Book Review: Dubious Doublets

1 July 2003

Dubious Doublets, by Stewart Edelstein, is another in the long line of popular press etymology books. Two things, however, make this book stand out from the crowd. The first is the quality of the research and the second is Edelstein’s approach to the subject, examining pairs of seemingly unrelated words that share a common origin.

Edelstein is an amateur etymologist. A lawyer by trade, he brings over thirty years of private study to the subject and it shows. Although the book lacks source notes or a bibliography (Edelstein does provide a rather long list of books that are “recommended reading"), the etymologies he gives stand up to detailed scrutiny. Edelstein does not plump for questionable etymologies, nor does he attempt to pass off false etymologies with words like “some people believe.”

But what really sets this book apart is the approach of examining two seemingly unrelated words. Edelstein takes a pair of words that appear to be completely unrelated, both in form and in meaning. He then demonstrates how they are connected.

One advantage of this approach is that he deals with words that typically do not make it popular etymology books because they seem so ordinary. But ordinary words often have stories to tell. Some of the usual suspects, such as OK, make it into Dubious Doublets, but most the words are ones that are not addressed outside the brief etymological notes in a dictionary.

Some of his pairs include:

• Lunatic/lynx; both from the Indo-European root *leuk, meaning light, brightness, lunatic is from luna meaning moon and the lynx gets its name from its shining eyes at night.

• Endorse/do-si-do; these words share the Latin dorsum, or back, to endorse a check is to write on its back and do-si-do is a dancing move where the partners are back-to-back.

• Salary/sausage; these both share the Latin sal, or salt, salary originally referred to money given Roman soldiers so they could buy salt and sausage comes to us by the Latin salsus meaning salted.

Edelstein does not restrict himself to the 112 pairs of words he specifically address. Many of his entries delve into other related words as well. His entry on parallel/paramecium, for example, also examines parlor and parabola. And jacket/jack-o’-lantern also gives us jackanapes and hijack.

He also takes the reader on various cultural and historical diversions. Oxygen/vinegar nicely digresses into a discussion of acronyms and portmanteau/mantle segues into a brief discussion of American political scandals.

The reader approaches each of the word pairs wondering how they are connected. So instead of simply being assaulted with a long, alphabetical list of words and origins, the curiosity is piqued with each one. Add to that the delightful diversions and nuggets of history and culture and you have a popular etymology book that is a cut above the rest.

Paperback, 224 pages, John Wiley & Sons, Feb 2003, ISBN: 0471227641, $14.95

Myths of Language Change, Part 3: It's Never Been That Way Before & But It Makes Sense

1 July 2003

The changing face of our language has created an interesting conundrum. On the one hand, people recognize and delight in the language change of the past. But on the other hand, people routinely resist current changes in the language. The language they learn as children is, for many, the only acceptable manner of speaking. Change is vehemently eschewed.

How people can revel in the changes of the past yet fiercely resist the changes of the present is just bizarre. And it is futile. The language will change whether we like it or not, and no amount of resistance will stop a change whose time has come.

This resistance usually takes one of several classic forms. In this series of articles, we well examine each of these classic errors of resistance. The next few in the series are:

It’s Never Been That Way Before

Spike...You’re still trying to mack on Buffy? Wake up already. Never gonna happen.
—Xander Harris, Buffy the Vampire Slayer

One type of error is to assume that because one has not noticed a word before that it is new. Such is the case with the slang verb to mack. As used in the above quote, the verb means to make a sexual advance. It has only come into mainstream use recently, having been used in hip-hop circles since the early 1990s.

But mack is actually much older than hip-hop. It is found in jazz slang as well and is recorded as far back as 1887 with the sense of to pimp. The word may even be centuries older. It could be a clipping of mackerel, an archaic underworld slang term for a pimp that was current from the 15th century up until about 1700. And in turn, this word is from the Old French macquerel.

(It is not certain whether the modern word mack stems from the old mackerel. There is a 180-year gap between the obsolescence of the old term and the appearance of the new one, which casts some doubt on a relationship. But given the synonymous meanings, a relationship cannot be absolutely dismissed.)

Mack is by no means atypical. Slang words often circulate among certain groups or within particular regions for decades or even centuries before bursting forth into the mainstream. Just because the word is new to an individual or even to mainstream discourse, doesn’t mean the word itself is new. You might think this is simply a trivial error of dating, but underlying it is a fundamental misunderstanding of how words form and enter the mainstream vocabulary.

Words are not coined one day and spread across the country and the world overnight. It takes time. Nor can someone go out and attempt to get people to adopt a certain word or phrase. Such an attempt is doomed to failure. Words are usually coined and used by specific groups as slang or jargon or regional colloquialisms. Gradually, if the word continues to be used by the group (and most coinages die a quick death here), eventually more and more people will hear it. Writers and speakers from outside the group will start to use the word, at first to evoke the slang or regional dialect, but eventually the affectation will wear off and writers will use it in regular discourse. Dictionary editors start to take notice of it and the word is on its way into the general vocabulary. This process takes time. The word must percolate in our linguistic subconscious before boiling up into the mainstream.

Of course pop culture can create instant catchphrases. The 1996 movie Jerry Maguire coined and popularized the catchphrase show me the money. Overnight, people all over the United States were repeating it. But by the movie’s second week at the box office, the phrase was tiresome. And if you use it today, people will look at you strangely. It was a fad, not a lasting coinage. The big splash was actually self-defeating. There was no in-crowd that was using the phrase and it became passé before it had time to catch on.

Word coinages are kind of like disease. Ebola makes headlines, but it kills too quickly and burns itself out. Meanwhile, the common cold slowly circulates in the disease pool, too low key for most people to notice, but it is the virus that everyone catches.

But it makes sense

A false hypothesis is better than none at all. The fact that it is false does not matter so much. However, if it takes root, if it is generally assumed, if it becomes a kind of credo admitting no doubt or scrutiny--that is the real evil, one which has endured through the centuries.
—Johann Wolfgang Goethe

By far, the most common methodological error that amateur word sleuths make regards standards of evidence. Someone comes up with a hypothesis that sounds plausible, but fails to back it up with any evidence. Explanations for words or phrases like the whole nine yards may be interesting, but without actual evidence to support them they cannot be considered correct.

The gold standard for etymological evidence is a citation of use. Let’s continue with the whole nine yards as an example. The phrase first appears in American slang use in the mid-1960s. Other than that, nothing is known of its origin. What nine yards refers to is simply not known. It is not enough to simply come up with an explanation that sounds plausible, you must find early citations of use that support the hypothesis. If, for instance, you want to prove that the whole nine yards is a reference to the length of a formal Scottish kilt, you need to find someone (or preferably multiple people) using the phrase in the mid-1960s or earlier in reference to kilts or, since all the known early uses of this phrase are American, at least from a Scottish source.

Of course this creates a bias toward written works and against oral traditions, but this is unavoidable even if we include letters, diaries, and other unpublished works. Oral traditions simply don’t survive intact. Even words and phrases that arose within living memory need written documentation because memory is malleable and subject to change. Someone may remember their grandmother saying the whole nine yards back in the 1920s, but in reality their memory may be putting words into her mouth that she never uttered.

The best research tools are those that include citations of usage. Dictionaries like the Oxford English Dictionary, The Random House Historical Dictionary of American Slang, and the Dictionary of American Regional English all include verified examples of usage through the decades and centuries.

And while we’re on the subject of sources, beware anyone who quotes “Webster’s dictionary.” Webster’s is not a trademarked term and any dictionary can bear that name. The original dictionary of that name is Noah Webster’s 1828 tome. Since then, there have been literally hundreds of dictionaries published under that name. Some, like those produced by the publishing house Merriam Webster, are excellent. Others are simply downright bad, containing false and misleading information. At best, a quote of “Webster’s” is simply unhelpful—you just can’t figure out what source is being referenced.

American Dialect: The West

1 July 2003

The American West, as a rule, does not have distinctive pronunciation or grammatical forms. Large numbers of those living in the West came from somewhere else and arrived relatively recently. As a result of this late immigration and mixing of dialects, those in the West speak a very standard brand of American English. The English of the West is very much like that of the Midwest and Northeast.

English-speakers did not settle the West until quite late. Large scale settlement of California did not begin until 1849, following the discovery of gold there the previous year, only about 150 years ago. Similarly, the Mormons did not settle in Utah until 1848. The other Western states were settled even later. Arizona did not attain statehood until 1912. The population of the West boomed after World War II, when the combination of massive water projects and air-conditioning made the Southwest and Southern California habitable for large populations.

In the early days of the Wild West, there was a heavy Southern influence on Western speech. After the defeat of the Confederacy, many Southerners made their way West. The Rs, for example, were dropped in words like horse, which became /hoss/. The Southern /ah/ sound also prevailed, ride became /rahd/. With the massive population boom in the 20th century though, much of this Southern influence has been lost. One can still detect traces of it, but it is almost gone.

There are two rather subtle pronunciation differences between Western and Eastern speech that prevail today. The first is for words that have the letter combination arr, like marry or carry. In the West these are pronounced /merry/ and /kerry/. The second is that in the West the words caught and cot are pronounced identically. Similarly out West, daughter is pronounced /dotter/.

One Western state has a particular pronunciation pattern all its own, Utah. Before the consonant R, Utahans will reverse the /a/ and the /o/ sounds. Barn is pronounced /born/ and born is pronounced /barn/. So if a Utahan leaves the door open all the time, he is barn in a born.

The similarity in dialect with the Midwest, however, does not extend to vocabulary. Like any other region, the West has its own unique vocabulary.

One highly atypical example, but rather famous among those who read about language, is Boontling, or the “language” of Boonville, a town in Mendocino County, California. Boonville was an isolated community for much of the 19th and early 20th century. Boontling started among the children of the town, who wanted a code language they could speak to each other in the presence of adults without the latter being wise to what they were saying. Eventually, the adults in the town started using it.

Boontling is not a language. Rather it is simply a specialized vocabulary of about a thousand words. The pronunciation and grammar is English. Many of the words are based on people’s names. Zeese Blevins, for example, liked coffee, so the word for coffee is zeese. Jenny Beck was known among the other children for being a tattletale, so Boontling enshrined her name as the word for a stool pigeon.

A Sample of Boontling

There being a hob in Boont, Pete shied ottoing, charled the broady, chiggreled, then took his apple-head and tweeds and piked to Boont for a hedge. He spent about forbes on a horn or two for himself and gave the tweeds some buckeys for dulcy.

(There being a dance in Boonville, Fred quit working, milked the cow, ate, then took his wife and children and went to Boonville for a haircut. He spent about four bits on a drink or two for himself and gave the children some nickels for candy.)

Boontling lasted from about 1880 to 1920. Unfortunately, no one attempted to record the vocabulary until the 1940s and by that time good portions of it were lost. Still, linguists managed to preserve a fair amount of the vocabulary. No one really speaks Boontling today, although there are probably some locals who can put on show for tourists.

Most of regular Western vocabulary is not nearly as obscure as that of Boontling. The following is a sampling of vocabulary that is either unique to the West or originated there before spreading to the country at large. Omitted are geographical terms like arroyo, canyon, and mesa and the names of plants and animals unique to the region. Entire dictionaries could be and have been written on just these words.

Western Words
All, v., said, as in “I’m all ‘you’re not going to wear that, are you?’” (Calif.)

Awesome, adj., terrific, excellent, from 1975 (Calif., San Fernando Valley teenagers).

Bail, v., to abandon, to leave, (Calif., surfer lingo)

Barrow pit, n., a roadside drainage ditch, from barrow meaning the mound of earth excavated from the pit, often folk etymologized to borrow pit.

Bitching, bitchen, adj., excellent, wonderful, from 1957 (Calif.).

Chesterfield, n., a sofa (Calif., also Canadian)

Colcha, n., a bedspread, from the Spanish (N.M.)

Colchon, n., a mattress, from the Spanish (N.M.)

Coney, n., a pika, a small, rabbit-like mammal (Colo.)

Ditch, n., water, prob. a clipping of ditch water (Mont.)

Ditch, v., to skip school, play hooky (Calif.)

Doney, n., a round stone suitable for throwing, prob. a clipping of dornick, which in turn is from the Irish dornog (Colo.)

Dude, n., a man, often used as a form of direct address. This is a 19th century term that has been retained in California surfer lingo and more recently spread to nationwide student slang.

Fer sure, adj., true, a phrase of affirmation, (Calif., San Fernando Valley teenagers).

Freeway, n., a toll-free highway, an expressway.

Geoduck, n., [pron. /gooey-duk/] a large, edible clam, from Chinook jargon (esp. Wash.)

Gnarly, adj., 1) difficult, challenging; 2) unpleasant, disgusting; 3) excellent, wonderful. Originally a California surfer term for difficult surf conditions, this mutated in student slang to first mean something unpleasant and eventually something good. From 1977.

Hassayampa, n., an old-timer, a liar or teller of tall tales, from the Hassayampa River and gold prospectors who worked the area, often hassayamper (Ariz.)

Hole, n., a valley, esp. one surrounded by steep mountains (mountain states, esp. Colo.)

Hosteen, n., mister, old man, used as respectful term of address, from the Navajo hastqi’n (N.M., Ariz.)

Jockey box, n., an automobile’s glove compartment (NW states)

Like, 1) interj., used as punctuation at the end of phrases, as in “That is, like, totally awesome”; 2) v., said or thought, as in “He’s like, ‘I hate that shirt.’” (Calif.).

Looky lou, n., a gawker, nosy bystander (Calif.)

Lucerne, n., alfalfa, from the French (Utah, Idaho)

Mesa, n., a flat-topped hill or mountain, from the Spanish for table (esp. SW states and Colo.)

No-host, adj., describing a social event where guests are expected to pay for their own food and drink, a no-host bar is a called cash bar in the east.

Park, n., a high valley surrounded by mountains, as in the television show South Park (Colo.)

Spendy, adj., expensive (NW states).

Totally, adv., completely, utterly (Calif., San Fernando Valley teenagers).

Tubular, adj., excellent, from the shape of perfect wave for surfing, (Calif., surfer lingo).

Word of the Month: Triple Crown

1 July 2003

In June, Funny Cide, a three-year-old gelding, almost won the Belmont Stakes and the American Triple Crown. Instead he placed, or finished third. Had Funny Cide won the Belmont, he would have been the first horse to win the Triple Crown since 1978. Like Funny Cide, twelve other horses have won the first two jewels in the Triple Crown only to falter at Belmont. Only eleven horses in history have won all three races.

In honor of Funny Cide our word of the month is Triple Crown. The original Triple Crown is the English one, the winning of the three races known as the Two Thousand Guineas, the Derby, and the St. Leger. Only fifteen horses have captured the English Triple Crown.

The American Triple Crown, consists of the Kentucky Derby, the Preakness Stakes, and the Belmont Stakes. The American sense of the term was coined by sportswriter Charles Hatton in 1930 after the English practice. That year Gallant Fox won the American Triple Crown. Sir Barton, who had won the three American races in 1919, was retroactively awarded the honor.

Racing Terms:
across the board, adv., pertaining to a bet on a horse to win, place and show. If the horse wins, the player wins all three bets, if second, two of the bets, and if third, one.

also-ran, n., a horse who finishes out of the money, 1896.

apprentice, n., a jockey who has not ridden a specified amount of winners within a specified period. Apprentices are given weight allowances.

baby race, n., a race for 2-year-olds.

backstretch, n., the straight section of the track on the far side from the club house, 1839.

Belmont Stakes, n., the third and, at 1½ miles, the longest of the three American Triple Crown races, first run in 1867, named for August Belmont (1816-90), financier and race horse owner, Belmont Park is on the grounds of his old estate on Long Island, New York. The race is run three weeks after the Preakness Stakes.

blanket finish, n., a finish where two or more horses are so close that one could theoretically put a single blanket across them, 1934.

blinker, n., leather screen on a bridle that restricts the horse’s vision to straight ahead, used to avoid distractions, 1789.

clubhouse turn, n., the first turn in a race, the one closest to the clubhouse.

colors, n., racing silks, the jacket and cap worn by jockeys, the design can be generic and provided by the track or specific to one owner.

daily double, n., a bet on two horses to win two specified races, usually the first or second races of the day, the two races specified by the track officials for the bet, 1932.

dead heat, n., a tie between two or more horses, 1796.

Derby, n., name for an annual horse race run at Epsom in England since 1780, from the founder, the Earl of Derby, a similar important race in other countries, e.g., the Kentucky Derby.

distance, v., to beat another horse by a specified interval, horses that are distanced in qualifying heats are eliminated from the competition, 1674.

exacta, n., a bet picking the first and second horses, in order of finish, in a single race, also perfecta, 1964.

fast track, n., a dry, hard, and even dirt track, allowing for the fastest running, 1934.

firm, adj., the optimum condition for a turf course corresponding to fast on a dirt track.

furlong, n., unit of measure equaling one-eighth of a mile, from furrow + long, originally the length of a furrow in a common field, c.1330. 

gelding, n., a castrated animal, esp. a horse, from Old Norse, 1380.

groom, n., one who tends to washing, grooming, and feeding them, 1340, ultimately of uncertain etymology, the word has an earlier Middle English sense of man-child or boy.

handicap, n., 1) a race where an umpire determines the weights to be carried by each horse, evening the odds, 1754; 2) extra weight carried by a horse deemed to be superior, 1883; v., to equalize the odds in a race, by decreeing what weights should be carried or by other means, 1852; from “hand in cap,” a method of setting odds, each player/owner would place forfeit money in a cap, an umpire would decree the odds/weights, the players would then simultaneously remove their hands from the cap. If they withdraw their forfeit money with their hands, they accept the umpire’s decision. If both players accepted or forfeited, the money went to the umpire as payment. If only one player agreed to the match, the forfeit money went to him.

in the money, adv., finishing among the winners of a race, in first, second, or third place, 1902.

jockey, n., a professional rider in horse races, 1670. From a hypocoristic form of Jock or John.

Kentucky Derby, n., the first race in the American Triple Crown, run on the first Saturday in May at Churchill Downs, Louisville, Kentucky and 1¼ miles long, named after the British Derby race, first run in 1875.

lock, n., a horse guaranteed to win, a certainty, also a mortal lock, 1942.

maiden, n. & v., a horse that has never run a race, a maiden race is a race open to horses that have never won, 1760.

morning glory, n., a horse that performs well in morning exercise, but runs poorly in races, 1898.

morning line, n., the odds quoted before betting begins, 1935.

mudder, n., a horse that runs well in mud and wet conditions, 1903.

neck, n., unit of measurement, equal to the length of a horse’s neck, about a quarter of a length.

nose, n., a distance of a few inches, 1908; to bet on the nose, to bet to win, 1951.

odds-on, adj., odds less than even money, 1890.

on the bit, adj., a horse either pulling at the bit (eager to run) or on a tight rein, 1928, also off the bit, a horse ridden on a loose rein.

overlay, n., odds that are unjustifiably high, 1944. Also underlay, unwarranted short odds.

paddock, n., a turf enclosure where horses are saddled and kept before post time, 1862.

photo finish, n., a race result so close that reference to finish-line photograph is required to determine order of finish, 1936.

place, v., to finish among the winners, in US usage to finish second, 1826.

pole, n., the inside fence surrounding a race track, the starting position closest to the inside fence, 1851.

post, n., a pole that marks the finish or, esp., the starting point of a race, the start or finishing point of a race, 1642. Also, to pip at/on the post, to beat by a narrow margin at the last moment, 1924.

post time, n., the scheduled time for a race to start, 1941.

Preakness Stakes, n., the second race in the American Triple Crown, run two weeks after the Kentucky Derby at Pimlico, in Baltimore, Maryland. It is 1¼ miles long and was first run in 1873. It is named after the race horse that won the inaugural race at Pimlico in 1870, the horse’s name came from a corruption of a Delaware Indian word Pra-qua-les, meaning quail woods.

scratch, v., to withdraw a horse from a race, 1859. 

short head, n., a distance less than the length of a horse’s head, Briticism from 1898.

show, v., to finish among the top three, esp. to finish third, 1903.

silk, n., a jockey’s jacket, from the material it is made from, 1884; to wear silk, to ride in a race.

sloppy, adj., wet, covered with mud, 1727.

sport of kings, c.phr., horse racing, 1918, earlier uses of the phrase equated war as the sport of kings.

stake, stakes, n., a race where the owners pay an entry fee that becomes or is added to the purse for the race.

steward, n., an official at a race, 1703.

straight, adj., a bet that a horse will win only, as opposed to finishing in the top three, 1928.

stretch, n., a straight portion of the course, esp. the straight portion leading to the finish line, the home stretch, 1895.

stretch turn, n., the turn leading into the home stretch, 1972.

tote board, n., a display on which odds, payoffs, and other race information is given, 1950, tote is a clipping of totalizator, a device for registering and displaying the number of bets on a race, 1879.

trifecta, n., a bet that picks the top three finishers in order, 1974.

turf, n., a grass track, more generally any track or the racing world as a whole, 1755.

valet, n., the person charged with caring for a jockey’s tack and silks, 1591.

Book Review: A History of Reading

1 June 2003

Few people think to distinguish reading from writing. Most generally assume that these two skills are one and the same. Stephen Roger Fischer’s A History of Reading disabuses us of that notion. Fischer’s book is the third in a trilogy, the first two volumes addressing language and writing. This third volume focuses on reading, the various types of reading, how we do it, and the social significance of it.

First, the mental process of reading is quite different from speech or writing. We do not normally read individual phonemes or letters and accomplished readers may not even read individual words. Instead we take in entire phrases with a glance and use pattern recognition to render it comprehensible. Children learning to read do sound out individual phonemes, as do adults when they encounter unfamiliar and complex words, but once reading has been ingrained as a skill, most of us do not.

We also have different modes of reading. How we read aloud differs from how we read silently. We read differently when we read for pleasure than how we do when we read for precise and detailed understanding. Proofreading differs from scanning. Most literate adults use a variety of reading modes depending on their purpose and circumstances.

One of the concepts that Fischer discusses is that of voice. The earliest writings, those of Sumerian scribes, were written in the voice of the scribe. A clay tablet when read was considered to be the voice of the person who wrote it—not the person who dictated it, but of the scribe who actually wrote it down. There were severe penalties for scribes who wrote down falsehoods or inaccuracies. Over time, the idea of an author’s voice developed. The words when read were considered to be whoever uttered them, not who wrote them down. Later, the voices of individual characters could be read.

For most of history, reading has been a public activity. Words were read aloud and to an audience. The medieval monastic scriptoriums were noisy places. When transcribing works, the monks would read them aloud. Silent reading has been common for less a millennium. St. Augustine, for example, records his surprise in A.D. 384 when he discovers his teacher St. Ambrose reading silently to himself. Silent reading did not become common until the ninth century.

Why we read has also changed and grown. There are many more purposes for reading today than in past centuries. The original purpose for reading was commerce. The earliest writings are almost exclusively contracts and inventories of goods. Historical inscriptions came next and then texts for instruction. Finally, literature developed. The first literature consisted of tablets containing queues to jog the memories of those readers who knew the story.

Fischer also discusses the concept of literacy. What constitutes literacy has changed over the centuries as well. In medieval Europe, one was not literate unless one could read Latin. The ability to read the vernacular was not socially significant. Similarly, in the Arab world, literacy was defined as the ability to read the classical Arabic of the Koran, not the vernacular Arabic dialects used in everyday life. Growth of literacy rates has also changed. Universal literacy was not achieved by any society until the 19th century.

Fischer’s organization is chronological. The first two chapters deal with reading in the ancient world. The next two address reading around the world in the pre-modern era. The fifth and sixth chapters are on printing and universal distribution of the written word and how that changed the way and what we read. The final chapter looks to the future and attempts to explain how the internet is changing reading patterns.

Fischer writes in an accessible style. He does not fall into the stiff and unreadable style of many academic texts, but it still is not an easy read. The reason is that A History of Reading is information dense, with so much information in it that it does not make easy reading. The wealth of data in the book is worth taking the time to wade through it all, but casual readers should be warned, this is not for them.

The one negative criticism of the book is that the chronological organization does not make it easy to reference the development in trends in reading. When did silent reading, for example, become arise in different cultures? To find the answer one must visit several different chapters and sections of the book. Appendices that provided timelines or otherwise tied together the various thematic elements in the book would have been helpful. Still, this is a rather minor point.

A History of Reading, by Stephen Roger Fischer, Reaktion Books, June 2003, ISBN 1-86189-160-1, Hardcover, $29.95.