OK / okay / A-OK

A Matthew Brady photograph of U.S. President Martin Van Buren, c.1856. While not the word’s origin, Van Buren’s nickname of Old Kinderhook played a significant role in popularizing OK.

A Matthew Brady photograph of U.S. President Martin Van Buren, c.1856. While not the word’s origin, Van Buren’s nickname of Old Kinderhook played a significant role in popularizing OK.

22 June 2021

OK or Okay is the most successful of all Americanisms. It has invaded hundreds of other languages and been adopted by them as a word. It was even one of the first words spoken from the surface of the moon. Despite the term’s success, however, for years no one was really sure where the word came from. The origin of OK became the Holy Grail of etymology. Finally, in 1963 the Percival (or Galahad) of our story, Dr. Allen Walker Read of Columbia University uncovered the origin.

Read solved the mystery in a series of articles in the journal American Speech in 1963-64. OK was the result of two editorial fads common in newspapers of the era: a penchant for fanciful initialisms and deliberate misspellings in order to take on the persona of a country bumpkin. Read discovered that OK is a facetious misspelling for all correct (oll korrect) that appeared in Boston newspapers starting in 1839, part of a fad for such initialisms that had started the previous year. One of the most prolific users of these initialisms, and the first to use OK, was Charles Gordon Greene, founder and editor of the Boston Morning Post.

The nineteenth-century penchant for initialisms can be seen in this passage from the Boston Morning Post of 12 June 1838:

Melancholy.—We understand that J. Eliot Brown, Esq., Secretary of the Boston Young Men’s Society for Meliorating the Condition of the Indians, F.A.H. (fell at Hoboken, N.Y.) on Saturday last at 4 o’clock, P.M. in a duel W.O.O.O.F.C. (with one of our first citizens.) What measures will be taken by the Society in consequence of this heart rending event, R.T.B.S. (remains to be seen.)

The second fad, deliberate misspellings, was not limited to newspapers. For example, the writings of Artemus Ward (pseudonym of Charles Farrar Browne) and Josh Billings (pseudonym of Henry Wheeler Shaw) were enormously popular pieces produced in the style of a country bumpkin who could not spell correctly. The confluence of these two fads was recognized by the New York Evening Tattler of 27 July 1839:

THE INITIAL LANGUAGE.—This is a species of spoken short-hand, which is getting into very general use among loafers and gentlemen of the fancy, besides Editors, to whom it saves, by its comprehensive expressiveness, much trouble in writing and many "ems" in printing. The Boston Morning Post made great use of it at one period. It is known that the City of the Pilgrims is an extremely aristocratic place, and that "our first men" are referred to constantly. Charley Green [sic] of the Post always wrote O.F.M. Walter of the Boston Transcript, we believe, used to designate the Young Men's Society for the Amelioration Condition of the Indians—Y.M.S.A.C.I. We heard yesterday of a lady who said to a gentleman, who was about to take leave of her, "O.K.K.B.W.P." The gallant thought and obligingly granted the fair one's request. What could she have meant but Kiss Before We Part?"

It will be observed that in the above, those initials are used which, in the vulgar spelling, begin the words they are intended to signify. But this language is more original, richer and less comprehensible, when those initials are given which might possibly, some how or other, be employed by people who spell "on their own hook." For instance, "K.G." (no go) K.Y. (no use) and K.K.K. (commit no nuisance.) The last would be highly useful at this time to those housekeepers who throw filth into the streets. Apropos to this is the toast given by a country schoolmaster. "The Three Rs-Reading, 'Riting and 'Rithmetic!”

OK was not the first such initialism to carry the sense of everything is correct or right. It was preceded by O.W. (oll wright) in the Boston Morning Post of 7 February 1839:

The N.E. Non-Resistance Society, have published the number of a paper, which is called “The Non-Resistant”—it will be issued semi-monthly. We observe the names of several ladies among its officers. We wonder to what extent they adhere to the principles of the society? Wm. L. Garrison—Miss Martineau’s Moses—is Corresponding Secretary, yet he is a must furious “resistant” to various things. However, we suppose it is O.W. (all right).

And OK made its first appearance in that paper about seven weeks later, on 23 March 1839. A.B.R.S. stands for Anti-Bell-Ringing Society, presumably a fictional organization:

Quite an excitement was caused here yesterday, by an announcement in the Boston Post, that a deputation from the Boston A.B.R.S. would pass through the city, on their way to N. York. Nothing but the short notice prevented the Marine Artillery from turning out to do honor to the occasion. The report proved unfounded, however, and has led to the opinion here that the Post is not the organ of that illustrious body.

The above is from the Providence Journal, the editor of which is a little too quick on the trigger, on this occasion. We said not a word about our deputation passing “through the city” of Providence.—We said our brethren were going to New York in the Richmond, and they did go, as per Post of Thursday. The “Chairman of the Committee on Charity Lecture Bells,” is one of the deputation, and perhaps if he should return to Boston, via Providence, he of the Journal, and his troin-band, would have the “contribution box,” et ceteras, o.k.—all correct—and cause the corks to fly, like sparks, upward.

And there was this on 10 April 1839:

A new tie-up for Bostonians.—Mr Michael Hughes, better known here by his well earned office of “Magnificent Punch Distiller for the A.B.R.S,” has opened a new hotel in New York, 6 Rosevelt [sic] street, near Pearl and Chatham, under the name of the “New England House.” It is hardly necessary to say to those who know Mr Hughes, that his establishment will be found to be “A. No. One”—that is, O.K.—all correct.

And there is this pleonastic use from 18 December 1839, which shows that by this stage Greene was thinking of OK as a single lexical unit, rather than a phrase (like saying ATM machine or PIN number today):

“Confucious [sic] Roundhead’s” communications are all “O.K.,” and will appear in short time. We are always pleased to hear from him.

By the fall of 1839, other Boston newspapers were using OK, and the word had spread to New York. There is this item from the from the Boston Evening Transcript of 11 October 1839 that was reprinted in the New York Commercial Advertiser and the New York Spectator in the days following:

A Good Omen. So little excitement has been created here by the suspension of the U.S. Bank and its dependencies, that our Bank Directors have not thought it worth their while to call a meeting, even for consultation, on the subject. It is O.K. (all correct) in this quarter.

And by early 1840, OK had made its way as far south as Baltimore. From the Sun of 24 February 1840:

On Saturday we received from the “Pratt Street Green House,” a large, fresh looking julep, having all the appearance of one made in July. We have no doubt it is equally as good as it looks, but as we have no tube through which to taste the “beverage,” and not liking to put our nose so close to the ice at this season of the year, we bottled it up and forwarded it to the editor of the New Orleans Sun, who is competent to judge of its merits, and as soon as we hear from him we will advise the landlord of Jim’s opinion. We owed the Sun man a julep, which we lost in a bet about five years ago, and he has been bothering us about it ever since. We hope this will satisfy him, and that he will give us an acknowledgement that it is o.k. (all correct.)

But in the summer and fall of 1840, use of OK exploded. Democratic President Martin Van Buren, who was running for re-election that year had the nickname of Old Kinderhook, as he was from Kinderhook, New York. And the initialism that had started in Boston newspapers collided with the presidential campaign. Van Buren’s party formed the Democratic O.K. Club, and not to be outdone, the competing Whigs also began to use OK, promulgating (and perhaps starting?) the legend that OK was coined by former Democratic President Andrew Jackson because he was illiterate and couldn’t spell all correct properly. As a result, OK achieved national recognition and use. (The Whig candidate, William Henry Harrison, won the election, but died thirty-one days, exactly one month, after his inauguration—the shortest presidency in history—so, really the only winner in the contest was OK.)

OK had crossed the Atlantic by the 1860s. It appears as an entry in Hotten’s 1864 Slang Dictionary, although he might have been referring to American usage. Hotten included some American slang in his dictionary, although he doesn’t label this entry as such:

O.K., a matter to be O.K., (OLL korrect, i.e., all correct,) must be on the “square,” and all things done in order.

But we have a clear instance of a use from Ireland on 28 July 1866 that was reprinted in the journal Notes and Queries:

“VALENTIA, July 27.—The following telegram has been received from Mr. R.A. Glass, Managing Director of the Telegraph Construction and Maintenance Company (Limited):—‘O.K.,’ (all correct).”—Saunders’s News Letter, July 28th, 1866.

And OK had made it as far as India by 1883. From a piece on how British officials and officers entertained themselves that was printed in the Graphic of 17 March 1883:

But it was extraordinary how people could dance on such heavy, heady stuff, and how they could move at all after the prodigious “sit down” supper of the era. The “sit down” supper, in distinction with the “stand up” supper was once upon a time a grand Indian institution. It was voted O.K. or all correct, whereas the other was pronounced only a one-horse affair. The great object was to have substantial fare for the company, such as mulligatawny soup, spiced rounds of beef, buffalo humps, and things it might be supposed no votary of Terpsichore would care to look at in such a climate. Nevertheless, the solid fare disappeared, with the beer, like winking.

OK not only spread throughout the English-speaking world, it also spread through the parts of speech. Elbridge Gerry Paige, under the pseudonym Dow, Jr., used OK as a noun in a patent sermon he wrote. Paige was a newspaperman who wrote sermons for sale as a side business. This one appears in his Short Patent Sermons of 1841:

[Fortitude] brings refreshing draughts to the lips of the weary wanderer over the burning sands of Africa—infuses new life into his soul, while Hope adds an O.K. to his condition.

And it is recorded as a verb in testimony from 19 April 1881 that was presented to the U.S. Congress in hearings about a contested election:

Q. How many cards were handed to you?—A. Well, I couldn't tell you. I never kept track of them.

Q. Do you know how many hundred?—A. I couldn't say.

Q. You found a great many O.K.?—A. Yes, sir; I found a good many O.K., and O.K’d a great many myself.

Q. That had been testified to as being correct by your brother canvassers when they were on the stand?—A. I don't understand that at all. We went to a house, we found the parties were living there, and O.K.'d the cards.

Q. Although people who came on the stand before you testified in regard to those names that the people had never lived there?—A. I never knew anything about that at all.

Because it is so ubiquitous and the true origin was unknown for so long, OK attracted a large number of folkloric explanations, a few plausible on their face, but none with any real evidence to support them. The closest to having evidence is the aforementioned legend that it was coined by Andrew Jackson. There is a 1790 record from Sumner County Tennessee that reads:

Andrew Jackson, Esq., proved a Bill of Sale from Hugh McGary to Gaspar Mansker, for a negro man, which was O.R.”

The O.R. was often read as O.K. over the years, and it was assumed Jackson couldn’t spell and wrote it to stand for oll korrect. But the initialism stands for order recorded, a standard scribal notation in such records.

Another alleged explanation, this one also connected to Andrew Jackson, is that OK is from the Choctaw oke or okeh, used to conclude expressions where an affirmation or denial is expected, essentially meaning “is it so?” or “right?” This explanation was first suggested by English professor W.S. Wyman in 1885:

General Jackson, as everybody knows, was prone to the use of downright and energetic methods of assertion. Hearing this emphatic oke so frequently uttered by the Choctaw people, he learned the meaning conveyed by it to the Choctaw mind, and appropriated it, out of hand, to his own purposes. From him it passed over to the multitude. This account of the origin of O.K. has been current in the South for many years. If not true, it is to so say the least, ben trovato.

The Choctaw explanation was enormously popular in its day, and it sounds plausible, but the evidence clearly shows that it is not correct.

Other folkloric explanations say that it was:

  • coined by John Jacob Astor, an immigrant from Germany and fur mogul. It seems likely that Astor used OK in the years following 1839, but he did not originate it.

  • a telegraphic abbreviation for open key

  • from a brand of rum from Aux Cayes, Haiti

  • from Orrin Kendall, a supplier to the Union army in the U.S. Civil War who allegedly stamped the initials on biscuits

  • from various people named O’Kelly or Obediah Kelly

  • from the Greek ὂλα καλά (ola kala, all good)

  • from the German Ober Kommando, allegedly used by von Steuben during the American Revolution or by other Prussian generals in other periods

  • from the French aux quais (to the wharves), used by French sailors in America during American Revolution when scheduling trysts with American women

  • from the Finnish oikea (correct).

None of these have a shred of evidence to support them.

The variant A-OK comes out of the U.S. space program. It entered into common parlance and was first recorded immediately following Alan Shepard’s sub-orbital space flight on 5 May 1961. Shepard was widely reported as saying A-OK throughout the fifteen-minute flight, although the official NASA transcript only records him using the ordinary okay. It’s possible the official transcript is not completely accurate. Alternatively, a NASA public affairs officer may have credited Shepard with using the word when speaking to reporters. Or, A-OK may have been said by fellow astronaut Deke Slayton, who was the capsule communicator or capcom for the mission with reporters mistakenly crediting it to Shepard. (Slayton’s half of the communication is not preserved in the official transcript.) In any case, it is abundantly clear that someone, and probably many people, at NASA were saying A-OK in May 1961.

An Associated Press report printed in the Dallas Morning News on 6 May 1961 has this:

Moments later Shepard reported he was at 30,000 feet on the way down.

“First chute was deployed,” he said. “Another ... all systems A-OK.”

These were the parachutes that dropped the capsule gently into the water.

By “A-OK,” Shepard meant that everything was “double OK”—or perfect.

Seconds later the historic flight was over.

Why the astronauts added the < A > to OK is not known. It has been suggested they did so because initial phonemes were sometimes lost in radio communications, but they did not do this with other words, so that explanation seems improbable. More likely, it is a blend of A-1, the long-established word meaning first rate or excellent, and OK.

And eight years later NASA would take OK to another world when the crew of Apollo 11 said it several times just before and after touching down on the Moon on 20 July 1969:

Capcom (CC): 30 seconds

Armstrong:      Forward drift?

Aldrin:             Yes ... Okay ... CONTACT LIGHT ... Okay. ENGINE STOP.

[Eagle touches down]

Aldrin: ACA—out of DETENT.

Armstrong:      Out of DETENT.

Aldrin:             MODE CONTROL—both AUTO. DESCENT ENGINE COMMAND OVERRIDE—OFF. ENGINE ARM—OFF ... 413 is in.

CC:      We copy you down, Eagle.

Armstrong:      THE EAGLE HAS LANDED.

CC:      Roger, Tranquility. We copy you on the ground. You got a bunch of guys about to turn blue. We’re breathing again. Thanks a lot.

Armstrong:      Thank you.

CC:      You’re looking good here.

Armstrong:      Okay. We’re going to be busy for a minute.

Discuss this post


Sources:

Boston Morning Post, 12 June 1838, 2. NewspaperArchive.com.

———, 7 February 1839, 1. NewspaperArchive.com.

———, 23 March 1839, 2. NewspaperArchive.com.

———, 10 April 1839, 2. NewspaperArchive.com.

———, 18 December 1839, 2. NewspaperArchive.com.

Dighton, Ralph. “Shepard Cracks Space for U.S.” Associated Press. Dallas Morning News (Texas), 6 May, 1961, 1. Readex: America’s Historical Newspapers.

Dow, Jr. (pseudonym of Elbridge Gerry Paige). “Number XLII: On Fortitude.” Short Patent Sermons. New York: Lawrence Labree, 1841, 106. HathiTrust Digital Archive.

Hotten, John Camden. The Slang Dictionary. London: Hotten, 1864, 191. HathiTrust Digital Archive.

“Indian Hospitality.” Graphic (London), 17 March 1883, 287. Gale Primary Sources: British Library Newspapers.

National Aeronautics and Space Agency (NASA). Apollo 11 Technical Air-to-Ground Voice Transcription. July 1969. 316–17.

———. NASA Project Mercury Working Paper No. 192: Postlaunch Report for Mercury-Redstone No. 3 (MR-3). 16 June 1961.

“O.K.” Notes and Queries, 3rd series, 10, 18 August 1866, 128.

Oxford English Dictionary, third edition, March 2021, s.v. OK, adj., int.1, n.2, and adv.; December 2020, s.v. OK, v.

Read, Allen Walker. “Could Andrew Jackson Spell?” American Speech, 38.3, October 1963, 188–95. JSTOR.

———. “The Evidence on ‘O.K.’” Saturday Review of Literature, 24.13, 19 July 1941, 3–4, 10–11. HathiTrust Digital Archive.

———. “The First Stage in the History of ‘O.K.’” American Speech, 38.1, February 1963, 5–27. JSTOR.

———. “The Folklore of ‘O.K.’” American Speech, 39.1, February 1964, 5–25. JSTOR.

———. “Later Stages in the History of ‘O.K.’” American Speech, 39.2, May 1964, 83–101. JSTOR.

———. “The Second Stage in the History of ‘O.K.’” American Speech, 38.2, May 1963, 83–102. JSTOR.

———. “Successive Revisions in the Explanation of ‘O.K.’” American Speech, 39.4, December 1964, 243–267. JSTOR.

“A Singular Present.” Baltimore Sun, 24 February 1840, 2. ProQuest Historical Newspapers.

Testimony and Papers in the Contested-Election Case of Sessinghaus vs. Frost, from the Third Congressional District of Missouri. U.S. House of Representatives, 47th Congress, 1st Session, Mis. Doc 27, Part 3. Washington: Government Printing Office, 1882, 2705. HathiTrust Digital Archive.

Wyman, W.S. Letter (5 July 1885). Magazine of American History, 14, 212–213. HathiTrust Digital Archive.

Photo credit: Matthew Brady, c.1856, salted paper print from a glass negative. Metropolitan Museum of Art. Public domain image.

Hampshire / New Hampshire

21 June 2021

Entry for 860 C.E. in the Peterborough Chronicle that mentions Hamtunescire (Hampshire)

Entry for 860 C.E. in the Peterborough Chronicle that mentions Hamtunescire (Hampshire)

The Europeans who settled New Hampshire were not the first inhabitants of the land. Most of the indigenous people who lived in what is now New Hampshire were speakers of Abenaki, an Algonquian language, and they had their own names for land and places therein. Some of these toponyms survive in a modified form in their English names. For instance, the name of the Merrimack River is from the Abenaki molô (deep) + demak (water). Other indigenous names in the state have been erased and replaced by English ones. For instance, the White Mountains, which dominate the state, have the Abenaki name ôgawakwajoak (shady mountains), and Mount Washington, the highest point on the U.S. eastern seaboard, is known as gôdagwajo (hidden mountain).

New Hampshire is, unsurprisingly, named after the English county of Hampshire. That name, which dates to the ninth century, comes from the Old English Hamtunscir, hamm (estate, home) + tun (enclosure, town) + scir (shire, administrative district. The English name appears in the Peterborough Chronicle for the year 860 C.E.:

AN.dccclx.Her Æðelbald cining forðferde, & his lic lið æt Scireburnan, & feng Æðelbriht to eallum þam rice his broðor. & on his dæge com mycel sciphere up & abræcon Wintanceastre, & wið þone here fuhton Osrice aldorman mid Hamtunescire & Æðelwulf ealdorman mid Barrucscire, & þone here geflymdon & wælstowe geweald ahton. & se Æðelbriht rixade .v. gear, & his lic liðæt Scirburnan.

(Year 860. In this year King Æðelbald died & his body lies at Sherborne & and Æðelbriht received all that kingdom of his brother & in his day a great fleet came up and razed Winchester & against that army fought Alderman Osric with [the men of] Hampshire & Alderman Æðelwulf with [the men of] Berkshire, and put that army to flight and held sway over the battlefield & Æðelbriht ruled for five years and his body lies at Sherborne.)

John Mason, the first proprietor of the English colony and later U.S. state, gave it the name New Hampshire, after the English county. On 7 November 1629, Mason was granted a patent for the land that constitutes what is now southern New Hampshire by the joint-stock company the Council for New England:

Now this Indenture witnesseth that the said President and Council, of their free and mutual consent, as well to the end, that all their lands, woods, lakes, rivers, waters, islands and fishings, with all the traffic, profits and commodities whatsoever, to them or any of them belonging, and hereafter in these presents mentioned, may be wholly and entirely invested, appropriated, served and settled in and upon the said Captain John Mason, his heirs and assigns for ever, as for divers special services for the advancement of the said plantation, and other good and sufficient causes and considerations, them especially, thereunto moving, have given, granted, bargained, sold, assigned, aliened, set over, enfeoffed and confirmed, and by those presents do give, grant, bargain, sell, assign, aliene, set over, enfeoff and confirm unto the said Captain John Mason, his heirs and assigns, all that part of the mainland in New-England lying upon the seacoast, beginning from the middle part of Merrimack river, and from thence to proceed northwards along the sea-coast to Pascataqua river [...] and by the said letters patents, the same are amongst other things granted to the said President and Council aforesaid; except two fifths of the ore of gold and silver in these presents hereafter expressed, which said portions of lands, with the appurtenances, the said Capt. John Mason, with the consent of the President and Council, intends to name NEW-HAMPSHIRE.

(The elided portion of this passage contains a lengthy description of the metes and bounds of the territory.)

Discuss this post


Sources:

Bright, William. Native American Placenames of the United States. Norman: U of Oklahoma Press, 2004, 279, s.v. Merrimac.

Day, Gordon M. Western Abenaki Dictionary, vol. 1 of 2. Mercury Series Canadian Ethnology Service Paper 128. Hull, Quebec: Canadian Museum of Civilization, 1994, 218, 420. HathiTrust Digital Archive.

Dictionary of Old English: A to I, 2018, s.v. ham, n.

Everett-Heath, John. Concise Oxford Dictionary of World Place Names, sixth ed. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2020. Oxfordreference.com.

“Grant of New-Hampshire to John Mason, by the Council of Plymouth” (7 November 1629). Provincial and State Papers: Documents and Records Relating to the Province of New-Hampshire, vol. 1 of 10. State Papers Series. Concord, New Hampshire: George E. Jenks, 1867, 22–24.

Irvine, Susan, ed. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle: A Collaborative Edition 7 MS E, vol. 7 of 7. Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2004, 71, 115. JSTOR. Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS. Laud Misc. 636.

Mills, A. D. A Dictionary of British Place Names, revised ed. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2011. Oxfordreference.com.

Image credit: Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS. Laud Misc. 636, fol. 29v. Used under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International (CC BY-NC 4.0) license.

off the wall

18 June 2021

The phrase off the wall got its start in American Black slang. It starts appearing in print in the 1950s, but oral use is probably somewhat older. David Claerbaut’s 1972 lexicon Black Jargon in White America defines it thusly:

off the wall, adj. irrelevant; unimportant; uninteresting: an off the wall place. See also lame, Mickey Mouse, tired.

Edith Folb, in her 1980 study of Black slang, Runnin’ Down Some Lines, says it means:

off-the-wall 1. Irrelevant. 2. Nonsensical. 3. Inappropriate. 4. Childish.

Other more general lexicons define it somewhat differently. The Oxford English Dictionary has it as “unorthodox, unconventional; instinctive, intuitive, off the cuff.” And Green’s Dictionary of Slang has the “unimportant, uninteresting” sense, but also includes a separate sense of “bizarre, peculiar.” It is tempting to think of the unorthodox/peculiar sense as being a later variation, but it starts appearing by 1959. So, if it is an outgrowth of the “irrelevant” sense, it is an early one.

Off the wall is clearly in place by the mid-1950s, but since spoken slang almost always precedes its written appearances, it is very likely to have been in use since at least the late 1940s. A hint of earlier use can be found in the 1966 novel A Chosen Few, by Hari Rhodes. Rhodes, who was best known as an actor, served in the U.S. Marine Corps from 1949–51, and the novel is based on his experiences being among the first Black marines. Recollections of exact wording that are written down years later must be taken with a grain of salt, so this passage cannot be taken as solid evidence of early use, but it does suggest that the phrase dates to the 1940s:

He blew his cool, called me some off th’ wall names and finally told me what page he was on.

As for solid evidence, Off the Wall appears as the title of an instrumental piece by Marion “Little Walter” Jacobs in 1953. But as the recording has no lyrics, exactly what Jacobs meant by the title is unknown.

And in 1955, Hal Ellson’s (not to be confused with Harlan Ellison) 1955 novel Rock has this:

That disc is off the walls. It’s square, period.

In his 1959 novel Trumbull Park, Frank London Brown uses off the wall three different times, and we start seeing it in the unorthodox/peculiar sense:

Terry said:

“You can't beat the syndicate.”

Seemed like Terry had to keep coming up with those off-the-wall remarks. I was getting sick of this cat:

“What goddamned syndicate?”

"Any syndicate-race syndicate, crime syndicate, big business syndicate, police syndicate-they're all the same. You can't beat them. The Negro has been trying for a century and a half to beat them and look at us-still under attack.”

And a bit later on in the novel:

I don’t know whose church radio program it was that was swinging so nice that January Sunday morning. I mean, organs and choirs and people clapping—not that off-the-wall holyroller kind of clapping, but that happy-in-time easy-going everything-together kind of clapping. Whosever church it was, it was going. I felt happy in my bones, like I had just been sent a message from home.

And the third:

Arthur looked up and laughed sort of quick-like and pulled at his ear; and one by one the brave ones, the not-so-brave ones, the hip ones, the square ones, the men and women—one by one, we all said thanks in our own off-the-wall ways.

And by 1966 we start to see off the wall appearing in the speech of white people. This passage in Hunter Thompson’s Hell’s Angels is about the women who would seek out and attempt to associate with the motorcycle gang. And here it is being used to mean outright strange or wildly unconventional:

Whenever the word "rape” comes up, Terry the Tramp tells the story about the "off-the-wall broad who rolled up to the El Adobe one night in a taxicab—a really fine-lookin chick. She paid the cabbie and just stood there for a minute, lookin at us ... and then, man, she walked across the parking lot like she owned the place and asked us what the hell we were starin at. Then she started laughin. ‘All right!' she yelled. 'I fuck, I suck and I smoke a lot of dope, so let's get started!”

The metaphor underlying the phrase is uncertain, or perhaps fungible depending on what a particular speaker thinks is the underlying metaphor. It can come from the idea of a a ball caroming or bullet ricocheting off a wall, with the accompanying uncertainty as to where it will land. Or it may be an extension of throwing something at a wall to see if it sticks. What does not stick, i.e., that which is not generally acceptable, is off the wall.

Folb discusses the term’s etiology in two passages. The first:

Name terms like jive ass, jive n[——]r, or jive turkey refer to the talker who bounces the conversational ball off the wall, from way out in left field, or who demonstrates ignorance about the subject being discussed. Again, there is the sense of someone out of step.

“Someone comin' from left field, talkin' that bop that don't relate to what you sayin', talkin' nonsense—'Moon gonna fall tonight.’ Just tellin' some jive-ass shit, some off d' wall jokes. Like you settin' dere havin' a good conversation, dude come in talkin' off the wall jive, ‘I'ma burn your ol' lady, moon gonna fall, sun gonna burn.’ Crazy ass hole talkin' trash. Or else, if we all talkin' 'bout dope, and the person say somethin' strange 'bout dope, then you know i's untruth, you say, ‘Man, that's off the wall.’ It don'go along wi' d' conversation.”

And the second:

Because verbal excellence is recognized as an important and powerful way of manipulating others, young blacks early become connoisseurs of good and bad talk, of who shoots blanks and who shoots a good shot. And because many of the verbal contests are played out for others—or are at least within earshot of others—youths have an opportunity to feed back to the contestants how well they are doing.

“Like we was sittin' up at my momma house, sittin' up dere, doin' dis: ‘Boy! That ugly ass bitch, I hear you seein'. 000wheee!!! She look like DEATH, boy! There's somethin' that didn't even dissolve good!’ Now dat righteously funky. He done got down hard an' heavy. Ever'body crack up. ‘Man, he sho' did shoot a shot on him!’ Sometimes dude jus' shoot a blank. His shit jus' off the wall—jus' falls off—don't stick, ain' no good. Nobody say nothin'.

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Sources:

Brown, Frank London. Trumbull Park. Chicago: Henry Regnery, 1959, 176–77, 223, 354. HathiTrust Digital Archive.

Claerbaut, David. Black Jargon in White America. Grand Rapids, Michigan: William B. Eerdmans, 1972, 74. HathiTrust Digital Archive.

Folb, Edith A. Runnin’ Down Some Lines. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1980, 43–44, 91, 248. HathiTrust Digital Archive.

Green’s Dictionary of Slang, 2021, s.v. off the wall, adj.

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

Thompson, Hunter S. Hell’s Angels. New York: Random House: 1966, 193. HathiTrust Digital Archive.

nightmare

The Nightmare, Henry Fuseli, 1781. A painting of a woman, clothed in white bedclothes, lying prostrate on a bed while a gnome-like demon sits on her chest; the head of black horse pokes through the bed curtains to observe.

The Nightmare, Henry Fuseli, 1781. A painting of a woman, clothed in white bedclothes, lying prostrate on a bed while a gnome-like demon sits on her chest; the head of black horse pokes through the bed curtains to observe.

17 June 2021

If you’ve ever played Dungeons and Dragons, or perused its Monster Manual, you may have encountered the description of a nightmare. The Forgotten Realms Wiki, which is about the role-playing game, describes nightmares thusly:

Nightmares were seemingly emaciated stallions, approximately 6 feet (1.8 meters) tall at the shoulders, with night-black coats. On further examination, however, their warhorse-like exterior was revealed to be entirely superficial. They had huge heads, fangs like vipers, and malevolent dark eyes often illuminated by red-hot flames, and they spouted orange fire when their nostrils flared. Wreathed in fire, their manes were wild and their tails unkempt, but they turned to cinders and quickly dispersed upon death.

It’s understandable that a speaker of Present-Day English would think a nightmare was some kind of demonic horse, but outside of D&D that’s not the case.

Of course, in Present-Day English a nightmare is a scary dream. The word dates back to Old English and is a compound of niht (night) + mære (demon, evil spirit), in other words an incubus or succubus. These demons supposedly visit humans in the night and have sexual relations with them, causing erotic dreams, inspiring lustful thoughts, and doing worse things. Incubi are male demons, succubi female. Mære (demon) is not to be confused with mearh (horse), which gives us the present-day mare, a female horse. (And since I’ve brought D&D into the discussion, I might as well mention that readers of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings have probably recognized that this latter word was the inspiration for the mearas, the bloodline of horses in the novel that produced Gandalf’s horse Shadowfax.)

We see mære (demon) in the late seventh-century Épinal Glossary, a Latin-Old English lexicon:

incuba     mera uel satyrus

And we see a fuller description in the ninth-century Bald’s Leechbook, a medical text:

Gif mon mare ride genim elehtran & garleac & betonican & recels, bind on næsce, hæbbe him mon on & he gange in on þas wyrte.

(If a mare ride a man, take lupins & garlic & betony & frankincense, bind them in a fawn’s skin, let him have the worts on [him], & let him go on [his way].)

The compound nightmare appeared by the end of the thirteenth century. We see it in the South English Legendary, a collection of hagiographies or saints’ lives. In that collection, the story of St. Michael the Archangel includes a description of demons, including the nightmare:

Portion of Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Laud Misc 108, fol. 134v. containing the text about demons and nightmares

Portion of Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Laud Misc 108, fol. 134v. containing the text about demons and nightmares

Þe luþere gostes beoth a-boute     with heore luþere pouwer
To bi-traye wrechche men    and bringue into heore paunter;
And þe guode beoth al-so a-boute    with power þat heore is
For-to witien men fram sunne     þat huy ne wurchen amis.
Boþe þe luþere and þe guode    a-liȝteth ofte a-doun
And to men in hore slepe comieth    ase In a visioun
And scheowieth in metingue    mani a wounder dede,
Þe guode of guode þinges    and þe luþere euere of quede,
And deriez men in heore slep     and bodieth seoruwe and care,
And ofte huy ouer-liggez [men]     and men cleopiet þe niȝt-mare.

(The wicked spirits are about with their wicked power to betray wretched men and bring [them[ into their snare; and the good [spirits] are also about with the power that there is to protect men from sin so that they not behave amiss. Both the wicked and the guode [spirits] often alight down and come to men in their sleep as in a vision and show in dreams many a wondrous deed, the good of good things and the wicked always of sinful [things], and injure men in their sleep and bode sorrow and care, and often overlie [men] and men call them nightmares.)

The demonic mære largely fell out of use in the Early Modern period, only persisting in some regional dialects, hence the confusion and semantic substitution of a horse for the demon.

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Sources:

Cockayne, Oswald, ed. Leechdoms, Wortcunning, and Starcraft of Early England, vol. 2 of 3. London: Longman, et al, 1865. 140. Google Books.

Horstman, Carl, ed. The Early South-English Legendary. Early English Text Society, OS 87. London: N. Trübner, 1887, 306. HathiTrust Digital Archive. Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Laud Misc 108, fol. 134v.

Middle English Dictionary, 2019, s.v. night-mare, n., mare, n.(2).

Nightmare (Creature).” Forgotten Realms Wiki, 5 April 2021.

Oxford English Dictionary, third edition, December 2020, s.v. nightmare, n. and adj., mare, n.2.

Pheifer, J.D. Old English Glosses in the Épinal–Erfurt Glossary. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1974, 30. HathiTrust Digital Archive. Épinal (Vosges), Bibliothèque Municipale MS 72(2).

Image credits: Henry Fuseli, 1781, The Nightmare, oil on canvas, Detroit Institute of Arts, public domain image. Anonymous scribe, late thirteenth century, Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Laud Misc 108, fol. 134v, Bodleian Library, Oxford University, used under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International (CC BY-NC 4.0) license.

 

nightingale

The nightingale (Luscinia megarhynchos); a brown songbird sitting on a branch with its mouth open, presumably singing

The nightingale (Luscinia megarhynchos); a brown songbird sitting on a branch with its mouth open, presumably singing

16 June 2021

The nightingale (Luscinia megarhynchos) is a migratory songbird common throughout Eurasia that winters in Sub-Saharan Africa. The bird is so called because it also sings at night, not just during the day.

The name can be traced back to the Old English nihtegale, from niht (night) + galan (to sing). The word appears in a number of Latin–Old English glossaries; one of the earliest is the Corpus Glossary from the early eighth century:

Achalantis . uel luscinia uel roscinia nehtęgale

(The < ę > in the manuscript is a Latin character that represents the ligature more commonly written as < æ >.)

The entry for nightingale in the eight-century Corpus Glossary, Cambridge, Corpus Christi College MS 144

The entry for nightingale in the eight-century Corpus Glossary, Cambridge, Corpus Christi College MS 144

The insertion of the / n / in an unstressed, middle syllable of trisyllabic words before a / g /, / dʒ /, or / d / is a typical development in Middle English; we also see it in words like messenger, popinjay, and colander. The insertion eases the transition between the unstressed vowel and the following consonant.

And we can see this transition happening in one of the earlier Middle English appearances of the word, in the late thirteenth-century debate poem The Owl and the Nightingale, in which the two birds argue over which one is the more useful. The poem survives in two manuscripts. The opening of the poem as it appears in British Library, Cotton MS Caligula A.9 has the inserted < n >:

The opening lines of the Owl and the Nightingale in London, British Library, Cotton MS Caligula A.9, fol. 233r

The opening lines of the Owl and the Nightingale in London, British Library, Cotton MS Caligula A.9, fol. 233r

Ich was in one sumere dale,
In one suþe diȝele hale;
Iherde ich holde grete tale
An hule and one niȝtingale.

(I was in a summer valley, in a very hidden place; I heard an owl and a nightingale holding a great debate.)

While the other manuscript, Oxford, Jesus College 29, Part 2, copied at about the same time, uses the older form and reads nyhtegale.

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Sources:

Cartlidge, Neil, ed. The Owl and the Nightingale. U of Exeter Press, 2001, 2.

Hessels, J.H. An Eighth-Century Latin-Anglo-Saxon Glossary. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1890 10. HathiTrust Digital Archive. Cambridge, Corpus Christi College MS 144, fol. 233r.

Middle English Dictionary, 2019, s.v. nightin-gale, n., nighte-gale, n.

Oxford English Dictionary, third edition, December 2020, s.v. nightingale, n.1, nightgale, n.

Image credits: Bernard Dupont, 2016, licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.0 Generic license; Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 144: The Corpus Glossary, Stanford University, Parker on the Web, public domain image as a mechanical reproduction of a work created before 1927; British Library, Cotton MS Caligula A.9, fol. 233r, public domain image as a mechanical reproduction of a work created before 1927.