What Comes After Indictment?

 

What Comes After Indictment?

The media are flooded this morning (March 31) with speculation on what comes next for Donald Trump following his indictment in New York yesterday. And that’s the problem: much of it is sheer speculation. But what can he and we know for sure?

As always in times of uncertainty, one should consult a dictionary. Or, even better, several dictionaries. What hope, then, or warnings or encouragement does a brief survey reveal for the indicted former president? (It’s been said that the only place where success comes before work is the dictionary. Now, Trump can adapt that and ask, “What comes after indictment?”)

My Webster’s New Collegiate Dictionary, which I got in grad school at Indiana University, holds out the most encouraging hope for the former president: immediately after indictment it lists indifference: “the quality, state or fact of being indifferent.” Maybe after the initial flurry of news stories and analysis, we’ll eventually shrug over the slow, protracted legal fights that lie ahead. Maybe Trump’s attorneys, with their endless appeals, will reduce the nation to the equivalent of a food coma, in which we eventually either fall asleep or say, “We’ve had enough. We just don’t care any more; what’s on ESPN?.”

All those legal maneuverings won’t come cheap, so it’s no surprise that a few entries further on in my Chambers Twentieth Century Dictionary we find indigent.

A more dramatic suggestion comes from my comprehensive Compact Oxford Dictionary, condensed to two fat volumes of tiny print accompanied by a magnifying glass. This dictionary offers Trump another option: soon after indictment is indies, with the implied suggestion that he consider fleeing to the West Indies.

But however things play out, if Trump read a little beyond indictment in each of these dictionaries the newly indicted former Commander-in-Chief would unavoidably encounter indigestion.

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What's Good?

 

What’s Good?

For the second Sunday in a row, my twin grandchildren—Sophie and Hazel—joined us in church during our visit to Lancaster, PA. They sat through the service once again with nary a murmur. If the rest of the congregation were aware they had seven-month-old twins in their midst, they may well have concluded (with gratitude) that the girls had been “good” babies during the service.

Yet if either, or especially both, of them had resorted to the bawling of which they are capable, I doubt that anyone would have said or even thought, “Bad, bad babies.” For Sophie and Hazel are still at a “pre-moral” stage in their development, regardless of the doctrine of original sin that the good Presbyterians around us no doubt believed.

So why do we say the babes were “good,” attributing to them praise as if they had like George Washington had the moral courage to fessing up about the cherry tree? Or avoided behaving badly, like another George, the notorious new Congressman George Santos—someone who seems congenitally incapable of telling the truth about anything?

Perhaps my son-in-law, Mike, put his finger on it when he said the “good” we’re describing is that the girls’ conduct was good for us; we had a positive experience when it could have been embarrassingly and noisily negative. Perhaps we should say instead something that’s more objective and devoid of moral connotations: “The girls were quiet.”

Similarly, after the girls finish a bottle or after a full-bodied ensuing burp, we’ll say things like “Good girl” or “Well done.” We’d not dream of saying something like, “Bad, bad girl: burp or we’ll send you to time out.”

But at what point do little people become morally accountable, when we can accurately refer to their actions as “good”?

Good question.

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Phrop

 

Phrop

Consider adding the word “phrop” to your vocabulary; you might be able to use it sooner than you realize—or at least find yourself applying the concept it conveys.

The word was coined by a somewhat eccentric Brit, Sir Arnold Lunn, in about 1950. He combined the notions of “phrase” and “opposite” to describe a situation where you say something that sounds positive while you’re thinking the opposite.

Example: “We must get together for lunch some time.” However, you’re thinking “I’d rather have three root canals than suffer through a meal with you.”

Unfortunately, the word never caught on. But Wikipedia’s assessment that the word has “not entered common use” shouldn’t deter us from trying to keep it in circulation.

Michael Quinion, an English linguist, offers several other examples. “With all due respect…” Quinion says, “really communicates ‘I am about to demolish your argument and if at all possible your reputation….’”

 He continue, “A polite ‘I regret that a previous engagement makes it impossible to accept your kind invitation’ replaces the truthful ‘I would rather be gnawed by a rabid stoat.’”

 Then there’s what Quinion calls the “famously double-edged phrop created by Benjamin Disraeli, the 19^th century British politician: “Thank you for sending me your book; I shall lose no time in reading it.”

 More recently, you may have seen on the Internet these deliciously ambiguous recommendations for job seekers, which double as phrops.

•  I can assure you that no person would be better for the job.
• It would be difficult to find someone else with this person’s work ethic.
• You will be fortunate if you can get this person to work for you.

Finally, how about this introduction: “Our speaker this evening is Gordon Jackson. We couldn’t find a better man.” The underlying malicious message? “Goodness knows, we tried.”

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The Economist

The Economist

Given the cost I am not an ongoing subscriber to The Economist, a superb magazine that covers world events. I sign up on alternate years and benefit from a mini-liberal arts education each week.

The magazine also publishes a year-end guide, in which its well-informed editors predict what the next year will look like. This guide, plus a recent weekly issue, touched on two word-related topics that I thought worth sharing.

One was a piece on national anthems and their often blood-curdling calls to patriotism. As the writer notes, “an improbably large number drip with blood. This variously streams generously (Algeria); spills purely (Belgium); dyes the flag red (Vietnam); or waters the furrows impurely (France).” The first verse of France’s stirring Marseillaise “contains the charming and apparently bucolic line: ‘Do you hear in the countryside…’ it begins.” The writer asks, “What can the sound be? Cows lowing? The wind in the vine leaves? No: it is ‘the roar of those ferocious soldiers. They’re coming … to slit the throats of your women and children.’” (Did the French soccer team’s coach remind them to sing the bit about ferocious soldiers before their dramatic World Cup final with Argentina?)

The second article addressed a familiar theme: inflated job titles. Instead of meeting a receptionist as you enter an office, you may encounter “someone far grander: a lobby ambassador.” The article said one job ad for this role specified the person is expected to “curate experiences” for visitors. So, you as a visitor “might think you are asking someone where the toilet is; in fact you are having an experience with a brand ambassador.”

As I finalize my 2023 New Year’s resolution, I realize the need to elevate my rebranding efforts as I curate my readers’ experiences.

And just call me Mr. Ambassador

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Mumpsimus

I don’t remember when I first encountered the word mumpsimus. But it immediately became one of my favorites. Here’s why.

1.      It’s sharply focused. It means “someone who clings to an error despite all the evidence that the person is wrong.” Mumpsimus zeroes in on a particular situation with sharp, clear definition.

2.      Mumpsimus has a fascinating origin. The word comes from a Catholic priest who mangled the Latin wording in saying the Mass. When he should have said “sumpsimus,” meaning “we have received,” after the Eucharist, he said mumpsimus (which is meaningless) instead. Even though the error was repeatedly pointed out to him, he refused to correct his wording.

3.      When I first encountered mumpsimus I read a story that illustrated its meaning. A mental patient insists that he is dead. His psychiatrist asks him, “Do dead men bleed?” The patient says, “No.” So the doctor takes a needle and pricks the patient’s finger and a drop of blood oozes out. The patient looks at his finger in wonderment and says, “Wow, so dead men do bleed.”

4.      The unusualness of the word leads me to appreciate the richness of the English language. Now and again we meet a new word, which we realize is a perfect fit for a particular need. And we say, “Thank you, English, for giving this to me.”

5.      Finally, there’s the word’s utility. Mumpsimus is perfect for describing people who, for whatever motives, refuse to accept the facts. Perhaps it’s out of habit, like the priest getting the wording wrong. Or maybe it’s easier to cling to an error than make a painful change.

Mumpsimus, I contend, is a word for our times. We should push it to the front in our conversations. Put it in headlines. Shout it from the rooftops. Mumpsimus!

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Pre-boarding

 

Traveling earlier this month to Millersville, PA to be with our daughter and son-in-law to help with their young twins, I encountered another instance of the airlines’ eye-rolling use of language. It’s the concept of pre-boarding—which I take to mean “boarding before we begin boarding.” But I don’t know how they can accomplish that. It’s the equivalent of “eating before you eat” or “sleeping before you sleep.” Supposedly it’s a policy of giving preferential treatment to passengers who bought first class tickets or are traveling with small children or need extra helping getting down the walk-way. But why not call it “preferential boarding”?

If we placed “pre-boarding” in a special category of “pointless” words, it wouldn’t be alone. Think of the road signs sometimes placed before construction. They say, “Be Prepared To Stop.” Well, duh… That’s one of the first things you have drummed into you when learning to drive: Know how to stop this chunk of metal that you’re navigating, subject to the terrifying realties of physics and the knowledge that at 60 mph you’re covering 88 feet per second. Of course you should be prepared to stop—at any time!

OK, I’m overreacting. What the road construction people are saying is, “Be even more ready than usual to stop because we’re just ahead.” Admittedly, that won’t easily fit on a sign.

Still, the wording bugs me, in the same way I get irritated by those instructions we get on some frozen food items: “Do not overheat.” Of course you shouldn’t heat it more than you should heat it.

Back to pre-boarding: What if all those eligible for pre-boarding constituted everyone on the flight, and there was nobody else left to board? Could they still have pre-boarding before no other boarding? I’ll ask and share what I learn.

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Moo!

 

Three brief reflections, based on word encounters in the past few days.

Moo!

Yesterday Sue and I were at Spokane’s Vanessa Behan crisis nursery, where we have long volunteered by playing with kids or holding crying infants. A cheerful 2-year-old sat on my lap as we read one of those books with pictures of animals. This girl, whose language skills and vocabulary are on the cusp of exploding, latched on to the noise a cow makes. So she and I just kept saying “Moo!” to each other. Her vocabulary will soon burgeon, but for now she has a thorough grasp on the noise a cow makes. Me too.

Kench

On Sunday a friend sent me a list of about twenty “words to revive,” terms that have faded from English usage. Here are three verbs that I’ll add to my collection:

·         Brabble—to argue loudly

·         Jargogle—to confuse things or mix them up, and

·         Kench—to laugh loudly…

I looked up these definitions and confirmed the first two. But Merriam-Webster knew nothing of “kench” and laughter; instead, it defines the word as a noun, “A bin or enclosure in which fish or skins are salted.” Actually, that was my first guess.

Dialing

Over the weekend I read about the way we use outdated concepts to talk about new technologies. It referred to words like dial or a phrase like hang up, concepts from the days of rotary phones that we keep using even though we’re neither dialing anything on our smart phones, nor hanging them up. Or we speak about tuning in to a radio program, when there’s no dial in sight. Likewise, when did you last see a carbon copy of anything? Yet we send emails with blind carbon copies (bcc). Or rewind a digital program….

Time to sign off.

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