Bloody Marvelous English Language

At times I imagine myself as an English major,  but on reflection, an imagining of a life as a starving artist dispels such thoughts. So it is perhaps fortunate that my word-smithing is a hobby not a profession.

Nevertheless, I find the English language endlessly fascinating. (Note - the adjective "bloody" in this post’s title refers to the English English word, not the American English word.)

Some commentary on this language of some 600,000 words according to the OED.

"Drawing on my fine command of the English language, I said nothing."  Excellent advice for almost every encounter from Robert Benchley.

“The English language is like a broad river … being polluted by a string of refuse-barges tipping out their muck.” Cyril Connolly.  English of course has borrowed words from many languages, like lemon or ketchup or karaoke or beef or lager or piano or ski or ...  Makes the language richer. Good on us.

“The English language is nobody’s special property. It is the property of the imagination: it is the property of the language itself.” Derek Walcott   Indeed.  There is almost always a dozen ways to say the same thing in English.  See if you can find a way to use “defenestration” in conversation today.

"I love the English language, but I am crap at it." Unknown. Sad but true for most of us.

One of the fascinating things with English is the plethora of curious expressions, those phrases that you intuitively understand but ... haven't you wondered ... where the heck did that come from. Maybe you have, maybe not, but I have and I've researched a few of them and I'm here to tell you. Here’s a small compendium.

1. Fat chance: no chance

2. Slim chance: no chance

See the curiousness of this language. If only the same modify rule were true for BMI.

3. Cool your heels: To be kept waiting. From "cool your hoofs" for a horse who takes advantage to lay down and rest.

4. Bite the bullet.  Decide to do something necessary but unappealing. From the days before anesthesia.

5. Take the bull by the horns:  Take on a difficult task with confidence. As you might expect, this stems from bull fighting.

6. Bury the hatchet. To agree to end a conflict. From the practice of Indians tribes burying their hatchets to make them inaccessible during peace negotiations.

7. You don't know beans:  Appalling ignorance.  See also - a more earthy phrase.

8. To have cold feet: Losing one's nerve.  From England’s lack of central heating with frigid floors and unwillingness to get out of bed to check for burglars.

9. Go haywire: Badly messed up. From the days of baling wire which was often used in repairs, rusted and broke quickly, thus messing things up. Twine was not any better in this respect.

10. Mind your p's and q's:  Behave. From your pub tab. Don't charge me for quarts when I drank pints.

11. Beyond the pale:  Reckless, dangerous behavior.  The Pale was an area around Dublin inside which the English deemed themselves safe, but don't go beyond the pale.

12. Three sheets to the wind: Inebriated to the state of wobbling. You would guess this refers to a sailing ship - and it does - except the sheets refer not to sails, but to the ropes that secured them, usually three.  If the three sheets were loosed, the sail flapped uncontrollably.

13. To bell the cat: A difficult task. Just imagine.

14. Amen corner: Originally from preachers proselytizing on street corners.  Now, at least in the USA, the Masters Tournament 11th, 12th & 13th holes.

15. Carry coals to Newcastle: Doing something obviously unnecessary. See also - sell refrigerators to Eskimos

16. Knock on wood: A superstitious act to secure good luck.  Possibly from a game of tag in which tapping a tree meant safety from capture.  Also possibly religious.

17. Raising Cain:  see Genesis 4

18. Bedlam: Uproar & confusion.  From a famous London insane asylum.

19. That's the $64 question:  The most important question to answer, from the 1940's radio quiz show "Take It or Leave It", which inflated into the 1950's scandal ridden "$64,000 Question."  

20.  Bazooka: You know it as a shoulder mounted rocket launch weapon - or maybe bubble gum.  But long before that it was ... a musical instrument.

Happy is the person that findeth wisdom.

Copyright ©  2023  Dave Hoplin

Popular Books

My mother was an avid reader of fiction, a gene I inherited. She subscribed to the Book-of-the-Month Club and as a teen I eagerly awaited those monthly deliveries and devoured most of them. Traditionally, the choices were from "emerging authors" and not "popular" writers. As I remember you could refuse the editors' choice and choose an alternate. What a feast.

Recently I have read three "popular" books that have given me the urge to wax eloquent over them.  Of course, this urge toward eloquence and the implementation rarely correspond, so I beg to temper your expectations here. I generally try to avoid "popular" books, lengthy best seller dwellers or Oprah's picks or even Pulitzer winners. Booker Prize shortlist is usually a pretty good bet. I may be a book snob. When I indulge in the popular, I am frequently disappointed. But I have found there are exceptions to the rule.

Two of the three books have been subjected to criticism for "cultural appropriation", the author condemned for appropriating a subject which is foreign to their own culture and life experiences. I believe this is quatsch. What a boring body of work we would have if authors only wrote within the constructs of their own experiences and culture. No one should be able to tell a writer what they can or cannot write about. The human imagination is beyond restricting. But of course, all writing can and should be subject to criticism, for quality of writing, factual or style reasons - even this blog post - but don't tell me Dickens shouldn't write about the French Revolution or Tolstoy about Napoleon's winter campaign or Stowe about slavery. What is a fiction writer's job if not to imagine the lives of others? Has no one heard of "research"? The vast majority of published books are by white authors so perhaps a better question is who is allowed to utilize their imagination. And it's a fair question to ask, has the work crossed a line into exploitation rather than art.  [Note: I urge you to read the thought provoking deep dive on the subject in NY Times Magazine article "What Does Cultural Appropriation Really Mean?". It's a pretty long, but fascinating read.]

So enough on that and onto the waxing eloquent. Coincidentally, all these books are by white American women. As a testimony to their broad popularity, all three are spawning films, although that does not of itself recommend them.

The first book is American Dirt by Jeanine Cummins. 

This is the story of a Latino woman and her 8 year old son fleeing Mexico from a drug cartel that has murdered her investigative reporter husband and much of her family. It is a story of desperation and kindnesses and a fraternity of refugees on the run, walking and hitchhiking on freight trains on their journey to the US border. Although highly praised, the cultural appropriation controversy was so great that her book tour had to be cancelled for fear for her safety. The accusations are of cultural stereotyping but the book provides a sympathetic view of refugees, which I believe was her intent. NYT asks "Jeanine Cummins's much-anticipated novel “American Dirt,” about Mexican migrants crossing to America, is well intentioned. Is that enough?"  You must decide for yourself. (Imperative Entertainment has the film rights. Spoiler alert: NPR review)

The second book is Horse by Geraldine Brooks

I was #59 on the Dakota County Library digital hold list and after a few weeks I bubbled to the top. Horse is the story of Lexington (1850-1875), widely believed to be the greatest Kentucky thoroughbred and sire in American history. (e.g. sire of U.S. Grant’s mount, Cincinnati and of Preakness, namesake of the Preakness Stakes). The controversy here is around the imagined role of Jarret, the black slave groom of Lexington who is portrayed as the trainer and guide to Lexington's success. There is some evidence for this as accomplished black horsemen were well known in the pre-Civil War south. In addition to this main thread of the novel, there are fascinating side stories around equine art history, pre-Civil War 4 mile challenge races, Smithsonian articulation of horse skeletons. It’s a great read. The only downside for me was the ending, a contrived (in my view) incident designed to facilitate a moralizing conclusion.  (Sony Pictures has the film rights. Spoiler alert: WaPo review)

The third book is Lessons in Chemistry by Bonnie Garmus

Attesting to its popularity, the Dakota County Library digital hold list on Bonnie Garmus' first novel was > 300, so I decided I could wait a year to read this one. Serendipitously, the next day a box arrived from a cousin in Seattle and therein lay a pristine hard copy of Lessons in Chemistry. Holy coincidence. This is the story of Elizabeth, a gifted research chemist in the 1950's, who is subjected to male chauvinism and intense job discrimination with her work being co-opted and credit taken by bosses and male chemist "colleagues". Some might say little has changed. Elizabeth eventually abandons her research career but finds a job hosting a TV cooking show, "Dinner at Six", that becomes wildly successful and where she subversively teaches chemistry and assertiveness to an almost exclusively female studio audience. The ending of the book is a bit smarmy and feel good and perhaps unrealistic for the times, but nevertheless a great read and a lesson in why we do not want to go "back to the 50's".  (Soon to be an Apple TV series. Spoiler alert: WaPo review)

Bon Appetit

Copyright ©  2023  Dave Hoplin

Brain Drain

Brain Drain!  Possibly the best compliment I've ever received. Of course, brain drain literally means ‘losing our minds’ so I should perhaps stay humble.

In the spring of '71 I had a newly minted Master's Degree from Montana State University and having TA’d a number of freshman level math classes, I was convinced I should become a professor. Unfortunately (or fortunately) there were a glut of candidates for every college or junior college level position in the places we were willing to relocate to. Harkening high school math classes, I did not want to go there. In any case, I did not have education credits needed for certification. Nor did I want to continue graduate studies trying to achieve fame by finally proving Fermat’s Last Theorem. [Nerd interlude: no three positive integers a,b,c satisfy the equation a^n + b^n = c^n for any integer value of n > 2. As a matter of interest this was finally proven by British mathematician, Andrew Wiles in 1995. It took him 7 years and the proof runs to 127 pages] 

What to do? Time to earn a living. 

A friend, a MSU PhD candidate pointed me at an ad posted by the Hansestadt Hamburg Schulbehorde seeking math and science teachers to come to Hamburg, Germany and teach in their school system. And on a whim, I applied  and was accepted. Now what?  We had newborn Matt and would face a trip across the pond for up to 2 years of who knows what. The grandparents were not thrilled.  But youth will have out and off we went.

Immigrant shock

I was one of 73 Americans to answer Hamburg's call. This was a radical, perhaps desperate, solution to an extreme teacher shortage. It was an impressive group, mostly Chemistry, Physics, Biology and Mathematics PhD's with a few 90 lb weakling Masters degrees like myself. Many went on to illustrious careers back in the USA. A good friend, Don, became a physicist at Los Alamos Labs. Many returned to professorships all around the country. 

We didn't think of ourselves as immigrants, but that was in fact what we were. Privileged immigrants to be sure. We had an income, help finding living quarters, a built-in community of fellow "immigrants", so it was not the traumatic, terror filled experience of refugees but we had to learn the nuances of a new culture. I know, 1st world problem.

We landed at Hamburg Flughafen to great fanfare - surprisingly.  Reporters eager to get a few quotes from the Gastlehrer.  We stood out holding a 3 month old.

We were loaded on buses and stopped at various locations to drop off a few people at a time ... until we were the only people left on the bus.  We were dropped off at an empty school dorm. WTH. Apparently, they felt a family with an infant needed to be isolated.  Protesting fell on deaf ears. Pretty depressing first day.

Month-long intensive German language classes began immediately - I had 2 years of German at Augsburg, but rust rust rust. My return to studenthood left Carol and baby to wander the neighborhoods.  Carol was recognized as apparently we had appeared on the nightly news, so I think that overcame Prussian "reserve". The people she would meet were welcoming and would try to converse, even attempting English. A kindly resident offered a "stroller" for Matt and we wore the wheels off that thing over the next year (see Bahnhof photo below).

262 am barls, Lurup

After a couple of weeks of dorm living, we were told an apartment had been secured for us and several other American teachers in a brand new apartment complex in Lurup, a NW Hamburg suburb. We secured nice quarters - and the justifiable anger of those families who were on the waiting list for these apartments and were bumped by these carpet-bagger Americans. The apartments were completely unfurnished so we had to scramble to find some cheap stuff.  We bought a bed and a crib but most of the rest of the household was furnished through "Sperrmüll", the once a month, put your unwanted stuff on the curb garbage service. We scrounged up a decent sofa , table, chairs  - and we bought a BBC capable Grundig radio for our entertainment.

Matt was a hit with the kids.
Monday is bedding airing day

Fried water

The Commute

We soon discovered that bureaucratic ineptitude is universal. Charlotte-Paulsen Gymnasium, the school I was assigned to, is in Wansbek, a NE suburb of Hamburg. Our apartment was in Lurup, a NW suburb and the commute required a street car to the train station, train to central Hamburg Hauptbahnhof and a transfer to a subway line and a 6 block to the school. An hour commute by Strassenbahn, S-Bahn, U-Bahn. And reverse that in the afternoon. I had a 4-zone transit pass. Happily the Hamburg transit system is fantastic, but it was still a lot of riding. Sort of like a commute from Mendota Heights to Blaine - via transit. For reference, Hamburg is a city of 2 million.

The School

Charlotte-Paulsen Gymnasium (CPG) is a girls' secondary school coincidentally named for Charlotte Paulsen, a social reformer & womens' rights activist from the mid-1800's. The school consisted of Uterstufe, levels 5-7; Mittelstufe, levels 8-10 and Oberstufe, levels 11-13.  CPG was an all girls school, but was in the second year of converting to co-ed by admitting boys to the incoming 5 grade class. The Mittelstufe graduated students after 10th grade and at that point they had to decide between Gymnasium, Trade School or work. Too young, but of course the parents made that decision. Students who completed Gymnasium almost always went on to University.

The Oberstufe students were pretty impressive, with drive and a burning desire to learn. There was healthy, and perhaps some unhealthy, levels of competition among the students for grades. The expectations upon them were high - I was teaching algebra concepts at 5th grade!  An interesting side story. A student was transferring from CPG to Bavaria. Her teachers met and "updated" her transcript since naturally the Prussian Hamburg schools were vastly superior to the Bavarian, so the updated transcript was sent south.

I taught an 11th grade class that consisted of a group assembled especially for me. Each student had been an exchange student in an English speaking country, usually Britain. So I could teach  this class auf English. What a pleasure. The young women were great. But I think it was the "English" part of the math class that was the draw. I took them out for ice cream instead of holding class one lovely Spring day. No one squealed on me.

The 5th grade class was another story. A raucous group of boys & girls. Teaching in a 2nd language is much more difficult than I had imagined. Try coming up with multiple ways to explain something with a limited vocabulary. Frustrating beyond words. Luckily I was teaching Math and the terms translated easily to German, but still. I felt sorry for the Chem & Physics & Biology folk.

The fellow CPG teachers were kind, for the most part. The younger staff were eager to talk about America. One teacher invited us to their home for a meal - a long commute. We were riding the train - and speaking english of course - and a fellow passenger seemed overly interested in our conversation.  We got off at the same stop and he then guided us to his home. He was the husband of the CPG teacher. They served us eel appetizers. Sketchy for a landlubber.

The older staff clearly had WWII pasts, including a couple with artificial limbs. I never had the courage to ask. Frau Bottiger, the head-mistress, told me that as a university student during the war, she chose math mainly because it was not "politiche".  One staff member, Wulf & his wife, sort of took us under his wing and helped us navigate the Those Strange German Ways.

Siebte Klasse

Charlotte-Paulsen entrance

Breaks

The German school year is long but broken up with a number of long breaks - Christmas, Easter, Pfingsten and Summer. We took advantage of this to travel, burning through our meager savings.  Paris, Sweden, Norway and around Germany. My uncle and family were doing a teaching sabbatical in Orebro, Sweden in 1972 so we traveled there to be with family. They took us to Hallestad, Sweden to discover family on my mother's side (see My People). Great fun. Snella volunteered to watch over Matt while we boarded a train to Oslo. 

On one of their breaks, they came to Hamburg for a visit. We traipsed all over Hamburg including a 6 AM Sunday morning vist to the famous Hamburg Fish Market, their version of the State Fair. 

In the fall a quick, interesting trip to Denmark. During the Pfingsten (Pentecost) break, a bus tour to Belgium, France, & a few days in Paris. Matt entertained the passengers by walking up and down the aisle collecting treats. We walked and jumped off and on trains with that stroller all over Paris. Matt was a great traveler.

And finally, in the summer before we left, we were invited by Dick & Jane - dear friends to this day - to travel through Scandinavia with them. They were also leaving for home and had bought a new Volvo. We took the ferry from Kiel to Oslo and walked from the pier to the Oslo Radhus. Not long after, Dick & Jane drove up and off we went across Norway to the fjords and many ferry crossings. In one such instance we managed to leave our driver (Dick) on shore as we sailed off. Jane must have had an extra set of keys because we drove off the ferry and patiently waited for the next one to arrive. Then north through fjord country to Leksvig and to Carol's ancestors, where we were greeted like royalty. They had the Norwegian flag flying for us. (see Johanna's Journey). Carol's grandmother had emigrated to Minnesota in 1907 and never returned. In 1972, Carol was about the same age as Johanna when she left home and was her spitting image. Johanna's sister Ingeborg was still living and cried and cried - tears of joy.  Johanna's great grandson! 

Ingeborg

After that high we traveled east across Norway and Sweden, to Lapland and down through Finland. A stomach churning ferry trip across the Gulf of Bothnia and another from Malmo to Denmark and we were back to the reality of preparing to leave.

Addendum: Hamburg to Lowry

We had issues getting back to the USA.  We rented a car in Hamburg and drove caravan style with Mike & Marty to Wiesbaden where we stayed at their relatives overnight. Then to Luxembourg for an Icelandic flight to NYC.  So far so good.  But our connecting flight to Mpls was Northwest Air and of course they went on strike.  Stranded at JFK.  Matt slept on top of a suitcase - no problem. 

Eventually we wrangled a flight to Chicago but Northwest was the main carrier from O’Hare to MSP, so stranded again.  We went from airline to airline to try to get a flight and finally decided to take a bus. One agent asked us if we had tried “Air Wisconsin” - Air What?  But it existed and we got 2 seats on a 16 passenger prop plane with a curtain between the passengers and the pilot.  They added 2 extra passengers (military sitting on their duffels).  5 stops between Chicago and Mpls. Airsick city. At one stop, Wausau I think, Carol was so queasy she went in to the “terminal” to get a 7-Up. She had no US $ so she paid in Deutsch Marks :-)  We got to Mpls and of course our luggage was nowhere to be found, stranded somewhere between NYC and MSP.  It did show up a couple weeks later.

We also shipped stuff, using our shrank as a shipping container. Hamburg to Milwaukee. This was mainly to hold the teak desk we had bought. We had a 2nd floor apartment and when the shippers came to pick it up, they bounced it down the stairway and when they got outside the broke off some of the fenceposts from the play area to serve as rollers to get the thing to the truck. Hard to believe but it all arrived safely with the final leg, Milwaukee to Lowry by Raymond Bros truck.

Homeward Bound

We left Hamburg for home after a year of teaching. It was a difficult year but I wouldn't trade this experience. We grew up - well I grew up - Carol was always the grown-up of the family. We had wonderful experiences and made life-long friendships. Great memories, mostly good. I decided to continue to teach in the US (see Thistledew). Having European teaching on a resume got me interviews I probably would not have otherwise. So we ended up back in Minnesota and have lived here happily for nigh onto 50 years. 

Fellow Americans

If you made it this far, congratulations.  I could write a book on that year abroad.

Copyright ©  2023  Dave Hoplin