by Max Cryer
But the first prominent use of the term in public does not imply any sense of danger; its use is strictly metaphorical, in this case meaning to speak briefly on a topic and then quickly moving on. The term occurs in a sermon delivered by Protestant churchman and martyr Hugh Latimer preaching to King Edward VI in 1549:
As the text doth rise, I will touch and go a little in every place . . . I will touch all the foresaid things, but not—too much.
Trophy wife
The concept of a strong successful man with an impressively decorative wife has been around for several thousand years, and described in the same way. Victorious warriors of ancient Greece and Rome aimed to capture, and make wives of, the most beautiful women among their enemies. The custom is mentioned in Ariosto’s Orlando Furioso (1516):
Those arms that Marganor were wont to wield
Were here dispos’d, his cuirass, helm and shield
In trophy wife—and near they bade to place
Their new decree to bind the future race.
Over 400 years after Orlando Furioso the American editor Julie Connelly may have picked up a vibe that there was a rekindling of interest in the ancient term. She certainly gave it a new frontrank exposure. William Safire, writing in the New York Times (May 1994) said of her:
The term trophy wife, now firmly ensconced in the language, was coined by Julie Connelly, a senior editor of Fortune magazine. In a cover story in the issue of Aug. 28,1989, she wrote: “Powerful men are beginning to demand trophy wives. . . . The more money men make, the argument goes, the more self-assured they become, and the easier it is for them to think: I deserve a queen.”
Truth is stranger than fiction
The original lines are:
’Tis strange,—but true; for truth is always strange; Stranger than fiction: if it could be told . . .
Lord Byron wrote this in Don Juan (1823). General usage in the vernacular eventually resulted in an abbreviated version.
TTFN (Ta-ta for now)
During the lead-up to WW II, the phrase TTFN arose as a reaction to, and a slight send-up of, military abbreviations, which were being heard quite frequently.
TTFN may have arisen in the Air Force, but an enormously popular radio show made it famous in Britain.
It’s That Man Again started in 1939 starring Tommy Handley and ran for ten years. A year into its run, actress Dorothy Summers took over the role of Mrs. Mopp, charlady to Mayor Handley, and the scriptwriters began and ended her scenes with two memorable lines. Mrs. Mopp always arrived with a clatter, calling out “Can I do you now sir?” and when she left she bellowed “TTFN.”
Somewhat later, 1968 in Los Angeles, when the soundtrack of Disney’s movie Winnie Pooh and the Blustery Day was being laid down, the actor playing the voice of Tigger was Paul Winchell, whose English wife was very familiar with the term TTFN. Although Disney himself was unsure about it, Paul Winchell inserted TTFN into Tigger’s dialogue, giving the impression to some moviegoers that it comes from A.A. Milne, which it doesn’t.
Whether or not Dorothy Summers’ writers picked it up from military jargon, there is little question that she launched the phrase onto the wider English-speaking world.
Tweedledum and Tweedledee
In London during the 1700s, a hot topic of conversation concerned the varying quality of new offerings from classical musicians. One disputed point was whether Handel’s music was the equal of, or superior to, that of the Italian musician Bononcini.
John Byrom, who invented shorthand, also invented comic names for those two composers when he wrote a satirical poem (c.1725) comparing them. It ended with the lines:
Strange that such high dispute should be,
Twixt Tweedledum and Tweedledee.
Over 140 years later, Lewis Carroll took up the names and allocated them to two fat brothers Alice met through the looking glass.
Two countries separated by the same language
The basic observation was first expressed by Oscar Wilde in The Canterville Ghost (1888), a story about an American family in England coming to terms with a ghost in an English castle. He writes of the American Mrs. Otis:
In many respects she was quite English, and was an excellent example of how we really have everything in common with America nowadays except, of course, language.
Later developments modified Wilde’s original observation into England and America being two countries (or nations) separated (or divided) by one (or a common, or the same) language. One or other of these is often attributed to George Bernard Shaw, but no evidence exists that Shaw ever commented on the matter, either orally or in writing. Wilde takes the honor.
Ugly as sin
What some regard as sins seem attractive to others. But there is no escaping the dark connotations of the word sin. English poet Alexander Pope referred to sin as being unpleasant to behold:
Sin is a creature of such hideous mien
That to be hated needs but to be seen.
But Sir Walter Scott in Kenilworth (1821) first put “ugly” and “sin” together. The young lad known as Hobgoblin tells Tressilian:
Though I am as ugly as sin, I would not have you think me an ass, especially as I may have a boon to ask of you one day.
Ugly duckling
There is a hint of Cinderella—even of Pygmalion—but Hans Christian Andersen’s duckling story (1843) is entirely original, and not based on any earlier myth or folklore. In 1846, Mary Howell provided the first translation of Andersen’s story from Danish into English—the first of many that appeared in other languages.
The story is seen as a metaphor for personal transformation, although the title is commonly heard to refer to someone or something which appears ill-favored. The Ugly Duckling has formed the basis for animated movies, symphonic story-telling, a pop song, and the Olivier Award-winning musical Honk.
Uncle Sam
He was a real person—Samuel Wilson, born in the United States in 1766. An experienced meat inspector, he was engaged by the U.S. Army during the Anglo-American war in 1812 to inspect meat. He declared meat to be acceptable by initialling the barrels, not with “S.W.” (his initials), but with “U.S.” because his fellow workers referred to him and addressed him as Uncle Sam.
Uncle Sam Wilson was known to be a man of great fairness, reliability and honesty. The coincidence of the initials echoing United States, and the affectionate respect in which Uncle Sam Wilson was held, gradually led to the name being equated with the nation as a whole.
By 1852 there were cartoons depicting a benign old man (his red, white, and blue striped suit came later), and his acquaintances and colleagues had no complaint about his being associated with all things American.
He died in 1854 in Troy, New York, and a statue in that town commemorates him as the original Uncle Sam. In 1961 the Congress formalized the matter by passing a resolution affirming that Samuel Wilson was the inspiration for the symbolism of Uncle Sam.
Uncle Tom Cobleigh and all
Commonly invoked when attempting to describe briefly a comprehensive guest list, or any situation where simply everyone with the slightest connection to the event, whatever it is, turns up!
The line comes from a charming old song called “Widdicombe Fair” and although its exact writer is unknown, Uncle Tom Cobleigh is believed to have been a real person, from the village of Spreydon in Devon. Legend has it that he fathered every red-haired child within a thirty-mile radius—without ever marrying. The local tavern features an inscription commemorating the ride to Widdicombe Fair in 1802:
Tom Pearse, Tom Pearse, lend me your grey mare
All along, down along, out along lee
For I want for to go to Widdicombe Fair
With Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney,
Peter Day, Daniel Whiddon, Harry Hawk,
Old Uncle Tom Cobleigh and all
Old Uncle Tom Cobleigh and all.
Underdog and Top dog
The concept of a “top dog” arose originally fro
m the observation that any group of dogs—a wild pack, or even just two in a domestic setting—produces an alpha male which dominates.
Then the term shifted to the once-popular sport of dogfighting, with two references—one actual, and one predictive. During a fight the superior dog could be seen on top. If a particular dog had a track record for often achieving supremacy, those taking bets on a forthcoming fight would refer to it as a top dog, while a newcomer, or fighter with an unimpressive track record, would be the underdog.
The latter term moved away from dogfighting and into wider metaphorical use following the publication of a poem by David Barker, a lawyer in Maine, and also an active writer and poet. “The Under-Dog in the Fight” was first published in 1859, and when Barker died, the New York Times commented (September 16, 1874) that his poem had been “extensively copied.” It was in fact copied and re-published so many times that corruption crept into the original words, but the vernacular use of the term underdog became commonplace.
The Under-Dog in the Fight
I know that the world, the great big world,
From the peasant up to the king,
Has a different tale from the tale I tell,
And a different song to sing.
But for me, and I care not a single fig
If they say I am wrong or right,
I shall always go for the weaker dog,
For the under-dog in the fight.
I know that the world, that the great big world,
Will never a moment stop
To see which dog may be in the fault,
But will shout for the dog on top.
But for me I shall never pause to ask
Which dog may be in the right.
For my heart will beat, while it beats at all,
For the under-dog in the fight.
As a vernacular expression, top dog appears to have crept into common usage later than underdog.
Under the weather
Clearly a reference to seasickness: etymologists of maritime expressions, Bill Beavis and Richard G. McCloskey (in Salty Dog Talk), explain that originally the expression was “under the weather bow”—the weather bow being the side of the ship receiving the full blast of rotten weather—and quite the most unpleasant place to be if feeling queasy.
The first known recording of the term ashore is its mention by American author Donald Grant Mitchell (aka Ik Marvel) in Fudge Doings (1855).
Young Mr. Fudge is travelling for the first time on a steamer and starts to need to lie down a great deal, calls a steward frequently, loses his appetite, develops a parched yellow expression, and finds that wine tastes different and cigars have lost their appeal. He writes to a friend:
The engines keep up an infernal chatter: prefer sailing myself. Besides—one has no appetite: the truth is, I’ve been a little under the weather.
In later decades the expression lost its direct relationship to seasickness, and began to describe a hangover, a failed romance, financial strain—or any other discomfort.
United Nations
At the end of World War II high-level discussions between President Roosevelt and Prime Minister Winston Churchill, who was staying at the White House, sought an agreement between allies. On January 1, 1942, Roosevelt in his wheelchair, and Churchill straight from a bath, met in Churchill’s bedroom to discuss and if necessary revise the Department of State’s proposal, which was provisionally called Declaration of Associated Powers.
President Roosevelt showed preference for a name change to Declaration of United Nations. Churchill firmly agreed, and quoted some lines from Byron’s “Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage”:
Here, where the sword united nations drew
Our countrymen were warring on that day!
And this is much, and all which will not pass away.
The following day the Soviet ambassador and the Chinese Foreign Minister signed the Declaration of United Nations.
(The) usual suspects
A notable line from the 1942 movie Casablanca. Claude Raines as the French police chief Renault gives the order:
Round up the usual suspects.
Written by twins Julius E. Epstein and Philip G. Epstein.
Vamp
A vamp is a woman who cruelly uses sexual fascination to enslave a man. By a curious set of circumstances, she owes her name to Rudyard Kipling—after he was inspired by Sir Philip Burne-Jones.
In 1896, the year that Dracula was first published, a striking painting by Burne-Jones was exhibited at the New Gallery in London. It showed a woman in melodramatic pose and flowing attire, bending back from the body of a man who seemed to be dead, and whose open shirt showed teeth marks on his exposed chest. The painting was called The Vampire.
Fully clothed though the subjects were, the painting was seen as both erotic and dangerous, and caused much comment. Inspired by the Burne-Jones painting, Rudyard Kipling was intrigued enough to write a poem with the same name, “The Vampire,” published in 1896.
The poem concerned the sadness of a man’s loss of pride in the face of the manipulations of beautiful women. Its most memorable line reduces womankind to: “a rag, a bone, a hank of hair.”
The poem caught the attention of Robert Hilliard, who was inspired to write a play on the theme of man destroyed by a rapacious woman. As its title, he chose the Kipling poem’s opening line: A Fool There Was. The play appeared on Broadway in 1909 with Hilliard taking the lead as a diplomat whose life and career are ruined by a scheming charismatic woman. His opposite number, the leading female character, was known throughout simply as The Vampire.
Film producer William Fox bought the rights, and chose an obscure twenty-nine-year-old actress from Cincinnati named Theodosia Goodman to play The Vampire. Recreated by publicists John Goldfrap and Al Selig as Theda Bara (of Eastern royal blood, born under the pyramids and suckled by serpents), she made a sensation and the type she represented in her role as The Vampire quickly became known as the vamp.
There was no known comment from Kipling, but the word has retained that meaning ever since.
Variety is the spice of life
Euripides put it quite gently in 408 BC: “A change is always nice,” and over 2,000 years later Aphra Behn produced a modified version (1681): “Variety is the soul of pleasure.”
But British poet William Cowper in “The Task” (1785) put it in the way it’s been said ever since:
Who waits to dress us arbitrates their date
Surveys his keen reversion with keen eye
Finds one ill-made another obsolete
This fits not nicely, this is ill-conceived
And making prize of all that he condemns
With our expenditure defrays his own …
Variety’s the very spice of life,
That gives it all its flavor.
Viewer
Before television actually began in Britain, there was no satisfactory word to describe the people who would be watching it. The rather clumsy term “looker-in” was gradually replaced by “televiewer,” which was equally awkward.
In 1936 the BBC opened its studio and transmitter at Alexandra Palace in London. The event was marked with a telecast ceremony, during which the Chairman of the BBC, R.C. Norman, greeted the “viewers.”
This is believed to be the first time the word viewer was used publicly to describe television-watchers.
Virtual reality
Somehow evoking the computer age, the term virtual reality actually dates back to 1938 when computers were still beyond the horizon. It occurs in The Theatre and its Double by French poet and director Antonin Artaud, who wrote about virtual reality in theater, where for many centuries images, objects, and characters strove to create a reality that everyone present knew was illusion.
Three decades later the expression began to move way from theater and to imply computer imagery. Myron Krueger wrote of artificial reality, which is also mentioned by Damien Broderick in Judas Mandala (1982).
Fifty yea
rs after Artaud created the term, it was revisited by eminent computer scientist Jaron Lanier, who developed populated virtual worlds, created the first avatars and founded a firm which sold VR product.
The popularity of things virtual led to the ancillary expression virtual community.
See also Cyberspace
(A) walk on the wild side
In 1951 Jimmy Heap recorded a song called “The Wild Side of Life.” Neither the recording nor the song attracted much attention until country music star Hank Thompson re-recorded it in 1952 and had a major hit. Written by Arlie Carter and William Warren, the song depicted the sad breakup of an affair because of a woman’s drift toward “places where the wine and liquor flow, where you wait to be anybody’s baby.”
In the early 1950s American author Nelson Algren heard the song often and its title and setting influenced his 1956 novel A Walk on the Wild Side, which became a 1962 movie with Laurence Harvey, Jane Fonda, Anne Baxter, and Barbara Stanwyck. The movie’s title song “Walk on the Wild Side” (Mack David and Elmer Bernstein) was quite different from the Hank Thompson offering that had originally caught Algren’s attention. But a third song was yet to come—the best known of the three.
