Exposure of the Arts and Miseries of Gambling. Cincinnati: U.P. James, 1843, 88. HathiTrust Digital Archive.

Green’s Dictionary of Slang, 2020, s.v. crabs, n.1.

“Letter,” Earl of Carlisle to George Selwyn, 9 January 1768. In John Henage Jesse. George Selwyn and His Contemporaries, vol. 2 of 4. London: Richard Bentley, 1843, .238. HathiTrust Digital Archive.

Oxford English Dictionary, second edition, 1989, s.v. craps, n., crab, n.1.

Photo credit: Lisa Brewster, 2007. Used under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.0 Generic license.

crap

29 July 2020

Let’s knock this one out right from the start. No, the word crap does not come from the name of Thomas Crapper. The word was in widespread use before the man was even born. But if not, where does it come from?

The origin is not known for certain. It’s probably from a borrowing from either French or Dutch, or perhaps a combination of the two. Both chrape, with the sense of rubbish or waste, and crappe, with the sense of chaff, are found in Anglo-Norman texts from the thirteenth century. These words may be based on the Old Norse skrapa, meaning to scrape, to erase, referring to leavings or scraps from the process. Norman French was heavily influenced by the Germanic Old Norse; the Normans after all come from the Norsemen.

In early modern Dutch, krappe could mean something cut or shaved off, such as a slice of meat or pastry. This word’s antecedents could have influenced the English word, or perhaps the English word influenced the Dutch usage. In any case, the early history of the word is muddled and likely will never be sorted out.

The earliest known English appearance of crap is in the manuscript London, British Library, Royal 17.C.17, a miscellany that contains grammatical and other texts. The manuscript was copied prior to 1425. A list of nouns pertaining to mills has this:

Hoc ordium, Ae barly.
Hec siligo, Ae rye.
Hoc sigalum, idem.
Hec curalis, Ae
crappys.

Curalis is medieval Anglo-Latin for chaff.

Crap has been in continuous use to mean scraps or leavings of various sorts through to the nineteenth century, when it acquires the sense of excrement or feces. Here is an 1801 poem by J. Churchill titled “Seniority” that uses the word in a poem about officers using an outhouse:

Full speed to the garden, a Subaltern flew,
For that which by proxy we cannot well do;
When...lo!...not a little put to it, was he
Askaunce through the key-hole, his Major to see:
[...]
Just then (for his gambols, the devil will play)
A captain stepp’d forth; on the very same lay;
But, finding out who had already got there;
He, coolly, his paper began to prepare;
Just adding (for some only mind...number one)
“I...I shall go in, when the major has done:”
The Sub, who was, now, a most terrible plight, in;
And, not quite aware of...priority S——ING
Squeez’d awhile...”well!” says he, “then, the best friends must part;”
...Crap!...crap!...’twas a moist one! right Brewer’s ****!

The bowdlerized words are, of course, shitting and fart.

While the publisher didn’t feel the need to bowdlerize crap in that poem, it’s no surprise that this sense of the word is rare in nineteenth century publications. It does appear in the 1840s in Swell’s Night Guide, a guidebook to the brothels and other disreputable establishments of Victorian London. Green’s Dictionary of Slang gives a date of 1846; the edition I have access to is from 1849:

O! you’ll find a decent pad or two in this valk. But vot ever you does, don’t doss at that ere Trav’ler’s Rest—they calls it The Trav’ler’s Rest. Vhy, thunder me groggy! if any trav’ler gets rest there—why it is a reglar bug trap and a jumper valk and chat hutch, and stinks of crap and cag like a dunniken, and the donna of the ken is a dead crab, and a nark.

In the 1930s in American speech, crap took on the sense of anything cheap, worthless, or undesirable. For instance, Henry Miller’s 1934 novel Tropic of Cancer has this:

Can you picture her moving in here with her big trunks and her hatboxes and all that crap she drags around with her?

And James T. Farrell’s 1935 novel Judgment Day uses crap to mean insolence or abuse:

I got to have something to do, and dough in my pocket, and the feeling that I don't have to take nobody's crap.

So, is there any truth to the story about Thomas Crapper? There was such a man, and one can find Crapper-brand toilets in museums. Crapper lived from 1837–1910. He was in the plumbing supply business and he manufactured and sold toilets, among other plumbing fixtures. For a while he owned the patent for the Silent Valveless Water Waste Preventer, a device that enabled the toilet to flush when the tank was half full. He did not invent it, however. That credit goes to a man named Albert Giblin. His is a case of an aptronym, a personal name that is coincidentally apt. He may have contributed to the popularity of the word, but even so, it was already well established before he came along.

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Sources:

Anglo-Norman Dictionary, 2006, s.v. crappe, chrape.

Churchill, J. Poems, vol. 2 of 2. London: W. Glindon, 1801, 129–30. Google Books.

Dictionary of Medieval Latin from British Sources, 2013, s.v. curallum, curallis. Brepolis: Database of Latin Dictionaries.

Green’s Dictionary of Slang, 2020, s.v. crap n.1.

Middle English Dictionary, 2018, s.v. crap n.

Oxford English Dictionary, third edition, September 2016, s.v. crap, n.1 and adj.

“The Traveller’s Rest.” Swell’s Night Guide. London: H. Smith, 1849, 68. London Low Life, Adam Matthew.

Wright, Thomas. Anglo-Saxon and Old English Vocabularies, vol. 1 of 2. Richard Paul Wülcker, ed. London: Trübner and Co., 1884, 666. HathiTrust Digital Archive.

crackerjack

Cardboard store display advertising Cracker Jack-brand candy, c.1918

Cardboard store display advertising Cracker Jack-brand candy, c.1918

28 July 2020 (Note added 29 July)

Crackerjack is perhaps best known today as a brand of candy, a mix of caramel-coated popcorn and peanuts.* But the word, denoting something that is exceptionally good, predates the brand. The word is, obviously a compound of cracker + jack, with the cracker referring to something that is good enough to boast about (see cracker). The jack is from the man’s name, which had become a generic reference to any person or a variety of devices, from a roasting spit to a mechanical lever. So, a crackerjack refers to something worth boasting about.

(* = Lynne Murphy points out my parochialism by noting that in the UK crackerjack is probably best known as the title of a children’s television programme, rather than the confection.)

Cracker Jack candy was first marketed in 1896, but the word dates to at least 1887 in horseracing circles. It appears in the Nashville Tennessean on 21 October 1887:

Lomasney Bros.’ siring of twelve race horses arrived at West Side Park yesterday, having come by express direct from Jerome Park, New York. Included in this stable are the “cracker jack” racers, Brown Duke, Little Minnie, Petticont, Climax, Longview, Cruiser and six others.

Two days later, on 23 October 1887, another Nashville paper, the Daily American, uses it in the context of the same racing event:

Fourteen carloads of horses in a solid special train left Memphis for Nashville last night, and will disembark at West Side Park at 8 o’clock this morning. They number more than one hundred “cracker jack” racers from the most celebrated stables in the Union.

The next year, cracker jack is used on the other side of the continent in reference to boxing. From the San Francisco Daily Examiner of 28 May 1888:

Godfrey is not likely to be long out of a pugilistic job. He has plenty of backers who think him a Cracker Jack good enough for anybody.

And it breaks out of the world of sports by 1899. A humor piece in the 20 February 1899 Daily American consisting of quotes purportedly from famous people has this to say, this one purportedly from the German Kaiser:

Methinks old Bismarck is too antediluvian to advise a cracker-jack like me.—William II.

Of course, crackerjack will be forever associated with baseball because of the 1908 song “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” by Jack Norworth and Albert von Tilzer. But the word was in baseball slang long before the song, and even before the candy existed.

The earliest association I have found of crackerjack to baseball is an oblique one. It actually is in the context of the sport of handball, but features a famous baseball player, catcher Albert J. “Doc” Bushong. This item is syndicated in a number of papers, but here is the version in the Montreal Gazette of 26 March 1890:

Doc Bushong is becoming quite a handball expert. He is being coached by William Courtney at the South Brooklyn court, and the celebrated expert says that Bushong will make a “Cracker Jack” at the game in a very short while.

The next week, the Cincinnati Enquirer of 2 April 1890 used the word in an article about baseball proper:

Keenan is a “cracker jack” at first base. It takes a very bad throw to get away from Jim.

And the next month, the Cincinnati Enquirer of 25 May 1890 used cracker jack as an adjective:

Anson gives it out as sure that he will have a “Cracker Jack” second-baseman before the world is many days older. Where is he going to get him?

The compound loses its space and closes to a single word by 1891. A San Francisco Chronicle article of 11 April 1891 might be the first to demonstrate the single word, but it is hyphenated at a line break, so it’s impossible to tell if the word itself was meant to be hyphenated:

One of the two-year-olds, Yo Tambien, by Joe Hooker, dam Marion, by Malcolm, is attracting considerable attention on account of her breeding, being a half-sister to the cracker-[?]jacks, Emperor of Norfolk, the Czar and El Rio Rey.

But five days later, the 16 April 1891 St. Louis Post-Dispatch uses the closed compound unambiguously:

The Australian is willing to meet any one, but the California club thinks his record justified him only in meeting a crackerjack.

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Sources:

“Amongst the Flyers.” Nashville Tennessean, 21 October 1887, 3. ProQuest Historical Newspapers.

“Australian Fighters.” St. Louis Post-Dispatch, 16 April 1891, 11. ProQuest Historical Newspapers.

“Base-Ball: Brotherhood Meeting This Afternoon.” Cincinnati Enquirer, 2 April 1890. ProQuest Historical Newspapers.

“Base-Ball Notes.” Cincinnati Enquirer, 25 May 1890, 11. ProQuest Historical Newspapers.

“By Grapevine.” Daily American (Nashville), 20 February 1899, 2. ProQuest Historical Newspapers.

“International Leaguers.” The Gazette (Montreal), 26 March 1890, 8. ProQuest Historical Newspapers.

Oxford English Dictionary, second edition, 1989, s.v. crackerjack, n. and adj.

“Sporting.” Daily Examiner (San Francisco), 28 May 1888, 3. ProQuest Historical Newspapers.

“They Have Come.” Daily American (Nashville), 23 October 1887, 3. ProQuest Historical Newspapers.

“Troubled Turfmen.” San Francisco Chronicle, 11 April 1891, 10. ProQuest Historical Newspapers.

Image credit: Herald.net.

cracker

27 July 2020

Cracker is a derogatory name given to poor, white people of the American South.

The verb to crack goes back to the Old English cracian, which appears in several texts glossing the Latin verb crepare, meaning to rattle, creak, or clatter. In Middle English, the sense of speaking or making an utterance was added to the original sense, presumably from the metaphor of the sound of a voice. This sense of crack survives in the phrase to crack a joke. For instance, in his Reeve’s Tale, Geoffrey Chaucer writes:

For which this millere stal bothe mele and corn
An hundred tyme moore than biforn;
For therbiforn he stal but curteisly,
But now he was a theef outrageously,
For which the wardeyn chidde and made fare.
But therof sette the millere nat a tare;
He craketh boost, and swoor it was nat so.

(For which this miller stole both meal and grain
A hundred times more than before
For before this he stole only decently,
But now he was thieving outrageously,
For which the warden (of the college) complained and made a fuss.
But the miller thought that was not worth a weed;
He cracked loud talk and swore it was not so.)

And a craker is someone who boasts. The Promptorium parvulorum, a Latin-English dictionary from 1440 has this entry:

Schakere, crakere, or bost makere: Iactator

Shakespeare uses cracker to mean someone who boasts or otherwise talks loudly in his play King John:

What cracker is this same that deafes our eares
With this abundance of superfluous breath?

The connection to the American South rises in the mid eighteenth century. In June 1752 an anonymous poet, signing himself as Jack Cracker, pens this poem attacking another with whom he was having a dispute:

A SQUIB
“Each Critic, come! your Squib provide,
“See Pindar there in Triumph ride!”
Since fairly, Friend, you thus Invite;
With due Respect I cast my Mite.
Whoever reads you, Pindar, over
May have the Pleasure to discover
Your Worms resemble Men so well,
That which is which no Man can tell.
Which makes some People think your Rants
Want Worming like Tobacco-Plants.
But Critics will not be so rude, To [sic] blame so just Similitude.
So when you Critics praise, pray name us
Your Bookworms, for Destruction famous; And in Return we you will dub
Our most triumphant swaggering Grub.
JACK CRACKER.

And a British officer, Captain Gavin Cochrane wrote the following in a report to the Earl of Dartmouth in 1766:

I should explain to your Lordship what is meant by crackers; a name they have got from being great boasters; they are a lawless set of rascalls [sic] on the frontiers of Virginia, Maryland, the Carolinas, and Georgia, who often change their places of abode.

So, the insult comes from a stereotypical tendency to boast and speak loudly.

Cracker is often conflated with corncracker, another term for a poor, white farmer, and cracker, which comes first, undoubtedly influenced the later term. Literally, a corn cracker is a corn mill, and by extension a person who grinds corn, and more specifically, one who makes or drinks corn whiskey.

The literal use of corn cracker, meaning a grist mill, appears in this 1829 description of a cider mill in the periodical New York Farmer:

By a simple and cheap appendage it is converted into a corn cracker: Taking it altogether, it is in our view, the cheapest and most convenient article of the kind, yet brought before the public.

And the use of the term as an epithet for a poor farmer appears as early as June 1835 in the Western Review:

There is neither wit nor meaning in the terms Hoosier, Sucker, Corncracker, and Buckeye, which have become so current.

But the idea of cracking corn is probably most familiar to people today from the antebellum and racist minstrel song “Jim Crack Corn, or the Blue Tail Fly.” In the song, predominantly performed by whites in blackface, a slave celebrates his master’s death by getting drunk. The slave owner was thrown from a horse because it was bitten by a blue-tail fly, which the slave was supposed to keep away from the horse. The song, since it was written and performed by whites, was undoubtedly intended to be critical of the ungrateful and lazy slave, but it can also be read as subversive, with the slave having given the master what is coming to him and celebrating that he got away with it:

When I was young I us’d to wait
On Massa and hand him de plate;
Pass down de bottle when he git dry,
And bresh away de blue tail fly.
     Jim crack corn I don’t care,
     Jim crack corn I don’t care
     Jim crack corn I don’t care
     Ole Massa gone away.

An’ when he ride in de arternoon,
I foller wid a hickory broom;
De poney being berry shy,
When bitten by de blue tail fly.
     Jim crack corn &c.

One day he rode aroun’ de farm,
De flies so numerous dey did swarm;
One chance to bite ‘im on the thigh,
De debbie take dat blu [sic] tail fly.
     Jim crack corn &c.

De poney run, he jump an’ pitch,
An’ tumble massa in de ditch;
He died, an’ de jury wonder’d why
De verdic was de blue tail fly
     Jim crack corn &c.

So, cracker does not come from corncracker, as many believe. Rather the use of the latter as an epithet was influenced by the former.

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Sources:

“ART. 150. —Making Cider—Description and Drawing of Thurston’s Improved Grater Cider Mill.” New York Farmer, October 1829. ProQuest American Periodical Series II.

Chaucer, Geoffrey. “The Reeve’s Tale” (c. 1390). The Canterbury Tales. 1:3995–4001. The Geoffrey Chaucer Page, Harvard University, 2008.

Cracker, Jack. “A Squib.” Virginia Gazette (Williamsburg), 25 June 1752, 2. Newsbank: America’s Historical Newspapers.

Dictionary of Old English, A to I, 2018, s.v. cracian.

Green’s Dictionary of Slang, 2020, s.v. cracker n.3, corn n.1.

Mathews, Mitford, M. A Dictionary of Americanisms. Chicago: U of Chicago Press, 1951, s.v. cracker, n., 426.

Middle English Dictionary, 2018, s.v. craken, v., craker, n.

Oxford English Dictionary, second edition, 1989, s.v. cracker, n., corn-cracker, n.

Promptorium parvulorum (1440). A. L. Mayhew, ed. Early English Text Society. London: K. Apul, Trench, Trubner, and Co., 1908, 393. HathiTrust Digital Library.

Shakespeare, William. King John (c.1595). First Folio, 1623 (Folger copy no. 68). Act 1, scene 2. Folger Shakespeare Library.

Virginia Minstrels. “Jim Crack Corn, or the Blue Tail Fly.” Baltimore: F.D. Benteen, 1846. Temple Digital Collections.

cop

New York City police uniforms, 1854

New York City police uniforms, 1854

25 July 2020

Why are policeman called cops? The question has vexed many, and several false etymologies have sprouted up in attempts to explain the term. But the term’s origin is rather simple really. It comes from the English dialectal verb to cop, meaning to grab or seize. Thus, a copper or cop is one who makes arrests.

The verb ultimately comes from the Latin capere, meaning to seize, to grasp. It makes its way into English legal language via Anglo-Norman French, which is no surprise as many English legal terms are legacies of the Norman Conquest. When the Normans took over, they imported their laws and legal terminology. The jargon terms writ of cape and writ of capias, referring to authorizations to seize a debtor’s property, appear in the 1419 Liber Albus (White Book), a book of laws governing the city of London:

Et al proschein Hustenge apres la tierce essone, si les tenauntz facent defalt, proces serra fait devers eaux par Graunt Cape, ou Petit Cape apres apparaunce; et altre proces, come au Comune Ley.

(And at the next Hustings after the third attempt, if the tenants default, process shall be made against them by Grand Cape; or by Petit Cape after appearance; and by other process, as at Common Law.)

And:

Et les clerks et ministres des ditz Viscountz, meyntenaunt sur les pleyntes faitz, usent de agarder Capias et autres proces envers les defendantz par tesmoignaunce des sergeauntz del dit office a ceo deputeez, sibien es les ditz Countours come a le Guyhalle. Et usee est dagarder Capias en pleyntes de dett, accompt, covenaunt, et autres accouns personelx qecouncqs.

(And it is the custom for the clerks and officers of the said Sheriffs, forthwith upon the complaint being made, to award Capias and other process against the defendants, upon testimony of sergeants deputed to the said office, as well at the said Compters at the Guildhall. And it is the custom to award Capias in complaints of debt, account, and covenant, and in all other personal actions whatsoever.)

The word wormed its way into English, first in the form of the verb to cap, which appears in a 1590 pamphlet titled Plaine Perceuall by astrologer Richard Harvey:

Speake a blooddy word in a Barbors shop, you make a forfet: and good reason too, Cap him sirra, if he pay it not. Speake a broad word or vse a grosse tearme a∣mongst huntsmen in chaze, you shall be leasht for your labor: as one that disgraceth a gentlemans pastime and game, with the termes of a heardsman.

In northern English dialect the verb became to cop. Here is a 1704 example from Edward Ward’s Dissenting Hypocrite:

Others again, like fickle Frogs,
Were weary of their Kingly Logs;
And without more ado Assaulted
Their Lawful Monarch, and Revolted:
But if the Cruel Stork should come,
He’d Tyrannize and Cop up some;
Or thro’ all Frogland cause a Croaking
Against the Doom of their Provoking.

To cop is used specifically in the sense of an arrest by a policeman in a nineteenth-century English translation of Eugène Sue’s The Mysteries of Paris:

At one o’clock in the morning I came to the Rue du Provence to hang about my lodgings, waiting until the patrol should pass, to commence my robbery, my burglary, in order to be copped!

I’m not certain of the date of this translation. I have found this passage in an 1878 translation. The Oxford English Dictionary (OED), in an old entry, gives a date of 1844, but I cannot find an edition with that date. I have found an 1845 translation, however, that uses taken up instead of copped. I can’t tell if the OED is in error or if they have access to an edition that I cannot find.

In any case, there is another use of to cop meaning to be arrested by the police from the 1840s, but again there is a discrepancy in the date. Swell’s Night Guide, a guidebook to prostitution and other vices in Victorian London has this:

I means in my busines [sic], ven I pitches; and they counts me the best flag pitcher of all the shallows; and I never gets copped by the Bobbies, cos I never patters to the swells, nor the donnas; but yet I nails the browns [i.e., copper coins].

Green’s Dictionary of Slang gives this a date of 1846. The edition I found online is from 1849.

The same article in Swell’s Night Guide also uses to cop to mean to acquire:

Besides he’s been on the tramp cadge to day, and has copped a dacent swag of scran [i.e., food].

And somewhat more specific than to acquire, the verb can also mean to steal. From an Octboer 1879 article in Macmillan’s Magazine:

Some time afterwards I was taken by two pals (companions) to an orchard to cop (steal) some fruit, me being a mug (inexperienced) at the game.

And by the early twentieth century, someone copped by the police for copping fruit could cop a plea, meaning to strike a plea bargain. From the New York Times of 15 September 1921:

The break between Brindell and Stadtmuller came when the latter refused to “cop a plea of guilty” at the dictation of Brindell, who is said to have declared he had “it all fixed” for Stadtmuller to get a light sentence.

And while most would not associate copping a feel with the criminal underworld, that phrase is first recorded in Albin Pollock’s 1935 glossary of criminal slang:

Cop a feel, a presumptuous man, who will not let his hands behave when with an attractive girl.

And there is this New York Times review of Woody Allen’s 1972 film Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex* But Were Afraid to Ask that shows by that late date the phrase had fully transitioned out of underworld slang to the pages of respectable newspapers:

On the whole, Allen's approach is based on the pseudo-sophisticated notion prevalent among many New York reviewers that once sex is verbalized it no longer has to be visualized. Say a dirty word and you're striking a blow for freedom of speech, but show a dirty picture and you're peddling pornography—not that Allen is here in the vanguard of permissiveness, even linguistically, His locution "cops a feel," for example, is strictly Flatbush fifties.

Okay, so we’ve had a run-down of the verb to cop, but where does the noun meaning policeman come in? Copper is in place by the 1830s, as shown in this example from Renton Nicholson’s Cockney Adventures and Tales of London Life of 3 February 1838:

“Do it at vonce, else the coppers ’ill come,” said he of the short pipe.

So, a copper is one who cops.

It is clipped to just cop by 1859, when it appears in a satirical poem in George W. Matsell’s Vocabulum; or, the Rogues Lexicon. The poem uses the traditional Ubi sunt (where have they gone) motif:

Oh! where will be the culls of the bing
A hundred stretches hence?
The bene morts, who sweetly sing,
A hundred stretches hence?
The autum-cacklers, autum-coves
The jolly blade who wildly roves;
And where the buffer, bruiser, blowen,
And all the cops and beaks so knowin’,
A hundred stretches hence?

Despite the word’s straightforward etymology, various spurious etymologies have arisen. It’s not an acronym for Constable on Patrol, nor does it have anything to do with copper buttons on police uniforms. It quite simply comes from a policeman’s power to arrest, or cop, criminals.

Discuss this post


Sources:

Anglo-Norman Dictionary, 2014, s.v. cape1, capias.

“Attempts to Free Bridell Aid [sic] Fail.” New York Times, 15 September 1921, 36. ProQuest Historical Newspapers.

“Autobiography of a Thief in Thieves’ Language.” Macmillan’s Magazine, vol. 40. October 1879, 500. HathiTrust Digital Archive.

Green’s Dictionary of Slang, 2020, s.v. cop v., cop a... v, copper n.

Harvey, Richard. Plaine Perceuall the Peace-Maker of England. London: Eliot’s Court Press for G. Seton, 1590, 11. Early English Books Online.

“A Hundred Stretches Hence.” Vocabulum; or, the Rogues Lexicon, George W. Matsell, ed. New York: George W. Matsell and Co., 1859, 124.

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Image Credit: Gleason’s Pictorial Drawing-Room Companion, 7 January 1854, 7.