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Apple Pie and American Pride - a Double-Crust History of "It's as American as Apple Pie"

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[B]lessed be the unknown person who invented the apple-pie! Did I know where the grave of that person was, methinks I would make a devout pilgrimage thither, and rear a monument over it that should mark the spot to the latest generations.  Of all pies, of every name, the apple-pie is easily the first and chief.

Henry Ward Beecher (Harriet Beecher Stowe’s brother, and famed American clergyman, social reformer and speaker)

Apple Pie has been as “American as Apple Pie” for well over a century.  The expression has appeared in that form since at least 1910; and the sentiment dates back to at least the 1860s.



Apple Pie as a Symbol of America

In 1889, the United States was engaged in a fierce debate; a struggle for the soul of the country; an attempt to establish a lasting symbol of American greatness; an effort to answer the burning question of the day – what should be the National Flower? 

The idea, first broached at a florists’ convention, was to adopt a flower as the national flower, “as the rose is of England and the lily is of France.”  The National Botanical Garden favored the sunflower, the Agricultural Department voted for the golden-rod, and the White House Conservatories nominated the daisy. Hundreds of newspaper editorials churned through dozens of suggestions, none of which had universal appeal; cotton blossom (too regional), apple blossom (not really indigenous), clover (essentially the same as a Shamrock).  What to do?

Some genius in Wisconsin had a better idea – the “Apple Pie.” 

The National Emblem
What is the Matter with the American Apple Pie?
[From the Milwaukee Sentinel.]

What’s the matter with the apple pie as a national emblem? The apple pie grows in every section of our beloved country, varying in thickness and toughness of crust, it is true, but always characteristically American.  In the homes of New England, in the smack-houses of the South, on the lunch counters of the North, at the wayside stations of the towering Rockies – everywhere in this vast country the flaky or leathery crusts inclose the spiced fruit of the apple tree.  Every true American eats apple pie.  It is substantial, it is satisfying, it is hard to digest, and therefore it is no light a trifling symbol of the solid, satisfying and tenacious life of America.

Another thing in favor of the apple pie as a national emblem is that it is hated, reviled and feared by foreigners, just as our great Republic has been.  Like our free institutions, the apple pie has held its own against the world.  The French pate, the German coffee-cake, the English tart, the Scotch oat-cake, have all been offered as substitutes, but on every loyal table the apple pie holds its place of honor.

Apple pie is fit for all.  The sage and saint of Concord, Emerson, poet and philosopher, fed his mouse on pie three times a day; the business man rushes to the lunch counter for a piece of apple pie and a glass of milk; the laborer draws his piece of pie from his dinner pail as the crowning luxury of his meal.  The hope of the office-seeker is a salary that will give him pie seven days a week.

We should go further than to make the apple pie the national flower; we should embody in the Constitution of the United States a requirement that no foreign immigrant should receive his final papers of naturalization until he should eat an apple pie in the presence of the Court.  The most distinctively American flower is the apple pie, not excepting the doughnut.

Sacramento Daily Record-Union(California), July 13, 1889, page 8.

This editorial was not alone (if at all) responsible for elevating the Apple Pie to its status as a Symbol of America.  The apple pie was considered distinctively American long before the great-National Flower Debate of 1889.

In 1875, as the American Centennial celebration neared, one observer of pop-culture predicted the typical Americans of the future, during the American Bi-Centennial, would still be eating Apple Pie:

No good thing is destined to moderate use; so that the second centennial will probably see the typical American fiercely attacking a frightful triangle of apple pie, and washing it down with constant deluges from a glass crammed with ice and prospective stomach-ache.

The Daily Phoenix (Columbia, South Carolina), July 8, 1875, page 2.

One hundred years later, the prediction came true, as evidenced by Chevrolet’s “Baseball, Hot Dogs, Apple Pie and Chevrolet” ad-campaign of 1975.


An American (Apple Pie) in Paris

In the 1860s, homesick Americans in Europe could get a taste of American Apple Pie in Paris:

The bill of fare in a Paris restaurant gives the following list of “American specialties”:

“Hot corn bread, stewed oysters, fried do., pickled do., oyster fritters, gingerbread, buckwheat cakes, apple dumplings, apple pie, mince pie, lemon pie, pumpkin pie, and all kinds of American pastry.


The Wheeling Daily Intelligencer (West Virginia), April 21, 1866, page 1.

In the late-1870s, it was fashionable among certain classes to denounce pie, as something low-class; but those same critics might nevertheless stop by for and American apple pie in Paris:

A great many people think it savors of a life abroad to speak with horror of pie, although they were very likely the foremost of the Americans in Paris who used to speak with more enthusiasm of the America pie at Madame Busque’sthan of the Venus of Milo.

Charles Dudley Warner, Backlog Studies, Boston, Osgood, 1878.

Standard European menus, it seems, did not satisfy the standard American palate:

Nothing in European dinners can compare with the American custards, puddings, and pies.  We are accused as a nation of having eaten too many sweets, and of having ruined our teeth thereby; but who that has languished in England over the insipid desserts at hotels, and the tooth-sharpeners called “sweets,” meaning tarts as sour as an east wind, has not sighed for an American pie?  In Paris the cakes are pretty to look at, but oh, how they break their promise when you eat them! Nothing but sweetened white of egg.  One thing they surpass us in, - omelette soufflé; and gateau St. Honore is good, but with that word of praise we dismiss the great French nation. . . .
But oh! There is “something more exquisite still,” and that is an apple pie.
Apple Pie.

All new dishes fade, the newest oft the fleetest;
Of all pies ever made, the apple’s still the sweetest.
Cut and come again, the syrup upward springing,
While life and taste remain, to thee my heart is clining.
Who a pie would make, first his apple slices,
Then he ought to take some cloves and best of spices,
Grate some lemon rind, butter add discreetly,
Then some sugar mix, but mine, - the pie not make too sweetly,
If a cook of taste be competent to make it,
In the finest paste he will enclose and bake it.”

During years of foreign travel I have never met a dish so perfect as the American apple pie can be, with cream.

M. E. W. Wherwood, The Art of Entertaining, New York, Dodd, Mead and Company, 1892.

The word got out; the Queen of England wanted a taste:



. . . and Rudyard Kipling loved American Apple Pie so much that his American wife bought a high-tech American rolling pin:


The Brownsville Daily Herald (Texas), October 14, 1903, page 4.
 . . . and the Belgian violin virtuoso Eugène Ysaÿe (who first turned his nose up at the pie) was a convert:

Evening Star (Washington DC), September 17, 1904.



As American as Apple Pie

The earliest example of the expression, “as American as Apple Pie,” that I could find is from 1910; in a review of Winchell Smith’s play, Bobby Burnit:

Bobby Burnit. By Winchell Smith

For a long time Mr. George Randolph Chester has been delighting the readers of the Saturday Evening Post with the type of young American who regards life as a holiday affair until he gets to the end of his string, but who then braces up and proves himself a great deal of a man.  The latest of these creations is “Bobby Burnit” and Mr. Winchell Smith has made a play out of his adventures . . . .  [I]t is full of satisfying humor without a dull spot and is as American as apple pie.

Metropolitan Magazine, Volume 33, Number 1, October 1910.

The expression appears in print numerous times throughout the 1920s; the earliest in March 1920.  A  case-study of how the town of Chester, Pennsylvania successfully assimilated foreign-born workers into the community during a World War I surge in wartime production, suggested one method of Americanizing the great unwashed – let them take showers, “it’s as American as Apple Pie”:



Baths are as characteristically American as apple pie. Chester started Americanizing its foreigners by letting them use the shower baths in the school houses.




Another early example of the expression in print noted that early German successes on the battlefield in World War I had been the result of American tactics:

It is rather interesting to know that something of the perfection of the German mobilization and of the swift smash through Belgium and northern France was due to the use the Germans made of ideas as American as apple pie.

The Sun and The New York Herald, April 4, 1920, page 88. [i]

The expression may have gained steam during World War I; perhaps inspired by the homesick nostalgia of American troops serving “Over There”:


Out of the ruck and din of war has come the news that the apple pie is coming into its own and I am glad.

Today, the old apple pie, the favorite of my boyhood and your boyhood and girlhood, is being acclaimed as the king of pastry in foreign lands as well as the United States.  A king has tasted of it and approved; it is now known to be the favorite pastry of Gen. Pershing, commander of the American expeditionary forces; soldiers at the front are being supplied with it by Salvation Army lassies, and here at home it is being praised by returning soldiers as one of the staffs of life of the battlefield.  Of recent date I heard it praised in a street speech and since I have read of its European triumph in newspapers and magazines.

The Sun and The New York Herald, April 4, 1920, page 88. [i]


Once again, you could get a slice of American Apple Pie in Paris:


Harrisburg Telegraph (Pennsylvania), September 13, 1918, page 12.

There is no spot in Paris where the men in olive drab find more real enjoyment than in this clubhouse [(the Y. M. C. A.)].  To begin with, it is one of the few places where it is possible to get a piece of genuine American pie, the real New England national dish.

France has many culinary attainments to her credit, but up to date she has not succeeded in achieving an American pie.  The soldiers always weep for joy when they first encounter this homely article of food.

Harrisburg Telegraph (Pennsylvania), September 13, 1918, page 12.

Theodore Roosevelt’s daughter-in-law is said to have had a hand in bringing the apple pie to the Paris Y. M. C. A.:

Apple pie, such as mother made, was the attraction that drew a hungry lot of young Americans in uniform to the canteen of the Y. M. C. A. one day last week. . . .   The American women who every afternoon devote themselves to serving the boys in uniform decided that peach ice cream, raspberry water ice, cakes of all descriptions and richness, soft drinks of many flavors – some quite unexpected – did not quite make the boys feel at home.  What was lacking? Mrs. Theodore Roosevelt, Jr., who is one of the most active waitresses at the canteen, searched for the answer. Why pie, of course!

But this is Paris, where pie is unknown, that is to say real pie.  One can buy the most delicious fruit tarts, but they have no upper crust, and who ever heard of mother baking a pie with only a lower crust?  The bakers and confectioners who supplied the cakes and tarts decided to experiment, but at a pension frequented by Americans the “jewel of a cook” was found.  Assisted by some of the canteen workers, she baked the pies in the morning; that afternoon she was an Immortal, so said the American boys who ate them.

The Sun (New York), October 17, 1917, page 14.

And, it wasn't just in Paris; the soldiers could also get Apple Pie (and doughnuts) at the front:



New York Tribune, May 18, 1918, page 3.


Similar stories played themselves out in other locations:



Harrisburg Telegraph, July 1, 1918, page 8.

And, it wasn’t just Americans overseas who saw apple pies as something distinctively American; foreigners visiting the United States thought so too:

M. Edwards, of Johannesburg, South Africa, who dined often and well at the Hotel Belleclaire during his stay in New York, was so impressed with our Apple Pie that when he sailed for home on the steamship “City of Calcutta” Friday, August 17, he took with him two Belleclaire Apple Pies, calculating that they would last him about five days, on the basis of eating three pieces a day.

Mr. Edwards is some apple pie eater!  He thinks our Apple Pie is the greatest dish he ever ate.  He told us before sailing “Your Apple Pie almost persuadeth me to become an American.”

New York Tribune, September 2, 1917, page 54.



American Pies

In 1917, pie, generally, was considered “The National Dish,” and Apple Pies, in particular, had long been the king of American pies:

The National Dish.

The pie holds the center of the American table.  Its priceless influence on the national life cannot be measured.  It has sustained us through wars, politics, administrations, plague and panic. . . . It has gladdened every feast.  Who can count the meals that have been brightened by the pie!

Evening Star, January 20, 1917, page 6.

Chicago’s Mouth for Pie.

According to the statistical fiend Chicago eats 300,000 pies a day . . . .  There are nineteen standard kinds of pie, but apple takes the cake. . . .   Americans eat more pie than foreigners, but the men from New England take the lead in eating pie.  Pie and milk is their favorite lunch.

The Daily Astorian (Astor, Oregon), December 3, 1885, page 1.

A Pie Factory.

Popularity of a Distinctively American Pastry.
Three Hundred Thousand Gothamites Addicted to Its Daily Use.

The apples are the staple of most of the factory-made pies . . . .

No other country has the same advantages as America in this respect, and the “tarts” of England and pastries of France have never been able to rival the popular and economical qualities of the American pie. – New York Graphic.

The Abbeville Press and Banner(Abbeville, South Carolina), March 7, 1888, page 3.


Why is Apple Pie “American”?

Long before the United States existed, at least one British poet loved him some Apple pie – or pye:

Apple Pye: A Poem, by Dr. King

Of all the Delicates which Britons try,
To please the Palate, or delight the Eye;
Of all the several Kinds of Sumptuous Fare;
There’s none that can with Apple-Pye compare,
For costly Flavour, or substantial Paste,
For outward Beauty, or for inward Taste.


The Art of Dress. A Poem, London, Printed for R. Burleigh, in Amen-Corner, 1717.

So what’s so American about Apple Pies? 

The popularity of Apple Pie in the United States may be the result of several factors; sugar, apples and crust.  The Untied States was a major sugar producer, whereas Europe could only import their sugar.  Sugar may therefore have been cheaper, and the pies sweeter.  Although apples were not indigenous to North America, the earliest colonists brought apple seeds and cuttings with them; and westward-travelling settlers brought apples and apple trees with them.  Entrepreneurs like Johnny Appleseed also spread the gospel of apples.  The United States is still the second largest apple producer in the world, behind only China.  

Finally, the popularity of Apple Pie in the United States may have benefitted from good-old American ingenuity – a bottom crust. An informal review of a representative sampling of several American and British cookbooks from the first half of the nineteenth century reveals a marked contrast between British “pies” and American “pies.”  British cookbooks describe pies, including apple pies, in which the filling is placed directly in an unlined pan and covered with a single, upper crust.[ii]  American cookbooks, on the other hand, distinguish between “pies” and “pot pies.”  In making “pies,” the pan is first lined with a bottom crust, then filled and covered with an upper-crust; for “pot pies,” like British “pies,” the filling is placed directly into the unlined pan or “pot” and covered with a single, upper-crust.[iii]  


Whether these differences hold across all early British cookbooks and all early American cookbooks may be answered better by a culinary historian; but the first several of both types of cookbooks I looked through were all in agreement.  Two crusts - it's as American as Apple Pie; perhaps it's what makes Apple "Pies" American.


George Washington – Father of Our Country – Father of Our Pie?

I cannot tell a lie – George Washington is the Father of American Apple Pie.  OK, it’s just a little fib; but this, perhaps overly-patriotic account of the origin of American Apple Pie from the early 1900s credits Washington's cook with the innovation:

The First Apple Pie

George Washington gave the American colonies freedom and independence. . . . But George Washington’s unknown cook first gave the world something in his own line that is still peculiar to America – apple pie.

“Pie” almost anywhere in the world but America, means a meat pie, even today.  English cooks make what they call a “tart” that is the nearest approach to the American pie, - a mess of fruit cooked in a soup plate and covered with a thin crust, tender, but not crisp and flakey.  Even with the help of skilled cooks, this “tart” is a long, long way from the culinary perfection of the American pie.

It may seem like a pretty farfetched claim to the credit of Washington’s camp cook but one of Washington’s own letters makes mention of the experiment, and those familiar with culinary history say that if the apple pie mentioned was not really the very first apple pie ever made, it was close to it.  In a letter to a friend, Washington says:

Of late he [(the cook)] has had the surprising sagacity to discover that apples will make pies; and it is a question, if, in the violence of his efforts we do not get one of the apples instead of having both of beefsteak.  If the ladies can put up with such an entertainment, and will submit to partake of it on plates, once tin but now iron (not become so by the labor of scouring), I shall be happy to see them; and am, dear doctor, yours, etc. – George Washington.”

The Minneapolis Journal, February 25, 1906, The Journal Junior, page 56.

It may not be true, but the story at least reflects the perceived differences between American Apple Pie and other pies of the world; and tries to tie the most American pie to the most American hero.  I wonder whether George Washington could throw an Apple Pie across the Potomac?

Abraham Lincoln is also tied to Apple Pie lore.  In a cooking video on History.com’s “Hungry History” series, a chef demonstrating how to bake an Apple Pie claims that, “Historians believe that the phrase, ‘as American as Apple Pie,’ was coined by Abraham Lincoln during the American Civil War.”  It is possible, I suppose, but it may just be apocryphal.  Whether historians actually believe it or not another question. 

Another apocryphal Lincoln story suggests that when he greeted Harriet Beecher Stowe, the author of Uncle Tom’s Cabin, on her visit to the White House during the Civil War, he asked her whether she was the woman who wrote the book that started the war; which brings us back to Harriet's brother, Henry Ward Beecher, whose words opened this piece.  He wrote lovingly of Apple Pie on several occasions, in words that may may reflect the mood of American public, in general, vis-a-vis pie; which could help explain how and why the Apple Pie is so revered:

[B]lessed be the unknown person who invented the apple-pie! Did I know where the grave of that person was, methinks I would make a devout pilgrimage thither, and rear a monument over it that should mark the spot to the latest generations.  Of all pies, of every name, the apple-pie is easily the first and chief.[iv]

Apple-Pie should be eaten while it is yet florescent, white or creamy yellow, with the merest drip of candied juice along the edges (as if the flavor were so good to itself that its own lips watered!), of a mild and modest warmth; the sugar suggesting jelly, yet not jellied; the morsels of apple neither dissolved, nor yet in original substance, but hanging, as it were, in a trance between the spirit and the flesh of applehood.[v]

Not that apple is no longer apple! It, too, is transformed; and the final pie, though born of apple, sugar, butter, nutmeg, cinnamon, lemon, is unlike none of these, but the ideal of them all, refined, purified, and by fire fixed in blissful perfection.[vi]


 Or, maybe it just tastes good.


[i]Barry Popik’s online etymology dictionary, The Big Apple, lists another numerous other historical examples.
[ii]John Simpson, A Complete System of Cookery on a Plan Entirely New, London, W. Steward, 1816; William Kitchiner, The Cook’s Oracle, London, Cadell, 1827; Robert Huish, The Female’s Friend, and General Domestic Adviser, London, G. Virtue, 1837; The Young Cook’s Assistant, Being a Selection of Economical Receipts and Directions, Adapted to the use of Families in the Middle Rank of Life, edited by a Clergyman’s Daughter, London, John Johnstone, 1848.
[iii]Elizabeth Putnam, Mrs. Putnam’s Receipt Book: and Young Housekeeper’s Assistant, Boston, Ticknor, Reed and Fields, 1850; E. A. Howland, The New England Economical Housekeeper, and Family Receipt Book, Worcester, Massachusetts, 1845; H. L. Barnum, Family Receipts, or Practical Guide for the Husbandman and Housewife, Cincinnati, A. B. Roff, 1831.
[iv] Samuel B. Halliday, Henry Ward Beecher: A Sketch of His Career, Hartford, Connecticut, American Publishing Company, 1887, page 583.
[v] Eleanor Maria (Easterbrook) Ames, Beecher as a Humorist, New York, Fords, Howard and Hulbert, 1887, page 28.
[vi]Proceedings of the Meeting of the New York Horticultural Society, 1901, page 57.

A Pie-in-the-Face Update

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Last year, I posted a piece about the history of pie-in-the-face humor.

(See, Homelessness, Hunger and Domestic Violence - a Serious History of the Pie-in-the-Face Gag.)

In that piece, I traced the origins of pie-in-the-face humor from a burlesque, parody of a Broadway show that premiered in 1898.  In the show, The Con-Curers (a parody of The Conquerers) the heroine threw a custard pie (or cream pie) in the face of an officer of an occupying foreign force, in place of the glass of wine thrown in the officer's face in the original.  The bit was well reviewed and reported to have been inventive; there was no suggestion that the bit was old, tired, or common before that time.

There also seems to be a straight line from that plat, to the wider development of common pie-in-the-face schtick.  The play had a long run, and toured, so many people in many places had a chance to see the bit.  Within a few years, pie-in-the-face jokes appeared frequently in print, the bit was borrowed by comedians in other shows, and the gag appeared in an early motion picture - at least as early as 1905.

But recently, while researching the history of the phrase, "as American as Apple Pie," I ran across an older - MUCH older - comedic pie in the face.  It's from a comic novel published in 1709, based on a French translation of a story originally told in "mixt Italian, a Speech Corrupted, and now much in Use thro' all the Islands of the Mediterranean . . . ."

Like so many of the thrown-pies discussed in my earlier piece, this pie was also thrown in anger in an episode of domestic violence - in this case, it was a Priest's wife attacking her Priest-husband.  The episode is told twice; once from the perspective of witnesses, and once from the perspective of the Priest:

[Eyewitness Account]


The fight was pleasant enough, an old thin raw-bon’d Priest, in his Sacerdotal-Habit, combating his Wife, who buffeted him again, and seem’d to be the Aggressor.  He had not only lost his Hat and Peruke in the Scuffle, but his Face look’d all over besmear’d with something, no Body could tell what; but at last it was known to be piping Hot Apple-Pye, out of the Oven, which she had scalded him with, in a very handsome manner, but was so kind to throw a Pound of Butter immediately after, to cool him again.


[Priest's Account]

I had been abroad to Day about my Business, and had miss’d my Dinner; coming home, I ask’d for something to eat; she had took care, (after dining plentifully her self) that there should be nothing left for me.  One of the Maids whispered me, that there was a large Apple-Pye in the Oven to be kept hot for the Gentleman’s Supper, but I was to know nothing of it.  Being pretty sharp-set, I went to the Oven, as by Instinct, out I drew the Pye, got a Plate of Butter, and fell to buttering of it in happy Security, as I thought, because she had retir’d to her Closet, pleas’d with putting the Victuals out of the way, that I should have nothing to eat.  The Devil would not let her rest long without tormenting of poor me; down she comes, and before I was aware, snatches the Pye, and by a dexterous whirl of her Hand, sends it full in my Face and Eyes; the Plate of Butter follow’d, then the Tankard full of Drink, and, in short, whatever came next.

Mrs. Manley (Mary de la Reviere), Secret Memoirs and Manners of Several Persons of Quality, of Both Sexes, from the New Atlantis, an Island in the Mediterranean (2d Edition), London, Printed for John Morphew, 1709, pages 158 and 162.

I guess it's true what they say, there is nothing new under the sun.



Perching Birds and Nudity - the Naked Truth about "as Naked as a Jaybird"

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(CNN)There he was, the leader of the free world, President Lyndon Baines Johnson, aboard Air Force One standing in front of reporters, naked as a jaybird.


To be fair, it was a hot, sunny day. CNN.com/2016/02/29/politics
 


But why a jaybird?  Because his initials were, L. B.”Jay”?  – and his wife’s name was Lady-“Bird”? 

Probably not.  Early examples of the idiom, “naked as a jaybird” suggest that the idiom originally referred to the nakedness of freshly hatched birds.


Unfledged Birds

“As naked as a Jaybird” is an American idiom that means essentially the same as, “as naked as a newborn baby.”  But, whereas the imagery of a naked baby is straightforward and literal, the connection between nudity and birds is less obvious.  Jaybirds never wear clothes, although their feathers keep them from appearing completely naked. 

The etymology of the idiom has long been up for debate.[i]  The Word Detective speculated[ii]that it may be related to the word, “Jay,” meaning a rube or country bumpkin – a word now best known as part of “jaywalker.”  The word, “Jay,” however, may be related to Aesop’s proverbial (or should that be fabulous) Jay, who dressed himself up in peacock’s feathers; only to learn that he was still just a Jay underneath (but that’s a different story altogether - see my post, Jayhawkers and Jaywalkers).

Christine Ammer, the editor of the American Heritage Dictionary of Idioms and Cool Cats, Top Dogs and Other Beastly Expressions, speculated that the idiom referred to the nearly featherless state of an unfledged Jay.  Newly hatched perching birds (including jays) have almost no down.  Early examples of the idiom, and its British precursor, “naked as a robin” (also a perching bird), suggest that Christine Ammer’s instincts were correct.[iii]

The second earliest example[iv]of “naked as a robin” that I could find is from a debate about taxation and payment of the national debt:

If Sir Thomas adhere to his doctrine, and if that doctrine be acted upon, he will have the coat taken off his back, and will be left as naked as a robin two hours old; and I shall see him in a plight more wretched even than that of any of those who are now, as he, I dare say, sincerely professes, objects of his commiseration.

Cobbett’s Weekly Register (London), Volume 58, Number 6, May 6, 1826, column 354.

Newly Hatched Robin.
The earliest example of “naked as a Jay bird” that I found is from an open letter to the thief who stole Malcolm D. Johnson’s pants; it was published under the cryptic headline, “Bolifuqua Cunneya”:

Steal Not, is an express prohibition contained in the revealed law of God, and D—d be he who disregards it – such an one is the abhorred of man, and the accursed of God. . . .

“He that steals my purse steals trash,” but he that filched from me my breeches, robbed me of that which may have enriched him; but which left me as naked as an unfledged Jay bird.

Lexington Union (Lexington, Mississippi), March 13, 1841, page 3.


Another turn-of-phrase from about the same time supports the freshly-hatched theory:

He spoke further, and from behind a screen of dried reeds out creeped a diminutive creature with a huge head, having the form of a misshapen human being – but black as ebony and, with the exception of a sheepskin, round its loins, as naked as a new hatched raven.

Charles White, The Cashmere Shawl, An Eastern Fiction, Volume 1, London, H. Colburn, 1840.  

Newly Hatched Raven.


As early as 1822, unfledged birds of unspecified species were paragons of nakedness:

[A]fter having passed through a country diversified with hedges bare, ditches frozen over, woods as naked as an unfledged bird, with here and there a few of the feathered tribe hopping on the uninviting branches -- . . . we arrived safe at the mansion of Squire Potter.

“A Christmas Visit,” The Manchester Iris, Volume 1, Number 39, October 26, 1822, page 306 (Thank you Garson O'Toole for alerting me to this citation). 

The expression, “naked as an unfledged bird,” appears in print a couple more times; the latest in the 1870s.
Both American and British writers of the period played variations on the newborn theme; further supporting the notion: “naked as a new-born babe” (1839),[v]“naked as a new doll” (1851),[vi]“naked as a new-born devil” (1844),[vii]“naked as a new-made mast” (1864).[viii]

Birds, babies, dolls and devils were not the only things to be metaphorically naked.  Poor people might also be naked; ,they can’t afford clothes:

If the constitutional bounds in either case are overleaped, what assurance have the people that their liberties and reserved rights may not be imperceptibly frittered away and swallowed up by the Governments created originally for their protection, and they stripped naked as a Danish boor or a Russian serf, especially if the United States may tax them, and the States may tax them, when neither tax is to be levied for either national or State purposes.

Gales & Seaton’s Register of Debates in [the United States’] Congress, House of Representatives, September 20, 1837, page 689.

To me, no season of the year is so disagreeable as the moment when a glaring spring sunshine makes one pant after the shade and refreshment of verdure, while the branches are still as naked as an Irish beggar.

Catherine Gore, Cecil, a Peer: a Sequel to Cecil, or, The Adventure of a Coxcomb, London, T. and W. Boone, 1841, page 202. 

Most of these examples appear to be one-off turns of phrase, and not to have achieved idiomatic status in their own right; only “naked as a jaybird” and “naked as a robin” appeared regularly in print.

“Naked as a robin” appears to have been a well-known British idiom throughout the 19thcentury and throughout Britain.[ix] It was used in a magazine published in London in the 1820s, and by writers from Surrey in Kent in 1851 and from Bradford in Yorkshire in 1872.  Even Stanley’s Dr. Livingstone (“Dr. Livingstone, I presume”), who was from Scotland and spent much of his adult life in Africa, used the expression in his journal in 1866.[x]

I could only find only two examples of “naked as a jaybird” in print from before 1899; the second one, appropriately enough, is from a clothing advertisement from 1894:

Newberry Herald and News (South Carolina), September 12, 1894, page 2.

The phrase appears regularly, if not frequently, after 1899.  Perhaps its rise was influenced by the term "Jay" (bumpkin), which dates to the 1880s, and became increasingly common throughout the 1890s and into the early 1900s. 


Bare Tailfeathers

An old cowboy, critical of fakers and counterfeits, fashioned a modified version in 1893:

 [I]f he ever ventures to show his contemptible cranium within fifty miles of a decent cow camp, he will have his humbug qualifications of cow-boy stripped from his poor worthless carcass so quickly that he would feel like a jay bird with his tail feathers gone.

Will  S. James, Cow-boy Life in Texas, or, 27 Years a Mavrick, Chicago, Donohue, Henneberry, [c1893], page 27.

Curiously, the cowboy version of 1893 bears a striking similarity to an older – MUCH older – line from a book first published in 1562; a book written by the man credited with dozens of still common expressions; “haste makes waste,” “out of sight, out of mind,” “two heads are better than one,” “have your cake and eat it too,” and “do not look a gift horse in the mouth,” among others.

John Heywood was an English writer who was born in Coventry in about 1497 and died in Belgium in 1866; he England to avoid the consequences of the Act of Uniformity against Catholics in 1564. His Dialogue of the Effectual Proverbs in the English Tongue Concerning Marriage contains the following lines:

To discharge charge, that necessarily grew,
There was no more water than the ship drew.
Such drifts drave he, from ill to worse and
Till he was as bare as a bird’s arse.

John S. Farmer, Editor, A Dialogue of the Effectual Proverbs in the English Tongue Concerning Marriage by John Heywood, London, Gibbings, 1906, Proverbs, Pt. II, Ch. VIII, page 89 (italics in the original).[xi]


Picked (Plucked) Birds

Heywood’s 1562 version and the cowboy’s 1893 version, though similar, differ in that the former implies that bird’s arses are naturally bare and the latter suggests a jaybird missing tail feathers that might otherwise be there, if they hadn’t been plucked.  The cowboy’s version may be a mash-up of “naked as a jaybird” with another naked idiom, “as naked as a picked bird”:

There he was, six miles from home, as naked as a picked bird and no way to get home without creating a riot, except by waiting until it got dark.

Samuel Oliver Young, True Stories of Olds Houston, Galveston, Texas, O. Springer, 1913, page 125.

In an ironic twist born of an iconic twister, a “dead robin” might be as “naked as a picked bird”:

A dead robin was picked up on Lafayette Park.  On one side the bird was intact.  On the other every feather was gone.    It was “naked as a picked bird,” to use a familiar expression. 

Julian Curzon, The Great Cyclone at St. Louis and East St. Louis, May 27, 1896, St. Louis, Cyclone Publishing Company, 1896, page

And, coming full circle, a jaybird could be picked naked:

It would not only answer as a great convenience, but would beautify and adorn that part of our town, which, at present, looks shorn of all attraction and as naked as a picked jaybird.

The Comet (Johnson City, Tennessee), March 15, 1894, page 1.

The Moral of the Story

The moral of Aesop’s fable of the Jay and the Peacock is that, “it is not only fine feathers that make fine birds;” the suggestion being that the lowly Jay was putting on airs by wearing his peacock feathers.  But now that I think about it, perhaps he needed the peacock feathers because he had been picked clean and was “as naked as a picked jaybird.”  Have we been too hard on him for all these millennia.

This topic has also been picked clean.  The idiom, “naked as a jaybird,” appears to be a shortened version of “naked as an unfledged Jay bird,” which was itself a longer version of “naked as an unfledged bird.”  The Brits followed a similar path using a robin instead.  When “unfledged” flew the coop, the original meaning was obscured.  Over time, the idiom was folded, spindled and mutilated in various riffs on the original theme, including “picked birds” and “missing tail feathers.”  In the end, however, a form of the idiom went full-circle, back to a 450-year old expression about bare bird bottoms; whether that expression was ever idiomatic or not, is another question.


The Vancouver World (British Columbia, Canada), January 7, 1910.

The Guthrie Daily Leader (Guthrie, Oklahoma), March 9, 1918, page 1.



[i]See, Michael J. Sheehan, Word Mall Blog, “Naked as a Jaybird,” July 12, 2006.
[ii]See, Evan Morris, The Word Detective, “It’s a Bird, It’s a Plane, It’s Milton!” April 26, 2001.
[iii]Christine Ammer is not the only person to have suggested that the idiom relates to newly hatched birds. See, for example, Wordcraft.info message board.
[iv]The earliest example of “naked as a robin” I could find was also from Cobbett’s Weekly Register (Volume 42, Number 1, April 6, 1822): No; I won’t take the lease! You sha’nt give up the lease.  I’ll make you pay your rent; or, “as G—d’s  my savior” I’ll strip you as naked as a robin!
[v]Bentley’s Miscellany (New York), Volume 4, November 1839, page 494.
[vi] Albert Smith, The Struggles and Adventures of Christopher Tadpole, New York, Stringer & Townsend, 1851, page 66.
[vii] Henry Cockton, The Life and Adventures of Valentine Vox, the Ventriloquist, London, Routledge, 1844, volume 1, page 212.
[viii]Richard Henry Horne, Prometheus, the Fire-Bringer, Edinburgh, Edmonston and Douglas, 1864, page 34. 
[ix] Several discussions online suggest that “naked as a robin” was from Shropshire. Those suggestions may have been influenced by its inclusion in Charlotte Sophia Burne’s, Shropshire FolkLore, a Sheaf of Gleanings, London, Truebner & Co., 1886, page 595.
[x]David Livingston, The Last Journals of David Livingstone in Central Africa Until His death, London, John Murray, 1874, Volume 1, Page 65, Journal entry dated June 29, 1866.
[xi]The volume published in 1906 was a reprint of an 1867 collated reprint of the 1562 and 1566 editions of the book.

Sticks and Canes May Break My Bones - a Battered History and Etymology of "Raising Cain" and "Shake a Stick"

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More [Blank]than you can “shake a stick at” – is an American idiom that refers to:

A large quantity, more than one can count . . . . This idiom presumably refers to brandishing a stick as a weapon, but the precise allusion is unclear.

Dictionary.com, citing, Christine Ammer, The American Heritage Dictionary of Idioms,Houghton Mifflin Company.

Curiously, perhaps, this idiom may not be the only American idiom that harkens back to gentlemen (and others) brandishing sticks, or canes, as weapons.  The idiom, “to raise Cain,” meaning “to become angry or violent” or “to behave in a boisterous manner; cause a disturbance,” may be derived from a punning reference to raising a cane in the air to fight.  This joke is one of the earliest examples of the idiom in print:

Why have we every reason to believe that Adam and Eve were both rowdies! 

Because Eve raised the Old Harry, and they both raised Cain.

The Maumee City Express (Ohio), May 16, 1840, page 1.

Although the allusion may not be obvious to a modern reader, the widespread, idiomatic use of “raising one’s cane” in descriptions of fights, suggests that people of the period would have easily understood the joke as a pun. 


Walking Sticks and Canes


Throughout the 1800s, a walking stick or cane was a fashionable symbol of status.  Even into the early 20th Century, a good walking stick or cane lent an air of “jauntiness and dash” to a debonair gentleman.



And (like pants before them), emancipated women in 1916 adopted the “swagger stick” as their own – oh, how “ka-tish”!



The Swagger Stick or Walking Cane Will Be “Ka-Tish” This Spring

Even today, who can say that they do not respect a woman wielding a well-made riding crop?

But, long before they became a mere fashion accessory, canes and walking sticks served, perhaps, a more important function – self-defense.

The Mt. Sterling Advocate(Mt. Sterling, Kentucky), July 21, 1915, page 3.

In the early 1800s, “shaking sticks” and “raising one’s cane” were viewed as threatening gestures; they could get you in trouble, and even land you in jail.


Raising Canes

The phrase, “to raise one’s cane,” was in widespread and regular use for many decades before the idiom, “to raise Cain” first appeared.  “To raise one’s cane” appears in hundreds of sources, referring to menacing, threatening, or attacking with a walking stick; or defending one’s self against such an attack.  The common use of the expression suggests that a mid-1800s audience might easily understand “to raise Cain” as a punning reference to causing a disturbance with walking stick.

This small sampling of such references illustrates how well known the expression was, and illustrates how canes would have been raised for the purpose of “raising Cain”:

With regard to the allegation that Purser Southall had raised his cane upon the soldier, Mr. Sturgis, acknowledging that he had raised his cane, (a small rat of whalebone,) denied that it was for the purpose of striking. . . . “Strike if you dare! I am an American officer – strike me if you dare!” – not intending, said Mr. Sturgis, to strike the soldier; but merely defying him to strike.

Nicholas Philip Trist, Case of Captain Abraham Wendell, Jr., of the Brig Kremlin of New York, Arising from an Outrage Perpetrated by Him Upon William Bell, First Officer of Said Brig, in the Port of Havana, July, 1838, [Washington DC, 1840], page 54.

The first blow, as sworn to by every witness who said any thing upon the subject, was given by Darnes with his hand.  Darnes then raised his cane, and Davis his umbrella; blows were dealt in quick succession by Darnes, and for a short time Davis wielded his umbrella pretty vigorously; Darnes bent his cane, turned it in his hands and used the heavy end.  From that time Davis’s slender umbrella was only held up, or whirled backwards and forwards as a shield.

Egerton Browne, Trial of Judge Wilkinson, Dr. Wilkinson, and Mr. Murdaugh on Indictments for the Murder of John Rothwell and Alexander Meeks, Louisville, Daily Reporter, April, 1839.


The old woman cried, “Oh Lord!” and the youth, in ire, muttered an oath, and raised his cane; but I was too quick for him.

Oasis (Oswego, New York), volume 1, number 1, August 12, 1837, page 11.

Mr. Cophagus immediately raised the cane from his nose high above his forehead is so threatenting an attitude, as almost to warrant the other swearing the peace against him . . . .

Atkinson’s Casket(Philadelphia), Volume 10, Number 5, May, 1835,  page 274.


 Anti-Slavery Principles of the Rev. Elijah P. Lovejoy, published in the Alton Observer of July 20, 1837. For maintaining which he was – MURDERED!

What are the Doctrines of Anti-Slavery Men? – A young man had become exceedingly angry with an ancient philosopher, and had raised his cane to strike him. “Strike,” said the philosopher – “strike but hear me?”

Vermont Telegraph (Brandon, Vermont), December 6, 1837, page 42.


“By the Lord Harry, I’ll slash you into such ribands that your b—h of a mother shan’t know her cub again.” . . .  But no sooner had he raised his cane to strike . . . .

The Frolics of Puck, Volume 1, 1834, page 76.


“You!” cried the duke, in a rage, “you – “

“The Duke of Friedland bears with no varlets amongst his servants, and George Rothkirch with no insult.”

The duke raised his cane in excess of irritation, and George threw open the window. “I will die,” he exclaimed, “my lord, rather than submit to this . . . .”

The Ladies Museum, volume 30, 1829.

The Milanese . . . – no longer shrinking under the up-raised cane of an Austrian corporal, flet to arms at the first blast of the trumpet that sounded in the cause of Italian independence.

Lady Morgan, Italy, Volume 1, London, H. Colburn, 1821, page 253.

I reproached him with cruelty, no doubt in terms as unbecoming as my passion, till at length irritated by my audacity, he raised his cane to strike me.

The Magpie, or The Maid: a Melo Drame, 1815.


Raising Cain

The idiom, “to raise Cain,” first appeared in print in late 1839; just months before the bad pun about Adam and Eve being rowdies because they, “raised Cain”:

The earliest example is a shaggy dog story that ends in another bad pun:

A Street Mother. – A married lady at Marblehead, Mass., being often annoyed by her children breaking the Sabbath, once agreed to supply each with a piece of cake who behaved properly upon this day.  They all came in for a share at night, excepting Jo – a ragged little urchin, who cared more for raising Cain than for nick-nacks.  Jo, however thought his claim to a share was as good as any of them, and stepped up to receive it with all the freedom imaginable, but this kind mother put a damper on his hopes, by saying – ‘No, my dear Jo, you have been a bad boy – and you know the Bible says, there is no piecefor the wicked.’

The Long Island Farmer, and Queen’s County Advertiser (Jamaica, New York), September 25, 1839, page 3.

Another early example is literally about wielding sticks (shillelaghs); just a coincidence or a indication that the writer appreciated a connection between “raising cane” and “raising Cain”?

The Irishmen at the Croton Water Works are raising Cainonce more.  Two companies have been ordered to the scene of action this morning to prevent mischief – the workmen threatening to destroy the works and shellalahany body who attempts to prevent their righteous operations.

The Times-Picayune (New Orleans, Louisiana), April 18, 1840, page 2.



The earliest example of the “raising Cain” joke first appears a few weeks later,[i]and took on a life of its own; appearing regularly for more than a century: 

What did Adam and Eve do when they were expelled from Eden? They raised Cain.

The Home Journal, April 18, 1857, page 1.

First Family Row.

“Do you know who created the first family row on record?”
“I suppose it was Adam and Eve when they raised Cain.” – Stray Stories.

The Chickasha Daily Express(Oklahoma), July 16, 1907, page 7.

The joke appeared in print as recently as the mid-1990s; it was mentioned in an article about an amateur, octogenarian comedian who memorized jokes from old joke books.[ii] 

The existence of the joke at about the same time the idiom first appears does not answer the question of which one was first.  Bad jokes and puns were the stock-in-trade of travelling minstrel shows during that period, so the joke could have been in circulation on stage long before it was picked up and memorialized in the press.  It is also possible that the idiom existed before the joke, without appearing in print until a few months before the joke first appeared.    It may be impossible to determine which came first, but the joke appears to have been a factor.  Even if it was not the primary motivating factor, the obvious pun would have made it memorable, and may have helped the idiom secure a permanent place in the language.


Raising the Devil

Most sources attribute the origin of the idiom, “raising Cain,” to the sense of raising the murderous spirit of Cain, the son of Adam and Eve who murdered his brother Abel.  “To raise,” in that case, used in the sense of, ““to summon or cause a spirit to appear by means of incantations” (as if “raised from the underworld”).”[iii]  The suggestion is that “to raise Cain” was as a less offensive alternative to the widely used expressions, “to raise the devil” or “to raise hell.”

There is no doubt that the expression, “to raise Cain,” was used as a less onerous alternative to “raise the devil,” but that does not explain how or why the expression came into being.  The timing of the pun, at about the same time that the expression first appears, is suggestive, at least, that the idiom may have been derived from the joke.  Without the pun, it does not seem natural that “Cain” would be used.  Several alternatives for “raise the devil” were already in circulation long before “raising Cain” appeared in print, all of which followed a similar format – “Old [Name]”: 

Old Scratch, Old Harry, Old Nick, or the Devil, it’s all one to me!

The Monthly Traveler, or Spirit of the Periodical Press (Boston), volume 3, number 5, Mzay 1832, page 181.

“To raise Old Scratch,” “to raise Old Nick,” and “to raise Old Harry,” all had their day; “Old Harry” seems to have been the most widely used (as judged by ‘hits’ in database searches), followed by “Old Nick” and “Old Scratch.” 

“To raise old Harry” dates to at least 1812, and was used regularly into the early 20th Century.  In the earlier examples, it was used in a literal sense, referring to sorcerers or magicians who could literally “raise Old Harry;” in later examples, it was used idiomatically, similar to “raising Cain”:

By his sly subtle looks, and his magical books,
Some would think he was raising “old Harry.”

The Gentleman’s Diary; or, The Mathematical Repository; an Almanack, London, 1812.

Patience

Be patient, though the load you carry grows heavier with every verst; it does no good to raise Old harry, e’en when our woes are at their worst.

Evening Star (Washington DC), July 31, 1917, page 20. 

“Old Scratch” and “Old Nick” were used similarly; as a general euphemism for the devil, and sometimes in the expression, “raise Old Scratch” or “raise Old Nick,” with a meaning similar to “raise Cain.”

Although there is a clear connection between Cain’s sin and the Devil (“the Devil made me do it”), there does not appear to be a tradition of using “Cain” as a general euphemism for the devil.  Nor does there appear to have been a tradition of invoking the name or spirit of Cain; apart (perhaps) from the idiom.  There does not appear to be any specific reason to use “Cain,” as opposed to one of the other, well-established alternatives – but for the pun.

Clearly, “to raise Cain” could have been, and may have been, understood as a mild oath; even without the pun.  But the expression did not appear in print until nearly the same moment that the pun appeared in print.  Without an earlier example of the idiom, or some other evidence suggesting some motivation for using “Cain,” as opposed to the several, common alternatives, I believe that the pun may well have been the origin of the idiom; if not the final straw, helping the idiom take root and grow. 




Cain in Minstrelsy
The joke about Adam and Eve being rowdies was not the first bad pun to compare Cain with a cane:

Long Island Farmer and Queens County Advertiser (Jamaica, New York), June 21, 1832, page 4.

Cain puns were also known in non-blackface minstrel shows in England, as early as 1832.  In a spoken portion of a comic song/story entitled, The Mail-Coach Adventure, the narrator (speaking for two characters) runs through a whole litany of biblical puns, in what seems like a Germanic accent of some sort:

I had rather stay in that place to all eternity than ride with a naked man, that’s what I would.  Poor fellow, he has been robbed, and almost beaten to death.  Robbed!  Zounds, let us make all imaginable haste, or we shall be robbed too.  Begar, madam, vat objection can you make to have the man vat is killed in the coach? He is dressed as well as the first man in de vorld.  The first man, I grant you, Mounseer, Adam, for instance.  You deserve a Cain for that observation. Ah, but are you Abel to give it me? I was on the Eve of doing it. Here’s language! Punning upon Scripture; I wish I was out of the coach, my goodness! – They’ll all be punished, that’s one good thing – My goodness!


The Universal Songster, Volume 1, London, Jones and Co., page 135 [1832].

Cain imagery may have been even more widespread, at least within American blackface minstrelsy. Historian, W. T. Lhamon, Jr. based on entire book on the connection between the theme of Cain and blackface minstrel performances of the 19th Century:

Raising Cain by referring often to his story is a way to license minstrel practice and to establish minstrelsy’s cardinal theme as the constant struggle between resistance and its discipline. . . .

At every phase of blackface performance, the Cain trope was present.

Raising Cain: Blackface Performance from Jim Crow to Hip Hop, Boston, Harvard University Press, 1998, pages 117, 118.

The book explores the political and sociological messages inherent in the various versions of the Cain story.  For example, the “mark of Cain” was seen, in part, as a metaphor for blackness and blackface.  If his thesis is correct, the idiom, “raising Cain,” may have had an even deeper significance to audiences at the time, beyond being simply a bad pun.  In addition, if his assertion of a rich tradition of discussing Cain in minstrel shows puts the existence of the two “raising Cain” jokes into context.  The British “Cain” pun may also suggest that whatever Cain meant in American blackface minstrelsy may have had more universal application.  Or, it could mean that the attraction to bad puns is universal.

In any case, the various punning references to Cain support the notion that “raising Cain” originated primarily as a pun, and not as a mild oath.



Shaking Sticks

The phrase, “to shake one’s stick,” in reference to threatening gestures, was in constant and regular use for many decades before the idiom, “more [Blank] than you can shake a stick at” first appeared in print.    “To shake one’s stick” appears in dozens of sources before 1817, the date of the earliest known example of the idiom in print. 

“Shaking a stick” was frequently used to describe one-on-one confrontations.  But it was also used in where a single person threatened, or tried to control, several people or things at once; shaking just the one stick.  One possible, underlying meaning of the idiom may be that if there are too many things to threaten or control shaking just your own stick, there are more than you can “shake a stick at.”

This small sampling of early, literal stick-shaking references may illuminate the underlying allusion latent in the idiom; you be the judge: 

[An old boarding-school schoolmaster] has been mentioned as possessing an influence over the manners and conduct of the inhabitants almost unbounded. . . . “If he shook his stick at the Hall Green, (the place of his residence,) the boys trembled as far as the town land end” (distant half a mile).

The Monthly Repository of Theology and General Literature (London), Volume 18, Number 214, December 1823, page 683.

As Young Francis was walking through a village with his tutor, they were annoyed by two or three cur dogs, that came running after them . . . .  Francis every now and then stopped and shook his stick at them, or stooped down to pick up a stone . . . .

J. Aikin and Mrs. Barbauld, Evenings at Home, or, The Juvenile Budget Opened, London, Baldwin, Cradock, and Joy, 1819, Volume 6, page 58.

My master saw me and stopped the drove for me to come up; when I got near him he threatened me, shaking his stick over my head, to let me know what I had to expect if I dared to commit another fault.

James Riley, An Authentic Narrative of the Loss of the American Brig Commerce, Hartford, Connecticut, 1817, page 87.[iv]

Sir Oran shook his stick over his head, and the reverend gentleman dropping on his knees, put his hands together, and entreated for mercy, saying “he would confess all.”

Melincourt (Volume 3), London, Hookham, and Baldwon, Cradock, and Joy, 1817, page 202.

Our allusion to the venerated name of the Rector of Aston Sandford, has led this gentleman actually to drag his excellent father before the public, for the purpose of gravely shaking his stick at us.

The Eclectic Review(London), Volume 6, December 1816, page 528.

Tayler stepped quicker and shook his stick.  Van Rensselaer, when he got to the corner, sprung across the gutter.  Tayler had almost overtaken him.  Van Rensselaer turned, and held up his stick in a posture of defence.  Tayler struck twice.  A scuffle ensued.  Van Rensselaer lost his cane.  Saw three sticks aimed at Van Rensselaer’s head . . . .

 Assault and Battery: Report of the Trials of the Causes of Elisha Jenkins vs. Solomon Van Rensselaer etc., Albany, New York, Croswell & Frary, 1808, page 22.


Too Many to Shake a Stick At

The earliest known example of an idiom similar to, “more than you can shake a stick at,” in print is from 1818:

We have in Lancaster as many Taverns as you can shake a stick at.”

Michael Quinion, WorldWideWords(citing the Oxford English Dictionary).

This early version is slightly different from the now-familiar form of the idiom; “as many as you can shake a stick at,” as opposed to, “more than.”  But it seems to express the same or similar sentiment; there are a lot of taverns.  A similar version appeared in 1824 (and a few times throughout the 1820s):

I tell you what, I’ve got a number of sons, a great many nephews and cousins, and as many distant relations, as you can shake a stick at, and they’ll a’ most all of ‘em go as I go in politics. . . .

Delaware Gazette (Delhi, New York), August 4, 1824, page 2.

The now-familiar form, “more than you can shake a stick at,” appeared in print as early as 1830; in a description of the colorful life of Colonel Plug, an early Ohio River pirate:

His slang-curses were ultra Kentuckian on a ground of yankee; and he had, says my informant, more of this, “than you could shake a stick at.”

American Masonick Record and Albany Saturday Magazine, Volume 3, Number 52, January 23, 1830.

In a humorous description of the life of an American President being shown around Boston:

To be bamboozled about from four o’clock in the morning, till midnight, rain or shine, jammed into one great house to eat a breakfast, and into another great house to eat a dinner, and into another to eat supper, and into two or three others between meals, to eat cooliations, and to have to go out and review three or four rigiments of troops, and then be jammed into Funnel Hall [(Fanieul Hall)] two hours, and shake hands with three or four thousand folks, and then to go into the state House and stand there two or three hours . . . . and then run into a great picture room and see more fine pictures than you could shake a stick at in a week, and then go into some grand gentleman’s house, and shake hands a half an hour with a flock of ladies . . . and up again at four o’clock the next morning and at it.

Seba Smith, The Life and Writings of Major Jack Downing of Downingville, Boston, Lilly, Wait, Colman & Holden, 1833, page 203.


Conclusion

The idioms, “to raise Cain” and “more than you can shake a stick at” both appear to be linguistic vestiges of the out-moded fashion of carrying canes or walking sticks.  Raising canes could cause a disturbance.  Shaking sticks might fend off one or two attackers, but if there were too many – you might not be able to shake your stick at all of them; at least not effectively.

The timing of the first appearance of, “raising Cain,” and the appearance of the Adam-and-Eve “raising Cain” (raising cane) pun, seems to support the notion that the joke may be the origin of the idiom.  The well known, idiomatic us of the expression, “raise one’s cane,” in reference to fighting, seems to support the notion that people at the time, would have at least appreciated the pun, even if it were not the absolute origin of the idiom.  The widespread repetition of the joke suggests that the joke may have been memorable enough to be responsible for the spread of, and the persistence of, the idiom over time.

There is no clear or certain explanation of the allusion underlying the idiom, “more than you can shake a stick at.”   However, some of the earlier examples of the expression, “shaking sticks,” in reference to stick-fighting, suggest that the allusion may be to circumstances in which there are too many people, or other things, to handle or control, alone, with just one stick.


[i] Adam and Eve as rowdies was not the only “raise Caine” joke making the rounds in 1840.  Another joke, “Why were Adam and Eve the originators of sugar planting? Because they raised the first Cain,” had been making the rounds since at least 1832 (Long Island Farmer and Queen’s County Advertiser, June 21, 1832, page 4); that joke also persisted for decades.
[ii]“He’s Got a Million of ‘Em,” Neal Pollack, Chicago Reader, December 5, 1996 (http://www.chicagoreader.com/chicago/hes-got-a-million-of-em/Content?oid=892232).
[iv] The brig Commerce was an American merchant vessel that ran aground on the coast of Morocco in 1815.  Surviving members of the crew were imprisoned and enslaved by nomadic tribesmen.  The captain, James Riley, published an account of his experiences in the 1820s.

Indians, Pawnbrokers and Flappers - the Evolutionary History and Etymology of, "I'll be a Monkey's Uncle"!

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“Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle!”  



But what is a “monkey's uncle?” Is it: 

1. an echo of a politically incorrect British play from the 1840s?  

2. a reference to a late-1880s play about a brass monkey in a pawn shop? 

3. an example of incongruous flappers’ slang, along the lines of “It’s the bee’s knees!” or “the cat’s pajamas!”   

4. a comical, inverted allusion to Darwinism?

Of the three, number 1 seems the least likely; number 2 is possible; and number 3 is certainly true, even if influenced by numbers 3 and/or 4. 

Finally, the timing of the emergence of the idiom, in the 1910s, and its increasing popularity in through the early 1920s, parallels the rise of anti-evolution activism, whose most noteworthy proponent, perennial Presidential candidate, William Jennings Bryant, would eventually face-off with Clarence Darrow in the famous “Scopes Monkey Trial,” in 1925.  It seems likely that people hearing and using the idiom during the late-1910s would have at least appreciated the humorous turning-on-its-head of the notion that man descended from monkeys and apes; if not directly, at least from a common ancestor. 

You be the judge. 



El Paso Herald (Texas), July 31, 1917, page 1.

A comedy, “A Brass Monkey,” proved to be a piece of work turned out by the famous Hoyt company, and went through two reels of madcap adventures and ludicrous actions, which brought out the unreserved good humor of the audience.

The Ogden Standard, July 20, 1917, page 2.

This advertisement for Hoyt’s silent film version of A Brass Monkey may be the earliest-known example of the idiom, “to be a monkey’s uncle.” 

An item in the entertainment newspaper, The New York Clipper (a forerunner of Variety), suggests that the idiom may be at least several years older:

Dallas, Tex. - . . . .

Old Mill (Dalton Bros., mgrs.) – For week of 3, the vaudeville bill included: Williams Duo, Musical Comedy Co., in “A Monkey’s Uncle.”

The New York Clipper, November 15, 1913, page 23.


The name, “Monkey’s Uncle,” also had a brief period of notoriety in the 1840s, as the nickname of an ugly, ape-looking character in the comic play Wigwam; and again, about ten years later, in a poem referring to characters and events from that play.  The sixty-year gap between publication of the poem in 1856, and the first appearance of the idiom in 1917, casts doubt on whether there is any connection between the two; Professor Peate’s trained, aquatic monkey named, “Uncle” (who drew rave reviews for his performance at the Eden Musee-Theatre in Altoona, Pennsylvania in 1893), notwithstanding.[i]

Altoona Tribune, September 19, 1893, page 4.
 
The idiom next appears in print a few times in 1920 and 1921; and regularly in 1922 and beyond.


WigWam (1847) 

The Wigwam, A Burletta, in One Act, by Mr. Shirley Brooks, was first performed at the Theatre Royal, Lyceum, on Monday, January 25th, 1847.  The scene is an Indian encampment some miles from Montreal.  The tribesmen of the “Kutanackem” tribe include four brothers, Bingo, Lingo, Mingo and Jingo, their adopted sister, Cora, and their father, Chief Fondlesquaw (who, in reality, is an old Cockney, named Erasmus Labscouse, who left his wife behind in Bloomsbury, England many years earlier). 

The script displays the casual, almost obscenely racist attitudes of the day; the opening lines include the following exchange:

Jingo (aka “the Thundering Bull”): What would the Downey Beaver say to his brothers?

Bingo (aka “the Downey Beaver”): “Who is more fit to be listened to? Who among the tribe can drink more of the fire-water, or tell the white faces more lies than I?”

Lingo (aka “the Great Blue Ape”): “It is well. The Downey Beaver is the greatest drunkard and liar among us. Honour to him!

The brothers are discussing which one of them is a suitable mate for their adopted sister, Cora, the only woman left in the tribe.  Mingo (aka “the Monkey’s Uncle”) claims the honor.  Mingo’s nickname is explained in the costume instructions, which specify that the paint around Mingo’s eyes should make him “resemble an ape.”  Curiously, the costume instructions for Lingo (the Great Blue Ape) provide no similar guidance.

The story takes off when a Cockney named Pluffy Plumpton shows up in their camp.  Plumpton is in Canada with his fiancé and future mother-in-law, looking for his fiance’s father – none other than Erasmus Labscouse (Chief Fondlesquaw).  Initially, the tribe kidnaps Pluffy, adopts him as one of their own, and tries to forcibly marry him off to Fondlesquaw’s adopted daughter, Cora.  In the end, however, Mrs. Labscouse and her daughter arrive, rescue Pluffy, and drag Mr. Labscouse back to England.  

Although Wigwam reads like a bad episode of Gilligan’s Island, the Times of London gave it a good review:

Altogether the Wigwam is a very amusing piece of extravagance, very smartly written, not the less pleasant because it is intentionally absurd, and gaining from the peculiar nature of the scenery and grouping a picturesque appearance which does not generally belong to farce.

The Times, January 27, 1847, page 5.



Mock-Song of Hiawatha (1856)

Thankfully, the play is long-forgotten.  But it had not yet been forgotten in the 1856, when the British magazine, Punch, published a satire of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s, Song of Hiawatha, which had been published the previous year.  Punch’spoem, labeled Song of Hiawatha (Author’s Protective Edition), includes several obvious references to characters in Wigwam, and the actors who played them (Note: Mr. F. Mathews played “Fondlesquaw,” and Miss Mary Keeley played Cora in the original London production):

Out came sundry comic Indians
Of the tribe of Kut-an-hack-um.
With their Chief, the clean Efmatthews,
With the growling Downy Beaver,
With the valiant Monkey’s Uncle,
Came the gracious Mari-Kee-lee,

Puck, Volume 30, January 12, 1856, page 17.

Puck, January 12, 1856.


The poem was reprinted in a number of American papers,[ii]so American readers could have been exposed to the name.  There is no evidence, however, that the English play or satirical poem would have, or could have, inspired the creation of the idiom.  Moreover, there is no further evidence of the “Monkey’s Uncle” until 1913; and no unambiguous example of the idiom until 1917.

Both Wigwam and the mock-Song of Hiawatha were published before Darwin's, On the Origin of the Species (1859), so it is impossible for the concept of evolution to have played a role in the naming of Mingo.  In any case, the names, "Monkey's Uncle" and "Great Blue Ape," as used inWigwam, seem to have been used merely as a device to make the Indians seem laughably animalistic or ugly.  The long gap between the publication of the mock-Song of Hiawatha and the emergence of the idiom also suggests that there was likely no causal relationship between the two - although you never know.

A Monkey’s Uncle (1913)

In August of 1913, the Dalton Brothers of Dallas, Texas were in the process of building the “Old Mill Theater,” on Elm Street, Dallas’ “Theater Row.”  To fill their 1,600 seats with fans of “first class musical comedy stock,” they hired the “Williams Duo,” who are said to have “written and produced some sixty legitimate musical comedies for the Budd and Henry Musical Comedy Co. and the Happy Hour Musical Comedy Co., of Dallas, Tex.”[iii]  One of the first pieces produced at the “Old Mill,” in November, 1913, was the Williams Duo’s, “A Monkey’s Uncle.”

There is no record or description of the story, plot or theme of “A Monkey’s Uncle.”  It seems most likely that it is a reference to the idiom, “to be a monkey’s uncle;” suggesting that the idiom was already in circulation by 1913. 

It could, however, be a precursor to the idiom; as the idiom does not appear in print until 1917, and does not appear regularly in print until the 1920s.  The plot of the film promoted with the tag-line, "Well, I'm a Monkey's Uncle," in 1917, may hold a clue to what a “monkey’s uncle” is or was.


A Brass Monkey (1917)

The idiom, “I'm a Monkey's Uncle,” would have lent itself naturally to advertising the film, A Brass Monkey, based on the word, “monkey,” alone.  The fact that the action takes place in an “auction house,” a type of pawn shop, makes the idiom doubly appropriate.  “Uncle” was a slang term for a pawnbroker.

Although I have not been able to find any contemporary description of the plot of the 1917 Hoyt film, it appears to be a film adaptation of Charles Hoyt’s comic stage play, A Brass Monkey (1888), a satire of superstitions.  The main character, Jonah, inherits an “auction house” from his uncle.  One of the items in the auction house is a brass monkey paperweight that his uncle’s friends believed to be cursed, and to have caused his string of bad luck and four failed marriages.  The uncle, however, never believed in superstitions.  As a poke in the eye of the notion that the monkey was cursed, he left his “auction house” to his nephew; but only on condition that he never sell the monkey.

During the late-1800s and early-1900s, an “auction house” was a type of pawn shop; the unclaimed goods being sold at auction, as opposed to simply being sold in a shop, as in what we might think of as a “pawn shop” today.[iv]  A pawn shop owner was an “Uncle”:

“Uncle.”

The familiar slang term “uncle,” applied to a pawnbroker is nothing but a poor pun on the latin word “uncus,” a hook.  Pawnbrokers used the hook to lift pawned articles to upper shelves before spouts were adopted.  Gone to the “uncus,” is exactly the equivalent of the modern phrase, “up the spout.”

The Evening Times (Grand Forks, North Dakota), October 1, 1912, page 4.[v] 

East Oregonian (Pendleton), February 21, 1905, page 7.


In the original stage play, A Brass Monkey, when Jonah inherits the auction house (pawn shop) with a brass monkey, he became, in a sense, a “monkey’s Uncle.”  Might the same association have inspired the title of the “Williams Duo’s” 1913 musical skit, A Monkey’s Uncle? 

During the vaudeville era, it was not unheard of for low-budget, regional acting troupes to borrow or repurpose plots, themes or ideas from successful shows.  A Brass Monkey was very successful during its first run, and for several years afterwards.  The play introduced the “Razzle-Dazzle Song,” which was wildly popular in its day; and helped popularize the expression, “razzle-dazzle.”  In other words, A Brass Monkey had been successful enough that the “Williams Duo” might repackage elements of its plot twenty years later; elements that might lend themselves to the title, A Monkey’s Uncle.  It may be a stretch, but is at least an interesting speculation.

Neither the film nor the vaudeville skit appear to have been particularly successful or well known.  I only found one reference to the skit, and only a few references to the film; and only one of those included the tag-line, “I’m a Monkey’s Uncle.”  It therefore seems unlikely that either one or both of them would have had much of a hand in popularizing the expression.  But it is possible that either one or both of them could have been the origin of the expression; although it is also possible that they both merely reflected the existence of an idiom already in circulation. 


I’ll Be a Monkey’s Uncle

After the tag-line in the 1917 advertisement for A Brass Monkey, the earliest examples of the idiom in print show up in 1920.  “A Monkey’s Uncle” was the name of a character in a sideshow; an apparent reference to the idiom: 



The Davidsonian (Davidson, North Carolina), November 26, 1920, page 5.

A full-fledged example of the idiom appeared in the same newspaper a few months later:



The Davidsonian (Davidson North Carolina), February 25 1921 page 1.

Over the next couple of years, the idiom showed up more often, in more places:


I didn't think the ref. who was one of the boys and the most notorious homer in Northern New York, would have guts enough to disqualify but I'm a monkey's uncle if he don't grab Limbo and award the fight to my droopin lily on a foul.
 
Variety, April 14, 1922, page 8.

If these courses in New Orleans are golf courses then I am a monkey’s uncle.”

The Evening News (San Antonio, Texas), September 14, 1922, page 8.

One source identifies the expression as, “flappers’ slang”:

“Flapparese” is Still Popular
Although the Flapper Has Gone

. . . For instance, when a sweet young thing, tripping over her draped skirt, is surprised at something or anything or nothing, as the case may be, she doesn’t exclaim “I’m a son-of-a-gun” as she used to a decade ago (of course, it’s the slangy type of girl about whom we’re talking) but she does indulge in just as adequate an expression, to wit, “Why, I’m a monkey’s uncle!

Durham Morning Herald, North Carolina, December 12, 1922, page 3.

The seeming incongruity of being the uncle of a monkey is similar to the silly incongruities at the heart of much of the “flapper slang” of the day:

Phrases like, “Well, if that isn’t the bee’s knees” or the “cat’s ankle” or the “kitten’s whiskers” or the “oyster’s elbow” or the “snake’s hips” or the “elephant’s adenoids” – well, they just can’t be explained, and they can mean any number of things.

Durham Morning Herald, North Carolina, December 12, 1922, page 3.

Even if young women of the day used the expression particularly often, young men who had to deal with the flapper-set were also known to use the expression:



When is a joke not a joke?  Two answers are forthcoming.  One from coquettish Edith Russell Cheseborough, Boston society girl.  “Frame it,” she told her Harvard admirer, William L. Lawrence referring to the marriage license he had obtained.  “The nuptial idea is a joke,” she told Lawrence.  But Lawrence cannot see it.  “If that’s a joke, I’m a monkey’s uncle,” he said.

Elmira Star Gazette (New York), February 8, 1923.

By the mid-1920s, the expression had assumed a permanent place in the lexicon; just in time for the "Scopes monkey trial."




Topsy-Turvy Darwinism?

 “I’m a monkey’s uncle” may also be, as other observers have suggested, a reference to Darwinism.  Darwin was a frequent target of ridicule throughout the late-1800s, as numerous magazines published portraits of Darwin with monkey features, and monkeys with Darwin's features.  In the 1910s, when the idiom emerged, evolution humor was still alive and well:

The national pastime is a pretty sure indication of how many years a country is separated from Darwin’s monkeys.  In [(pre-Revolutionary)] Russia, . . . the national pastime is bomb throwin’.

The Washington Times (Washington DC), October 3, 1911, page 8.

Some jokesters even suggested that monkeys, not humans, should be offended by a purported relationship:

After listening to a description of two prize fighters you know that the monkeys have a splendid libel suit against Kid Darwin.

The Washington Times (Washington DC), March 30, 1916, page 10.

The opening-credits disclaimer in the "Three Stooges'" short, I'm a Monkey's Uncle (1948),  is from, the same comic lineage:


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mMN0bfV0GIA&app=desktop


It seems likely that the idiom, “I’m a monkey’s uncle,” would have easily been understood as an allusion to the controversy; whether critical of evolution or not.  The period during which the idiom emerged also coincided with perennial Presidential candidate, William Jennings Bryan’s, high-profile anti-Darwinism campaign:

Prof. Kirk attacked the statement recently made by William Jennings Bryan, who was quoted as follows: “I cannot accept it (referring to the theory of evolution as laid down by Darwin).  The monkey may be acceptable as an ancestor for some – I do not find him so.”

Prof. Kirk hazarded the guess that perhaps Mr. Bryan would have preferred to have been created directly out of mud than to have had an intelligent animal for an ancestor.

The Evening Star (Washington DC), October 2, 1911, page 22.

In October 1921, Bryan would deliver a major anti-evolution speech at the Union Theological Seminary in Richmond, Virginia, and published two popular anti-evolution books, In His Image and The Menace of the Theory of Evolution.  His commitment to the anti-evolutionary cause culminated in his face-off with Clarence Darrow in the “Scopes monkey trial” of 1925.

But Bryan had it all wrong.  As other observers noted at the time, Darwin never said that humans descended directly from monkeys and apes; he said that humans, monkeys and apes descended from a common ancestor.  Monkeys are, at best, our cousins:

We all came originally from the lizard, even unto the cows and chickens.  And the monkeys are only our cousins.  But until it is established in what order the offspring of prehistoric days broke away from the main family, we will be in the dark as to whether the monkey is our first or 47th cousin, says Dr. Bradford.

South Bend News-Times (Indiana), March 4, 1918, page 4.

. . . or, perhaps our “Uncle”:

Monkey Our Uncle.   

Darwin never said we descended from monkeys – we people in this land of the partially free and the brave, more or less!  He said we and the monkeys had a common origin, so the monkey is only our uncle at best.   

Blue Grass Blade, July 26, 1908, page 4.

Man has made a wonderful ascent since he used to call a monkey “uncle,” but he has not yet ascended to the highest mountain peak [Mt. Everest].

The Tribune (Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada), December 18, 1920, page 4.


A Monkey’s Uncle (1965)



During the half-century after the idiom, “I’ll be a Monkey’s Uncle,” first crawled out from the proverbial, idiomatic ooze, Humankind devolved – proving both Darwin and the Fundamentalists wrong.   

What else could explain the strange confluence of events that brought Annette Funicello and the Beach Boys together to provide us a much different take on “A Monkey’s Uncle”:

The Beach Boys and Annette Funicello, The Monkey’s Uncle

“I love the Monkey’s Uncle, and the Monkey’s Uncle’s ape for me”
“I love the Monkey’s Uncle, and I wish I were the Monkey’s Aunt”


[i]Altoona Tribune, September 19, 1893, page 4.
[ii]See, e.g., The New York Tribune, January 25, 1856, page 3; Green-Mountain Freeman (Montpelier, Vermont), February 14, 1856, page 4; Wheeling Daily Intelligencer (West Virginia), March 28, 1856, page 2.
[iii]New York Clipper, August 23, 1913, page 19.
[iv]See, e. g., The Wheeling Daily Intelligencer (West Virginia), December 28, 1892, page 2 (Yesterday afternoon Officer Buch made a tour of the pawnshops and found that the thief had pawned the coat at Liffingwell’s auction house on Market street, getting $2.50 for it).  Portions of the book on which the play was based took place in a pawn shop, making the allusion even more clear.
[v] A similar explanation appears in, Trench Johnson, Phrases and Names, Their Origins and Meanings, Philadelphia, J. B. Lippincott, 1906, page 363.

Wind-Jammers, Jazz Jammers, and Jam Sessions - an Improvised History and Etymology of Jam

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Virginia City is going to have a new brass band.  Its leader’s name is Ripingham.  It strikes us that the boss of a squad of wind-jammers had better been named Lungbuster.  But what’s in a name?

Carson Daily Appeal (Nevada), November 12, 1874, page 3.

What’s in a name indeed!  What’s in a word?  Might this obscure notice about a band of “wind-jammers” that the Cartwright Clan could have listened to on a weekend away from the Ponderosa, hold a clue to the origins of the words, “to jam” and “jam session,” that first emerged sixty years later during the jazz-era? 

Maybe.

The expression, “wind-jammer,” in reference to wind-instrument musicians, has been in continuous use since at least 1850, for minstrel show bands, circus bands, navy bands and other bands.  To play a wind instrument is to jam wind into your horn.  Today, “Windjammer” is still used in the name of the Coast Guard Academy’s drum and bugle corps, an historical society devoted to circus music, a marching band, and several jazz bands; although some of those organizations may not be aware of the early history of the word.

Great Falls Daily Tribune (Montana), May 8, 1919, page 14.


During the early jazz years, some performers referred to themselves as, “Jazz Jammers” (see pic, above).  By 1929, the expression, “jam,” referring to an improvised passage of music or “break,” was in use among jazz musicians.  Where “wind jammers” blew their horns; jazz musicians improvised while blowing their horns.  It may have been a short step from “Jazz Jammer’ to jammer, to “jam.”

The term, “windjammer,” as applied to a sailboat or sailing ship, may be more familiar.  Surprisingly perhaps, the musical sense of “wind-jammer” may actually pre-date the nautical sense.  


Jam and Jam Session

The earliest example of a musical “jam” listed in the Oxford English Dictionary is from the Melody Maker (January 1929):[i]

There are many variations on this rhythm . . .  which make excellent breaks – or ‘jams’ as they now call them when they are taken by the whole band, the word ‘break’ being used only when it is intended to signify that it is played by one instrument or a section moving together or unaccompanied.

If a “wind-jammer” is someone who jams wind into their instrument by blowing, then a ‘break’ in which the whole band blows together, might naturally have become ‘jam,’ from wind-jammer.

The origin of “jam” has otherwise remained a mystery.  A standard speculation is that it could be related to the word, “jam,” as in fruit preserves – something sweet.[ii]  This cannot be ruled out as in influence.  “Jelly-roll,” for example, is also believed to have been a different kind of euphemism for a different kind of sweetness among the same jazz-age crowd.  But to me, the longstanding, continuous use of wind-jammer up to and continuing through the early days of jazz suggests that it would also have been an influence, if not the primary influence, on the new, jazzy meaning of “jam.”

Musical Wind-Jammers

The expression, “wind-jammers,” to refer to wind-instrument musicians, dates to at least 1850.  In some instances, the phrase appears to refer not merely to a wind instrument, but to an unsophisticated performer to jams the wind into the instrument, without nuance or control.  Not surprisingly, perhaps, the word is used primarily with respect to popular entertainments like minstrel shows, circuses and military bands.  The expression appears both in the United States and Britain at about the same time.

In 1850, it was used to refer to musicians performing in front of P. T. Barnum’s Dime Museum in New York City:

The Christys are . . . cramming the Mechanics’ Hall.  Pierce’s Minstrels still fill the little Olympic. Barnum’s five Dutch “wind-jammers” still continue (as for the last nine years) to make the most unearthly sounds for the amusement of the Broadway pedestrians.

The Daily Crescent (New Orleans, Louisiana), August 7, 1850, page 2 (in a report on the entertainment scene in New York City).

An anecdote written in 1853, about a performance for the crew of a British Navy ship in 1815, distinguishes between “wind-jammers” (wind instruments) and “cat-gut scrapers” (string instruments):

“Moosic,” begins a baker’s boy; “moo-sic, moo-sic,” resounds on all sides, accompanied by tunes from cat-calls, stamping of feet, rapping of sticks, shrill whistles from boys, &c, &c., &c.
“Lower deck, there,” bawled out a half-seas-over sailor.  “Lower deck, there,” whilst he shies an orange at the foot-lights.  “Rouse up those rascally, lubberly, wind jammers, and cat-gut scrapers,” (roars of laughter). . . .  The gentlemen of the orchestra now made their appearance, and after scraping a little, and screwing a little, and blowing a little, they struck up the then popular tune of “Darby Kelly” . . . .   

The United Service Magazine (London), Volume 71, March 1853, page 351.

In 1869, a brass band in a Fourth of July parade was a bunch of “wind-jammers”:

At 9 o’clock, a. m., a large force of cavalry fantastics, under the marshalship of Brig. Gen. Henderson . . . preceded by the Osceola Cornet Band, the crack wind-jammers of the country, came marching into, up, down, and through town, in a “gorgeous array,” no two costumes alike, and all striving to be the most fantastically ridiculous – and they all succeeded. . . . a white female “miscegen,” who held a piccaninny in her arms, evidently to illustrate the advanced ideas of some people.

Clearfield Republican (Pennsylvania), July 14, 1869, page 3.

In 1889, the singers and dancers of a travelling minstrel show played a baseball game against the musicians:

Notes From Al. G. Field & Co.’s Minstrels. . . .  Long railroad jumps and daily rehearsals have kept down the baseball fever.  The Song and Dance nine played the Wind Jammers’ nine.  The score stood 9 to 3 in favor of the terpsichorean nine.

New York Clipper, August 24, 1889.

In 1901, the Bemidji, Minnesota band played the best music between Crookston and Duluth:

The Bemidji band is the finest lot of wind jammers on the line between the point where the Crookston harmony hummers get in their work and the concord of sweet sounds made by the Zenith city of the Unsalted seas.[iii]

The Bemidji Pioneer, June 6, 1901, page 2.

The expression was used in circuses, as it had been used by Barnum fifty years earlier:

Circus News.


A notice about another circus band, The Great Wallace Show, made a point of claiming that their musicians were not mere “wind jammers,” but real musicians:

Some Real Band Music. 

Among the many numerous characteristics which have secured popularity for the great Wallace show is its musical department.  Its several bands are not “wind jammers” and creators of noise, but they play strains of popular melody and classical music so as to favor its patrons of the circus with a high-class musical entertainment.

The Falls City Tribune (Falls City, Nebraska), May 27, 1904, page 18.

The name of an historical society dedicated to preserving American circus music, “Windjammers Unlimited, Inc.,” reflects the long association of “windjammer” with circus bands.

Although the word “windjammer” appears to have been in regular use in some circles, it may not have been universally known.  An article about “sailors’ slang” form 1901 defined the word for its readers:

A bandman is a “wind jammer.”

The Manning Times (South Carolina), December 18, 1901, page 4.

In 1913, the expression was used in a music industry trade-magazine:

The Player (New York), March 21, 1913.


An advertisement, placed by a medicine show performer in the musicians’ section of an entertainment trade-magazine in 1914, used the words “jammer” and “jam” without the normally-present “wind,” in what may be an early example of “jam” in the now-familiar sense.  The cryptic nature of the remark, however, makes it difficult to decipher the intent:

Ricton Says, Success to the P. P. A.,
Lynch the Jammers
If you jam, I mean you.  P. S. – 18th wk. out under canvas. 
The King, Baltimore, Ohio.


 New York Clipper, August 22, 1914, page 22.


“Professor” Ricton was a medicine show entrepreneur and performer who placed a number of cryptic advertisements in the New York Clipper.  However, he does not make any more references to the P. P. A., and I have been unable to figure out what it means through other sources.

In 1916, a high school band in Arizona hoped to make John Phillip Sousa’s band look like a bunch of “wind jammers”:

Many of the students who were members of the band and orchestra of last year are still in school, and after a little polishing up, the high school band will make DeSousa’s wind jammers look small.

Arizona Republican (Phoenix), September 22, 1916, page 10.

“Jazz Jammers”

Several bands from across the United States were referred to as, “Jazz Jammers,” between 1919 and 1924.

In Montana, Larson’s Jazz Band were “Jazz Jammers”:


The Glasgow Courier (Montana), May 9, 1919, page 8.



In Illinois, a black-face jazz band were called “Jazz Jammers”:

Irving Barnett will present a new assortment of sleight-of-hand tricks, Katherine Peterson, “The Original Jazz”, will sing a number of songs, Walter Tenney, “Eddie Kanter Second”, will put on a black face musical skit, Virginia Sale, attired in one of the form-fitting S. A. T. C. uniforms will show the audience what the farmer-soldier boy can do and the Revue a la Mode put on by the “Jazz Jammers”, a ten-piece cork-visaged conglomeration, will help fill out the program.

Daily Illini, November 20, 1919, page 1 .

In 1924, Sheesley’s Famous Georgia Minstrels had a group called the “Jolly Jazz Jammers”:

Other Shows. Sheesley’s Famous Georgia Minstrels . . . . James H. James, band leader; the Jolly Jazz Jammers: Clarence Adams, clarinet and saxophone; William H. Keith, cornet; E. C. Anderson and J. C. Jones, trombones; . . . .

New York Clipper, June 7, 1924, page271. 

The term “jam,” referring to an improvised break involving a full band first appeared five years later.  It seems likely that “wind-jammer,” a deeply-entrenched term (at least among professional musicians), could have influenced the new jazz-sense of the word “jam.”  “Wind-jammers” playing jazz music may have dropped the wind and just started jamming.  The improvisational nature of the new music may have helped the improvisational sense of the word supplant the wind-blowing element of wind-jamming.

Sweet!!!!

Nautical Windjammers

Farmer, Slang and Its Analogues, Past and Present, Volume 7, 1904, page 356.

When steam-powered ships and sail-powered ships shared the waves, a “wind-jammer” (or “windjammer”) was an insult heaped on “real” sailors by steamship “sailors”:

It is, as a rule, only those who go abroad for their health who prefer a sailing ship, on account of the great length of the voyage, in allusion to which steam people call sailing ships “wind jammers,” while the sailors retort on steamers by dubbing them “iron tanks” and “old coffins.”  There is no doubt that the picturesqueness of a sea voyage is quite destroyed by a steamer.  There are no, or very few, regular sailors on board; so much of the work is now done by steam.  There are no “chanties” or sailors’ songs, which help the work to go easily.  In a steamer there is no interest in noting the course – they go straight on, and the distance covered does not vary, or only slightly, from day to day.

R. C. Seaton, Six Letters from the Colonies, Hull, England, Wildridge & Co., 1886 (Printed for Private Circulation), page 7. 

. . . I left wind-jammers to go into steam.  Sailing ship men in those days [(1888)] looked on steamship men with a more or less mild contempt (amongst themselves, that is), saying that they were not real sailors, only steamboat men. . . . . I’m not sure that even in those days their contempt wasn’t mixed with a little envy.

Sir Bertram Fox Hayes, Hull Down; Reminiscences of Windjammers, Troops and Travellers, New York, The Macmillan Co., 1925, page 60.

The earliest examples of such usage I could find are both from 1879, although the expression appears to have been already well-established; one example is from an Irish woman sailing from New Zealand to England and the other from an American:

Sailors from the Lakes, who, having spent their summer on the great “unsalted seas,”[iv]were now going down to the Gulf to secure berths on “wind-jammers.”

William Staats, A Tight Squeez; or, The Adventures of a Gentleman, who, on a wager of ten thousand dollars, undertook to go from New York to New Orleans in Three Weeks, Without Money, as a Professional Tramp, Boston, Lee and Shepard, 1879, page 195.

In the late 19th and early 20th centuries, the term appears to have been used with respect to any sail-powered ship or boat, generally, without restriction to ship-type or hull.  At various times, clippers, barques, whalers and other ships; wood-hulled, iron-hulled or both; were called “wind-jammers.”[v]  Today, however, some people use “windjammer” as a term-of-art, referring strictly to a certain type of steel-hulled merchant ship.  An entry on Wikipedia, for example,[vi]asserts that a, “windjammer is a type of large sailing ship, with an iron, or for the most part, steel hull, built to carry cargo in the nineteenth and early twentieth century.  Windjammers were the grandest of merchant sailing ships, with between three and five large masts and square sails, giving them a characteristic profile.”[vii]  But others still follow a more traditional, open-ended definition; there are numerous recreational, sporting, racing, and excursion groups, clubs and businesses, for example, use “windjammer” with reference to any sailboat.  

It is not known when wind-powered ships were first called, “wind-jammers,” but the first ocean-going steamships date to about the 1820s, and regular, transatlantic steamship service was established by about 1850.  The expression “wind-jammer,” referring to musicians, was in use as early as 1853, but the earliest sailing examples appear more than twenty-five years later.  It is impossible to say whether the musical sense influenced the sailing sense, or the other way around. Either one, I suppose, is possible.


Conclusion

The term, “wind-jammer,” was used among professional musicians throughout the seven decades before “jazz” music, by that name, burst onto the scene in about 1915.  In subsequent years, several jazz groups appear to have melded the word “jazz” with “wind-jammer,” referring to themselves as “Jazz Jammers.”  A few years later, the word “jam,” in the sense of an improvised musical performance, first appears.  If “wind-jammers” jammed air into their instruments, and “jazz jammers,” played jazz on their instruments, then to “jam,” meaning to improvise blowing one’s horn during a “break,” may well have been influenced by the earlier expressions, “wind-jammer” and/or “Jazz-Jammer.” 




[i]The earliest example of “jam,” as a musical verb in the modern sense, dates to 1935.
[ii]See, for example, Jazz meaning "short, free improvised passage performed by the whole band" dates from 1929, and yielded jam session (1933); but this is perhaps from jam (n.1) in sense of "something sweet, something excellent."
[iii]Duluth, the furthest-north American city on the Great Lakes, is still called, “The Zenith city of the Unsalted Seas.”
[iv]The Great Lakes.
[v]See, for example,
[vii]See also, Shalabh Agarwal, Windjammer Sailing Ships: From Past to Present, http://www.marineinsight.com/maritime-history/the-windjammer-sailing-ships-from-past-to-present/, July 22, 2011 (accessed April 5, 2016).

Gimme a Shimmy - Hold the Shiver - Why Chicago was a "Toddling Town"

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Chicago (that Toddling Town)

Chicago, Chicago, that toddling town . . .
The town that Billy Sunday couldn’t shut down . . . .

They have the time, the time of their life . . .
I saw a man he danced with his wife,
In Chicago, Chicago, my home town.

Fred Fisher, “Chicago (That Toddling Town),” copyright dated June 15, 1922.


When Fred Fisher wrote “Chicago” in 1922, Chicago was in the throes of a “modern dance” craze.  Following in the footsteps of the Fox Trot and the Shimmy before, everyone was doing “the Toddle.”  “The Toddle” and other modern dances were associated with everything fun about the Roaring Twenties; fast living, speakeasiesand Jazz; precisely the sorts of things that pioneering, uptight Evangelist Billy Sunday, of Chicago, wanted to shut down.  Although people in places as far-flung as New York[i]and Paris[ii]had been doing “the Toddle” since as early as June 1920, Chicago appears to have been the epicenter of toddling culture.  

Image from New York Public Library Digital Collections.

The Melrose Bros. music publishers of Chicago, for example, advertised that their newest “toddle tune” came out of “Toddle Town”:

“Take It Easy”
THE TODDLE SONG THAT BEATS ‘EM ALL
Now on the market.
IT’S THE TODDLE TUNE FROM
TODDLE TOWN
MELROSE BROS., Publishers . . . Chicago


The Music Trades, Volume 61, Number 21, May 21, 1921, page 45.

In 1921, a popular variant of “the Toddle,” “danced with the motion of the hips instead of the feet,” was called “the Chicago”;  a fashion designer named a new gown “the Chicago Toddle”;[iii]  and the Benson Orchestra of Chicago recorded the song, “Toddle – Medley Fox Trot,” (Victor Records, recorded April 11, 1921).  

The Lake County Times (Hammond, Indiana), June 17, 1921, page 7.
 
Chicago Daily Tribune, March 3, 1921, page 13.


Chicago was also home to the world’s first (and perhaps last?) “Toddle Wedding” where you might see a groom who “danced with his wife” – and the clergyman joined in:

The Washington Times (Washington DC), February 20, 1921, page 1.

The earliest unambiguous reports of the toddle-craze that I could find first appear in mid-1920; but a news report of the difficulties faced by Chicago on the first day of a transit strike in late-July, 1919, may be an early allusion to Chicago’s roll as progenitor of the “Toddle;” or it may be just a happy coincidence:

Chicago, July 30. – Like an infant, Chicago toddled today.  Because of the car strike, business crept where it usually rushed.

The Daily Gate City and Constitution-Democrat (Keokuk, Iowa), July 30, 1919, page 1.



Despite (or because of) the popularity of “the Toddle,” moralists like the fiery, no-fun, Chicago-based Evangelist Billy Sunday tried to stem the tide.  Several early attempts to suppress “the Toddle” in Chicago and elsewhere in Illinois were widely reported in the national press.

“The Toddle” was banned at the University of Illinois:

Dances at the University of Illinois lost all popular favor among the student body following the ban placed on the shimmy, the toddle and other objectionable forms of dancing . . . .

Bridgeport Times and Evening Farmer (Connecticut), November 1, 1920, page 12.[iv]

Not to be outdone, Northwestern University soon followed suit:

An eleventh hour ban was placed on the “toddle” last night at the junior prom at Northwestern university . . . .

Chicago Daily Tribune, December 4, 1920, page 17.

But Northwestern quickly relented; at least to a limited extent:

Northwestern will tolerate limited “Toddle” and “Shimmy.”

Rock Island Daily Argus (Illinois), January 13, 1921, page 4.

But following Northwestern’s concessions, and consistent with the Maria Von Trapp corollary (“When God opens one window, he closes another.), the Chicago public schools clamped down on dancing less than one week later:

The “shimmy” and the “toddle” are not proper dances for school entertainments, Superintendent Peter Mortenson ruled today . . . .


Capital Journal (Salem, Oregon), January 18, 1921, page 1.

The decision to ban the “Toddle” in Chicago’s schools did not meet with universal approval.  Eliminating the “Toddle” with the “Shimmy” was like Prohibition’s ban on beer along with whiskey – or, perhaps, like throwing the baby-walk out with the bathwater:

The judgment is right as regards the “shimmy,” for it represents terpsichorean delirium tremens, and moral breakdown

But the “toddle,” which is an imitation of an infant’s walk, the sort of dancing that a baby does when its father whistles, is altogether harmless.  The “toddle,” outlawed with the “shimmy,” can sympathize with light beer, which was banished with whiskey – and the whiskey came back wickeder than ever, but the beer didn’t.

The Washington Times (Washington DC), January 19, 1921, page 1.

The administration of the University of Chicago criticized “the Shimmy” and “the Toddle,” but stopped short of an outright ban.  They blamed the “selfishness” of such indulgent dances on a natural reaction to the military discipline many of the students had recently experienced during World War I:


The Washington Times (Washington DC), February 6, 1921, page 1.


The city council of East St. Louis, Illinois, on the other hand, enacted a total ban:


Arizona Republican (Phoenix), February 8 1921 page 2.

Across the river, in St. Louis, Missouri, dancing master, F. Lester Clendenen, voluntarily closed the doors of his dance hall “until public tastes and manners improve,” rather than let his hall become a den of iniquity:

“The ‘toddle,’ or ‘shuffle,’ craze has driven decent people off the dance floor,” he declared. . . . “When young girls come to dances with their bodices cut as low and their skirts as high as possible, and young men enter the ball room with whisky flasks on their hips and a pint or so under their belts, and when such dances as ‘toddle’ and ‘shuffle’ are tolerated, the result is something hard to picture in printable terms. . .

[He] declared the “shuffle,” sometimes referred to as the “Chicago,” to be a strictly St. Louis perversion of the art of Terpsichore.  “I don’t know where it came from,” he declared, “but I do know where it is leading the youth of this city.  St. Louis has gained a nation-wide reputation for vulgarity and license because of it.”

Los Angeles Herald, February 12, 1921, page A-6.

The anti-Toddle forces were not confined to the Midwest.  Soon, students at Barnard self-censored the “Toddle” walk, smoking and cheek-to-cheek dancing (same sex and boy-girl)[v]; the Syracuse Common Council banned the toddle, the camel walk, and the Chicago flop;[vi]and a State Senator in New York introduced a bill to impose a statewide ban on “the ‘shimmy,’ the ‘toddle,’ the ‘bear hug,’ the ‘camel walk,’ and a few other prides of dance halls.”[vii]  In Bayonne, New Jersey, the police were asked to enforce a ban on dances such as “the camel walk, cat step, Frisco, Chicago roll, toddle and shimmy”:


New York Clipper, August 24, 1921.


Cartoons Magazine, Volume 19, Number 5, May 1921, page 839.





The “Toddle”

Despite the best efforts of the moralists to stop the dance, people just kept “toddling” along.  By today’s standards, the “toddle” seems fairly tame.  It appears to have been situated somewhere between the “fox-trot” and the “shimmy” on the spectrum of modern dance.  The Chicago Tribune described the “toddle” as “the shimmy without the shiver;”[viii]  dance instructors in Chicago, trying to wean their students away from more the provocative dances, developed a hybrid step called “the toddle foxtrot”;[ix]and the Benson Orchestra’s song, “Toddle,” was billed as a “Fox Trot Medley.”  

The Topeka State Journal, May 24, 1921, page 1.
 A dancing text published in 1922 describes the “Toddle” as “the Fox Trot with a rise on each foot on each count of every step – except in the figure of the ‘Old Corte’ and ‘the doubles’ – the 1,2,3 at each side.”  Although the authors believed that the “Toddle” was “gradually toddling away,” they included a description of the “Toddle” because people were incorporating its bouncy steps into the regular Fox Trot.[x]  The same book described a variant of “the Toddle” called “the Chicago,” which apparently received a certain amount of attention in the press when it first came out; accounting, perhaps, in Chicago’s reputation as a “Toddling Town”:

For a brief moment the Chicago appeared, which was somewhat similar to the Toddle in its counting, but it was danced with the motion of the hips instead of the feet, so it was quickly relegated to the limbo of forgotten things and is only mentioned here as its initial appearance was heralded by the press as something new.

The dance website, StreetSwing.com, connects the “Toddle” craze of 1921-1922 to an earlier “Toddle” dance based on something called “the Todalo.”  Contemporary sources point to some sort of continuity from the “Todalo” straight through the “Two-Step,” the first “Toddle,” the “Fox Trot,” and the later, more popular “Toddle.” 

The lyrics of the song, “Toddling the Todalo”, recorded in 1911, refer to “that toddling two-step.”   Recordings of the songs, “Let’s Toddle Fox Trot” and “Toddle All Over Town (Fox Trot)” were released in 1914 and 1915.  By late- 1916, the “Inner-Circle,” an organization devoted to the development of the “modern dance” decreed that, “We Must “Toddle” in 1917.”  They described this early “Toddle” as something akin to the “Schottische”:



The “Toddle” is danced to music in the same tempo as the old schottische . . . .  According to the official description, the new dance consists of a few walking steps, some turns, several running steps, and a jump in the air – and there you are.  It was explained that the “Toddle” came at the end of each figure and was like the “break” that the old time stage dancers were wont to use at the end of their dances.

The News Journal (Wilmington, Delaware), December 29, 1916, page 7.

In 1918, the Two-Step Publishing Company sold descriptions of two types of “Toddle”:

Ballroom Dances with music and description, 50 c each.

“The Chinese Toddle” fascinating oriental dance, “The Toddle” pleasing dance in schottische rhythm.[xi]

These earlier “Toddles” may or may not be the same or similar to “the Toddle” of the 1920s, but it is clearly in the same tradition; and has the same name as the dance that take the nation by storm four years later, with Chicago in taking the lead.

The roots of the 1911 song, “Toddling the Todalo,” may extend even further back.  Portions of “The Toddle Song,” published in 1903, [xii]bear a strong similarity to portions of “Toddling the Todalo”:

We’ll toddle, we’ll toddle along, With a wad, wad and waddle,
(The Toddle Song – 1903)
Round we go a waddlin’ a toddlin’ a waddlin’ . . .
          (Toddling the Todalo – 1911)

And a tod, tod, toddle, We’ll waddle and toddle along.
(The Toddle Song – 1903)
. . . while we tod, tod, toddle, a Todalo tune.
          (Toddling the Todalo – 1911)

For whatever reason, and by whatever mechanism, “the Toddle” (either the dance or the name) survived long enough, in one form or another, to make a big splash in Chicago in 1921.  Although Fred Fisher immortalized Chicago’s status as “that Toddling Town” in 1922 (with later help from Frank Sinatra), the passing years served to obscure the original meaning of the moniker.  Perhaps more memorable dance crazes of the ensuing years, like the Charleston and the Lindy Hop, helped erase the brief “Toddle” craze from our collective memories. 

But some people remembered.  When the Chicago Tribune published an article with various guesses about how Chicago had earned the title of “ Toddling Town,” dozens of people old enough to remember the dance contacted the paper to set the record straight.[xiii]  You can read their recollections here.  The dance site, StreetSwing.com, also seems to have gotten it right, as they list “Chicago (That Toddling Town)”  in a list of songs related to “the Toddle.”

But regardless of who is to blame for “the Toddle’s” descent into obscurity, we know that it was not Billy Sunday.  Try as he might, he never could shut Chicago down.


Billy Sunday

Billy Sunday was the most successful evangelical Christian preacher of the early 1920s.  A native of Ames, Iowa, he grew up a Civil War orphan and played professional baseball in Chicago, Pittsburgh and Philadelphia during the 1880s.  He went through a religious conversion during his baseball years, and was later ordained as a Presbyterian minister. 

Based in Chicago, Billy Sunday built a large following throughout the Midwest, and eventually the entire United States.  He was also one of the most influential advocates of Prohibition, which went into effect in 1920.

He also hated dancing.  The early-1910s brought a spate of dance-bans.  “Modern dances” like the “Turkey Trot,” the “Chicken Flip,” the “Bunny Hug,” the “Bear Hug,” the “Grizzly,” “Tango” and the “Maxixe” (among other “speed dances”) were regularly banned at various times and in various places by aging Victorian moralists who, like Billy Sunday, feared the cultural revolution portended by the new, suggestive dances – much like the anti-Rock and Roll crowd several decades later.

One of Sunday’s anti-dancing anecdotes closely mirrored the old joke about why Baptists won’t have sex standing up – “Because it might lead to dancing”:

A young man and a girl in evening dress sat in a conservatory.  A fountain trickled and gurgled in a marble basin before them.  Palms drooped their long leaves over them.  The light was dim.  Distant music sounded softly.  Suddenly the young man, overcome by the girl’s beauty, seized her in his arms and crushed her madly to his breast.

“Shy, Mr. Travanion,” she said, putting her white hand on his shirt bosom and pushing him coldly away, “you forget yourself.  This sort of thing isn’t proper – here.”

So saying, she took his arm and they went out on the ball room floor and indulged in a maxixe [(one of the “modern dances”)].

Four years later, he was still preaching against the evils of dance –  Kevin Bacon would have had a word or to say to him:

If America would stop dancing and get on its knees before Christ, we can put over the great fight we are making for humanity.


The Washington Herald (Washington DC), February 16, 1918, page 4.

Rock Island Argus (Rock Island, Illinois), February 20, 1918.


Four years later, the “jazz” and dance scene were still going strong in Chicago – despite the onset of Prohibition. 

“Chicago, that “Toddling” town”

. . . really was the town that

“Billy Sunday couldn’t shut down.”










[i]The Evening World (New York), June 17, 1920, page 28 (“Should a drunken man attempt to dance the Toddle in a public trottery while his wife is home suffereing with boils of the neck?”).
[ii]Chicago Daily Tribune, December 26, 1920, page 4 (In Paris and London it is the same thing.  All the smart cafes are filled with toddlers toddling to the stirring strains of an American jazz band.).
[iii]Great Falls Tribune (Montana), September 4, 1921, page 6.
[iv]The same article appeared in numerous papers across the country.
[v]The Evening World (New York), February 7, 1921, page 15.
[vi]Plattsburgh Daily Press (Plattsburgh, New York), Februry 24, 1921, page 2.
[vii]The Washington Times (Washington DC), February 19, 1921, page 17.
[viii]Chicago Daily Tribune, December 26, 1920, page 4.
[ix]Topeka State Journal (Kansas), May 24, 1921, page 1.
[x]Charles J. Coll, Dancing Made Easy, New York, E. J. Clode, 1922, page 261.
[xi] The Two Step (Buffalo, New York), Volume 28, Number 6, June 1918, page 44.
[xii]Chas. K. Harris’ Complete Songster, Chicago, F. J. Drake, 1903, pages 138-139 (text only; “The music of this song can be obtained form Charles K. Harris, Music Publisher, 31 W. 31stSt., New York City. Send for catalogue.”)

The Return of the Prodical Song Title - a History and Etymology of "If I Knew You Were Coming, I'd Have Baked a Cake!"

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If I knew you were coming, I’d have baked a cake! (1950)


Steven D. Price, author of Endangered Phrases, calls this American idiom an, “expression of delighted surprise at finding someone whose appearance was unanticipated.”  

The idiom became popular in the 1950s, in the wake of a #1 hit record by that title, sung by Eileen Barton.  Everyone, it seems, was singing the song in 1950.  If Jesus Christ, himself, had told the parable of the prodigal son in 1950, he might have recorded the song to mark the occasion.  Actual recordings were released by the likes of Bob Hope and Bing Crosby, Ethel Merman and Ray Bolger, Eve Young and the Homesteaders, Georgia Gibbs, and Gracie Fields. Years later, Bert tried to appease Cookie Monster by baking him a cake when no cookies were available.    

The sudden popularity of the song and the idiom in 1950 suggest that the expression may have been brand new; when in point of fact, the expression was making its unanticipated return after a nearly thirty-year absence.  It is not clear whether the songwriters intentionally copied an old song title, or were influenced by the subconscious remembrance of a long-forgotten song.  Of the three men credited with writing “If I Knew You Were Coming, I’d Have Baked a Cake,” two of them were old enough to have heard songs in the 1920s with nearly identical titles.  Al Hoffman (who also wrote, “Mairzy Doats”) and Clemm Watts (aka Al Trace) were 22 and 24, respectively, in 1924; the same year that Leslie Jeffries & His Rialto Orchestra released their recording: 

If We’d a Known You was Gonna Come, We’d a Surely Baked a Cake (September 1923)  

Larry Schaetzlein and George A. Hill wrote that song in 1923.  Schaetzlein, later known as Larry Shay, became the music director for MGM studios in the early 1930s, where he hired Bing Crosby for his first film role at $50 a day.

A copyright renewal for Schaetzlein and Hill’s song filed in 1952 suggests that someone may have been trying to capitalize on the new-found popularity of the phrase.  They couldn’t really complain about the borrowed title, however.  Their first song, “Do You, Don’t You, Will You, Won’t You Love Me Too,” written in 1923, was suspiciously similar to the song, “Do You, Don’t You, Will You, Won’t You,” written in 1909.  And, in any case, they first filed for copyright protection for “If We’d a Known You was Gonna Come, We’d a Surely Baked a Cake” in September 1923; two months after William J Ryan wrote: 

Why didn’t you tell us that you were coming, we would have baked a cake (July 1923)

I guess turn-around is fair play.

What’s not clear, however, is whether the expression existed as an idiom before it was a song title.  Did the rival songs of 1923 reflect an idiom already in existence? – or did William J. Ryan coin a new expression?  Did it exist as an idiom before 1950? – or did the popularity of the song, and pithier phrasing of the expression, lead to a revived song title becoming an idiom? 

My sense is that it was not used idiomatically before 1950.  The only evidence I can find of the existence of anything like the idiom before 1950 are the two song titles from the 1920s.  Other than those song titles, I have not been able to find any other examples, or hints, of the idiom before 1950.

If you can find any such evidence – let me know; I might bake you a cake.

"Toddle Town" - the Pre-history of "That Toddling Town"

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Earlier Toddle-Towns

Chicago, known as “that Toddling Town” or “Toddle Town” in the early 1920s, was not the first “Toddle Town.”  There are at least three references to “Toddletown” or “Toddle Town,” one from England and two from the United States, between 1850 and 1915.  Whereas Chicago was called “Toddle Town” primarily for its close association with the popular dance-craze, “the  Toddle” (see my earlier post,  Why Chicago was a “Toddling Town”), “Toddle” meant something different with respect to the three earlier “Toddle Towns.”  “Toddletown” referred to provincial villages in the 1850s and 1870s, and “Toddle Town” likely referred to small children – toddlers – in 1914. 

The Music Trades, Volume 61, Number 21, May 21, 1921, page 45.


The few-and-far between examples of the expression in print may suggest that the similarity is mere coincidence.  On the other hand, the three examples, spaced over several decades, may suggest that the expression may have been idiomatic, if not overly common.  If it were idiomatic, then the use of “Toddle Town” in reference to Chicago may have been understood, at least by some, as a double-meaning allusion to the city; the city of “the Toddle” dance, and a provincial or young city.


Toddle 

The word, “Toddle,” meaning “to run or walk with short, unsteady steps,” dates to about 1600.  An earlier sense of the word, meaning “to toy, play,” dates to about 1500.  The origin is unknown, but may be related to “totter.”[i]

For some unknown reason, the word, “toddle,” enjoyed a period of popularity in the 1820s:

THE CHAPTER OF TODDLING.
Tune. – ‘The Grinder.’

WORDS, like fashions, have each had their day,
  ‘Bang up,’ ‘that’s the go,’ ‘Tippy,’ ‘Twaddle;’
‘Keep it up,’ ‘Go it boys,’ ‘Dash away,’
  But now they must give up to toddle.

   Terri heigho, heigho,
Tho’ wise ones their heads may be noddling,
   The word that is not all the go,
Go wherever you will, sir, is toddling.
. . .
Buonaparte, as great as may be,
  With victory so loaded his noddle,
That he swore he’d drive us in the sea,
  But Wellington’sforc’e him to toddle.

   Terri heigho, heigho, &c.

Now, my song, sirs, I’ll bring to an end,
  By tellingwhat runs in my noddle;
That while I have you for my friend,
  Contentedthro’ life I shall toddle.

The Gallimaufry, London, J. Smith, 1828.


Little Toddletown

 “Little Toddletown” was the name of a sleepy, provincial hamlet in a comic story published in 1853.[ii]  It is the kind of story in which a journalist is named “Penfeather,” a priest is named “Genuflex,” a socialist reformer is named “Soshalish Gash,” and a landowner is named “Squire Graspland.”  It seems safe to presume that the author intended for the town’s name to be similarly suggestive. 

Bentleys Miscellany, Volume 33, 1853, page 549.


The story revolves around a journalist who is lured away from London, to work for a start-up, politically centrist newspaper in “Little Toddletown.”   He winds up embroiled in a violent political struggle between the “Greens” and the “Blues,” which prompts him to give up the writer’s life to try his luck in the Australian gold fields. 


Toddletown

In the comic story, “Paste,” published in 1873,[iii]“Toddletown” again refers to an out-of-the-way provincial town.  Mr. Johnson, a “provincial tailor,” makes a small fortune supplying uniforms to the Union during the American Civil War, and sells his business before the prices fell, realizing a handsome profit.   

Godey’s Lady’s Book and Magazine (Philadelphia), volume 87, Number 517, July 1873, page 63.


Drunk with their new riches, his wife talks him in to selling their home and their “old-fashioned furniture and shabby clothes” in “Toddletown,” and to move to New York City where they might live in a manner suited to their new-found wealth.  Through a series of misadventures, the new-moneyed Mrs. Johnson (now going by the more high-class name of Mrs. Jeanfils) is swindled by imposter-nobles, and loses a big chunk of their money investing in a fabulous gem that turns out, in the end, to be nothing but “Paste.”  She learns her lesson, and they move back to “Toddletown” where they live happily ever after.


Toddletown Trails

In 1914, Judd Mortimer Lewis, “[t]he best known of all Texas newspaper poets,”[iv]published a collection of poems entitled, Toddle-Town Trails.  One observer called the book, “about the sweetest little book of child-poems you have ever read.”[v]  Although I have not read the book, the following description of Lewis’ favorite subject matter suggests that it may be an allusion to young children; toddlers:

He writes principally about babies, and pretty young girls . . . . He sings so many songs about babies, in fact, that he might be called the laureate of babyhood.  It is his own hearthstone and his own baby daughters that have furnished him most of his themes in this poetic realm of babyhood.

Leonidas Warren Payne, A Survey of Texas Literature, New York, Rand, McNally & Company, 1928, page 53.

Leonidas Warren Payne, A Survey of Texas Literature, New York, Rand, McNally & Company, 1928, page 53.



That Toddling Town

In 1922 Fred Fisher immortalized Chicago as “that Toddling Town” when he wrote Chicago (that “Toddling Town”).  At the time, “toddling” would likely have been understood, primarily, as a reference to the dance “the Toddle,” a dance closely associated with Chicago (see my earlier post, Why Chicago was a “Toddling Town”).  It is possible, however, that it may also have been intended, or understood by some, as having a double meaning, as either a provincial town or young city, or both. 

You be the judge.


[ii]“Love and Literature, and How they Drove Paul Penfeather, Author and Journalist, to the “Diggings,”Bentley’s Miscellany (London), volume 33, 1853, page 546.
[iii]Godey’s Lady’s Book and Magazine(Philadelphia), Volume 87, Number 517, July 1873, page 63.
[iv]Leonidas Warren Payne, A Survey of Texas Literature, New York, Rand, McNally & Company, 1928, page 53.
[v]The Houston Post, October 18, 1914.

"Teddy Bears" and "Teddies" - the Surprisingly Literal Etymology of "Teddies" Lingerie

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Two Types of Teddy Bears

In 1906, stuffed “Teddy Bears” changed the toy industry. Although they had been made as early as 1902, there is no evidence of their being sold under the name, “Teddy Bear,” until late-1905.  The full-on Teddy Bear-craze did not take hold until the spring of 1906.  The name is a reference to President Theodore “Teddy” Roosevelt’s decades-long fondness for bear hunting.  Many accounts point to a particular failed bear-hunting incident in November 1902, when Roosevelt gallantly refused to shoot a captive, injured bear presented to him for the kill-shot [(It’s good to be the King)].

In 1913, women stuffed into “Teddy Bear” undergarments (now generally called, “Teddies”) changed the lingerie industry.  These new “Teddies” featured bottoms and tops combined into a single piece.  Although the name has long been considered an obvious allusion to “Teddy Bears,” the precise imagery was unclear.  Did it refer to the shape of the garment, the cuddliness of someone in the garment, the look of a woman wearing the garment – with “articulated” arms and legs sticking out from a central body, like a Teddy bear? 

While it seems possible that any one, or all, of those images may have played a role in making the name resonate with the public; the initial impulse to use the name may have been more straightforward.  “Teddy Bear” undergarments may have been designed and named by a Chicago clothing manufacturer named Theodore Bear – “Teddy Bear.”

Dry Goods Reporter(Chicago), May 2, 1915, page 28.

Theodore Bear

Theodore Bear was born in Germany in about 1864.  At some point, he went into business with his brothers, as the Bear Brothers of Cincinnati, Ohio.  By 1908, he was in business for himself in Chicago, Illinois, as a maker of “Infants’, Children’s and Misses’ Wear.” 

Dry Goods Reporter (Chicago), Volume 38, Number 4, November 7, 1908, page 87.
New York Tribune, February 3, 1920, page 16.


He claims to have been the first manufacturer in the United States to use electric sewing machines to make children’s clothes.[i]

The serendipitous similarity between his given name and the newly famous “Teddy Bears” drew attention from the press on occasion:


“Theodore Bear,” said the clerk, calling the name of a venireman who lives at 3023 Grand boulevard.

“Present,” said Mr. Bear.

“Here’s where I make the Chief Justice a present of a teddy bear,” said the clerk, fully appreciating the vast mirthful deviation.

Chicago Inter-Ocean, June 9, 1908, page 1.


Chicago Daily Tribune, November 14, 1910, page 10.


Bisbee Daily Review (Bisbee, Arizona), March 13, 1912, page 4.


People in his trade recognized his good fortune:

Sometimes a name is in itself an advertisement for a man.  We congratulate Theodore Bear, of Chicago, upon the combination of publicity, popularity and peculiarity which clusters about his name.  It seems that he sells women’s and children’s garments.

Boot and Shoe Recorder, Volume 61, May 15 1912, page 21.

Theodore Bear, himself, was not shy about trading on the notoriety of his name.  He sold a line of children’s clothes under the “Teddy Bear” name,[ii] and put his head on top of a “Teddy Bear” body in some of his ads.

“Teddy Bear” chemises, under that name, first appeared on the market in about 1913:

The Herald News, (Newberry, South Carolina), January 17, 1913.
The idea of combining tops and bottoms was not new:

COMBINATION SETS SENSIBLE

A woman of my acquaintance who is too fleshy to suit the demands of the fashionable figure, has for years had her corset cover and short knee skirts cut in one piece, not because it was the fashionable thing to do, but merely because it was more comfortable . . . .

These new combination sets are variously known as "Princess" and "chemisettes." The corset cover is attached to the short knee skirt or the drawers, that are made quite full and quite resemble a skirt, but are usually made open.

Minneapolis Journal, April 15, 1906, Women's Section, Page 4.

There seems to have been a further development in combination sets in the mid-1910s.  As skirts inched upward, silhouettes inched inward,  and the country inched closer to full suffrage, new items appeared on the market under cumbersome names like, chemipantaloon, envelope chemise, and combination knickerbocker-corset cover:

The Evening World (New York), October 20, 1913, page 7.

It's not clear what was particularly distinctive about Theodore Bear's designs; but it's no wonder the name “Teddy” outlasted them all:

The Pensacola Journal (Florida), June 21, 1914, section 2, page 3.
For more details about the early days of “Teddy Bear” garments, and Teddy Roosevelt’s other connections to toys and the fashion world, see my earlier post, Bears, Bunnies, Blue and Lacy Lingerie – Teddy Roosevelt’s Contributions to Playtime and Fashion.

When creditors forced Theodore Bear into involuntary bankruptcy in 1922, he blamed his financial troubles on fierce competition in the women’s underwear business – everyone else, it seems, had knocked off his “Teddy Bear”:


 
Chicago, March 10. – Competition has proved the death of trade for Theodore Bear, the inventor of that frivolous garment known to women as the “Teddy Bear.”  Bear is a manufacturer of women’s lingerie.  The “Teddy” made an immediate hit and Bear’s shop was swamped with orders.  There was no part of the garment that was patentable, however, and soon other manufacturers began to turn out Bear’s pet in large quantities.

The “Teddy” became nationally famous almost over night.  Business was rushing for Bear, but when the imitators got busy, Bear’s business languished.

Now, according to bear, every manufacturer in the country is making them, and he has been forced to the wall.

Yesterday, his creditors went into Federal Court with a petition in involuntary bankruptcy.  The creditors say Bear’s assets will cover his liabilities in just about the same proportion as a “Teddy Bear” covers its wearer – 33 1-3 per cent.

St. Louis Post-Dispatch, March 10, 1922, page 1.

The Palm Beach Post (West Palm Beach, Florida), March 10, 1922, page 1.

I wouldn’t lose any sleep over his misfortune, however.  In 1914 and 1915, Theodore Bear was the lead creditor in at least two involuntary bankruptcy petitions against people who owed him money.  He was a shrewd businessman – no “Teddy Bear.”

Upon his death, twenty years later, reports surfaced that he had also played a role in creating the original, stuffed “Teddy Bear”: 


Washington Court House Record-Herald(Washington Court House, Ohio), November 20, 1940, page 1.


Freeport Journal-Standard (Freeport, Illinois), November 22, 1940, page 15.


At first blush, the report seems like a simple journalistic mistake; conflating the “Teddy Bear” chemise with stuffed “Teddy Bears.”  According to a New York Times editorial, however, it was Theodore Bear’s son who made the claim:

Editorial Comment
Who Invented the “Teddy Bear”?
From the New York Times.

Those who remember [the early 1900s] must have felt a tug at their hearts when they read this week of the death of Theodore Bear, a Chicago toy manufacturer.  They must also have wondered a little as they noted the statement made by the dead man’s son that Mr. Bear introduced in 1905 the toy since known to millions of children as the Teddy Bear.

The Index Journal (Greenwood, South Carolina), November 26, 1940, page 4.



The editorial did not directly challenge the son’s claim that the elder Bear introduced and named the stuffed bear; but nevertheless gave credit for creating the image of the “Teddy Bear” to someone else; Washington Post cartoonist, C. K. Berryman, who created a cartoon bear character for a cartoon that appeared the day after President Roosevelt famously refused to shoot a captive, injured bear.

Within weeks of those reports, reports surfaced that the son of another successful, European, immigrant businessman claimed that his father created and named of the “Teddy Bear” in 1902:



Well, about six weeks ago a man named Theodore Bear died in Chicago.  He was 76 years old, and was credited with being the man who first thought up the teddy-bear.

But there are other claimants to this honor.  Two years ago there died in New York a man named Morris Michtom, who all his life insisted that he was the one who originated and popularized the teddy-bear.  His sons, who inherited his toy business, persist in this claim, and they will tell you today, if you go out to their home, or to any of their three factories, that Michtom pere was really the daddy of the toy teddy-bear.

Panama City News-Herald (Florida), Janary 1, 1941, page 4 (This report, from George Tucker’s syndicated column, Man About Manhattan, appeared in numerous newspapers across the country).

Conclusions

It seems likely that Theodore Bear designed and named the original “Teddy Bear” undergarment; other Teddy Bear-related imagery may have helped make the name stick.  It also seems likely, if not certain, that Mr. Bear used the name “Teddy” to take advantage of the similarity between his name and the recently famous stuffed “Teddy Bears.”  His son’s claim that he was responsible for introducing stuffed “Teddy Bears” in 1905, on the other hand, seems unlikely.  He was known only as a clothing manufacturer during the 1900s and 1910s; the claim of his having created “Teddy Bears” came out years later.

The original, stuffed “Teddy Bears” were certainly named in honor of President Theodore (“Teddy”) Roosevelt.  The precise order and timing of the creation and naming of the bears, however, is unclear.  Whenever and however the bears were named, the name was not really novel or surprising.  Long before either Steiff or Michtom designed or built their first bears; and long before Roosevelt’s ill-fated hunting trip; several actual, living bears named “Teddy” or “Theodore” (in honor of Roosevelt) were in zoos in New York City and Washington DC; and two bears called “Teddy’s Bears” were featured in McKinley’s second Presidential Inauguration parade in 1901, when Roosevelt was sworn in as Vice President (he assumed the presidency several months later, following McKinley’s assassination). 

In addition, C. K. Berryman’s role in creating a public taste for cute, cuddly depictions of bear cubs may also be over-stated.  Cute, cuddly “Johnny Bear” images were widely known long before Berryman drew his first bear cartoon.  “Johnny Bears” were so well known that some early stuffed bears, as well as Berryman’s own cartoon bears, were sometimes referred to as “Johnny Bears.”  The nearly three-year gap between early-1903 (when both Michtom and Steiff reportedly made or sold their first stuffed bears) and late-1905 (when the term, “Teddy Bear” first appears in print) also raises questions about when and how the new stuffed bears became widely known as “Teddy Bears.” 

For more details on the earlier “Teddy” bears, “Johnny Bear,” and early examples of “Teddy Bear” in print, see my earlier post: Teddy Roosevelt and His Bears – a Grizzly History and Etymology of “Teddy Bears”.  The loose ends may be a subject for another day.


On the left: Johnny Bear - Ernest Seton-Thompson (Scribner's Magazine, Volume 28, Number 6, December1900). 
On the right: Berryman bears.


[i]Freeport Journal-Standard (Freeport, Illinois), November 22, 1940, page 15.
[ii]The Daily Review (Decatur, Illinois), March 18, 1911, page 3.

Taximeter, Taximeter, Uber Alles - a History of the Taxicab

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Über den Taxanom” . . .

. . . (“About the Taximeter”) was the title of a lecture given by Ferdinand Dencker before the Mathematical Society of Hamburg (Germany) the evening of May 9, 1885.  More than a century later, the title of the lecture may seem ironic; given Über’s assault on the now-traditional taxicab business model.  But in 1885, the taxicab business was in its infancy and Ferdinand Dencker was on the lecture circuit, mounting his own assault on the establishment. 

The Taxanom (now known as a “Taximeter” – the origin of the words “taxicab” and “taxi”) was a revolutionary new technology.  It was basically an analogue computing machine that automatically calculated and displayed running cab fares using pre-determined rates for time and distance; protecting passengers from random or extortionate fees.  At about the same time, across the pond in New York City, Willie Vanderbilt and his fleet of new “Yellow Cabs” mounted a different type of assault on the cab-fare status quo.  His cabs posted pre-determined rates (albeit without a device to measure them), to discourage gouging by unscrupulous hacks (see my earlier post, The Checkered History of Yellow Cabs).

Although fair, predictable pricing seems like a good idea, it took decades to completely change the culture of drivers and passengers.  New York City’s cheap, yellow cabs of the 1880s lasted only a few years; and it took decades for “taxi”-cabs to become common on the streets of New York City.  Taxi service started slowly; first establishing itself in Hamburg Germany, before slowly spreading throughout Germany, France, England and finally the United States.  It remains to be seen how thoroughly, and in what way, Über and other on-demand ride-share apps will change public transportation.  But while Über’s unfolding history is well known and well documented, the details of the history, origin and etymology of “taxis” and “taximeters” are largely forgotten. 

It all started with a music Professor in Berlin.


Wilhelm Friedrich Nedler

In 1875, mild-mannered music teacher Herr Professor Wilhelm Friedrich Nedler [(not to be confused with Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche)] had a dream; to escape the drone of the metronome counting the beat as his students butchered their exercises.  To break free, and inspired perhaps by the metronome, he invented what he later called the “Taxanom” (rhymes with metronome), a device for counting accrued cab-fare in real time; a radical departure from previous systems which left the passenger at the mercy of unscrupulous hacks. 

“Metronome” was coined in 1815, from the Greek, metron(measure) and nomos (regulating).  “Taxanom,” similarly, was based on the Latin taxa (charge or fee) and Greek nomos– a fee regulator.  By 1890, it was more widely known as a “taxameter” (later “taximeter) – a fee measurer.  Today, we generally call a vehicle with a taximeter a “taxi” or “taxicab” (both words from about 1907).  It’s the taximeter that distinguishes a “taxi” from a simple cab.  Although when we think of a “taxi” today, we generally think of an automobile; when the taximeter was new, all “cabs,” including the first taxicabs (although not by that name), were horse-drawn cabs.

Not much is known about Nedler, other than that he was a music teacher or professor.  An alumni guide prepared for the 25thanniversary of the Leipzig Conservatory of Music in 1868, listed Wilhelm Joachim Friederich Nedler, from Rostock, as a member of the class of 1849; making him nearly fifty years old when he filed for his first taxanom patents in 1875.[i]

Nedler’s faith in the future success of his invention was apparent from the outset.  He filed for patent protection in Germany, England, the United States, France, Denmark, and Sweden (that I know of; perhaps many more).  The earliest accounts of his as-yet unnamed invention appear in British patent records and technical magazines:

THE LONDON GAZETTE, SEPTEMBER 14, 1875.
Office of the Commissioners of Patents for Inventions.

Notice is hereby given, that – . . . Friedrich Wilhelm Nedler, Teacher of Music, of Berlin, Prussia, has given the like notice in respect of the invention of “improvements in apparatus for counting and registering the time occupied, the distance travelled, and the fares in cabs and other vehicles.

The United States Patent Office was either more efficient or less thorough; they issued Nedler’s US Patent 183960 on October 31, 1876, based on a filing date of September 15, 1876:

Be it known that I, Wilhelm Friedrich Nedler, of the city of Berlin, Kingdom of Prussia, German Empire, have invented a new and Improved Self-Acting Cab-Fare Indicator, of which the following is a specification:

The object of the present invention is to construct an apparatus by the use of which it is possible to indicate and register the length of time a cab or other vehicle is occupied by a passenger, and also to indicate the amount of fare without the intervention of the driver or the passenger.



His German and French patents were issued in 1877. 

But getting patents is a lot easier than making them a success.  Perhaps because of problems with the initial design, or inexperience in business, or both; Professor Nedler does not seem to have had much success monetizing his invention on his own.  The name of the invention appeared in a French/German/English technical dictionary in 1883 . . .

Taxanome, m.; der Taxanom – apparat; Counter (carriage)[ii]

. . . but I could not find any account of Nedler’s fare registers in use until 1884.  He found commercial success only after teaming up with experienced technicians, engineers and businessmen in the field of clock-making. 

He found them all in Hamburg; and not by accident.


Hamburg, Germany

Hamburg, Germany was a port city; an independent city-state of the old Hanseatic League.  As a major seaport with an economy based on maritime trade, it was Hamburg was a natural place for technologies related to safe and efficient navigation.  The modern marine chronometer (invented in France in 1766) was a keystone of maintaining maritime might; and the relatively young German Empire (the Second Reich) made the production of German-made chronometers a top priority:

Soon after the formation of the German Empire in 1871 ambitious efforts started to build up a Navy, and the Imperial Admiralty called for a self-sustaining manufacture of nautical instruments and chronometers.  In 1877 annual competition trials for testing chronometers commenced at the German Hydrographical Institute (Deutsche Seewarte) [in Hamburg, Germany].[iii]

The investment and activity surrounding the development of chronometers, in and around Hamburg, made it a natural center of time-keeping technology.  It is therefore not surprising that Professor Nedler, wound up in Hamburg with his taxanom in the mid-1880s:

Industrial Notes

Stock Corporation. . . . With capital of 60,000 M, the Taxanom-Aktien-Gesellschaft was organized, with the intention of establishing a public transportation operation in Hamburg and vicinity.[iv]



With his company in place, Herr Professor Nedler started getting the word out.  His talk before the Hamburg Society of Architects and Engineers on January 30, 1884 was reported in a German trade magazine for builders and architects:

Hr. Prof. Nedler spoke about the “Taxanom”.  The speaker then waxed about its advantages, of which the device has many, then described in more precise detail the construction and various functions of his invention, and finally spoke about his conviction that introducing this system in the cab-for-hire business would be very fruitful. [v]

At first blush, the Society of Architects and Engineers may seem like a surprising place to start a marketing campaign for taximeters; but an article in an architectural magazine may explain the connection.  In the midst of a series of reports on bridge-building, the Union of Austrian Engineers’ and Architects’ Weekly provided a full “sketch” of Hamburg’s “highly-developed” local transportation system; horse-trolleys, street railways and cabs.  Trolleys and railways concern engineers because they are involved in the laying of the streets, construction and maintenance of the rails, and manufacture of vehicles.  Cabs compete in the same space, and engineers, if not architects, may be interested in the design and operation of cabs, and the new-fangled timepiece that calculates its fares. 

With their new “taxanoms,” Hamburg’s cabs became the first fleet of “taxi-cabs” anywhere (although people in Hamburg referred to them, at the time, as “Taxanom-Droschkes”).  These were horse-drawn cabs.  The first motorized “taxi-cab” took to the streets of Stuttgart, Germany ten years later; it was a Mercedes.[vi]

The city of Hamburg embraced the “Taxanom” from the beginning.  Just three months after the formation of the Taxanom-Aktien-Gesellschaft, the Hamburg Police Department issued a special set of regulations governing the operation of Taxonom-Cabs.  Drivers were required to carry a copy of the regulations onboard at all times, and to show them to passengers on request.  The Taxanom-Cab Code also provided for numbered vehicle tags, vehicle markings, set fares, required those fares to be posted, set the dress code for drivers (they had to wear police-like uniforms), established carry-on luggage policies, and governed just about every aspect of taxicab operation you can imagine.[vii]

Somehow, news of the new devices found its way into the American humor magazine, Puck, almost immediately:

Puck, Volume 15, Number 377, May 28, 1884, page 195.


Hamburg’s “Taxanom Cabs” were unique enough to earn a special mention in Baedeker’s 1886 Northern Germany travel guide:

Hamburg. Cabs. 

In cases of extortion recourse should be had to the police. – In the so-called ‘Taxanom Cabs’, which are provided with odometers, the fare for 1-4 persons is 30 pf. for 800 metres or less, and 10 pf. for every additional 400 metres or fraction of 400 metres.  From 11 p.m. to 6 a.m. double fares; 10 pf. Extra is charged for driving to railway-stations, theatres, concerts, etc.[viii]

“Taxanoms” were also put into service in Leipzig in 1886.[ix]

With his company off the ground, Wilhelm Friedrich Nedler did not just sit back and rest on his laurels.  He continued tinkering with his invention.  He received a German patent for improvements to the taxanom in February 1887.  US Patent 383,758, covering the same improvements, was issued in May 1888:

 

And, Professor Nedler was not the only person working to improve the taxanom and reach a bigger market.  Ferdinand Dencker had a hand in it too.

Ferdinand Dencker

Ferdinand Dencker, who gave the lecture, “Über den Taxanom,” to the Mathematical Society of Hamburg in 1895, was one of the first, independent German chronometer makers to set up shop in Hamburg as part of the German Empire’s push to establish a German chronometer industry.  As early as 1887, the head of the German Imperial Admiralty referred to Dencker and Adolph Kittel as a makers “who are standing on their own feet.”[x]   He also criticized Dencker (who refused to take part in government-sponsored chronometer trials[xi]) as having a “restless mind.”[xii] 

Dencker, a real thinker, was doing more than making chronometers; he was also busy working on making, repairing and improving the “Taxanom”.  The Hamburg Police Department’s supplemental taxameter-cab regulations of 1887 designated Ferdinand Dencker as the official provider of “Taxanoms,” and gave him a monopoly on repair and regular maintain of the “Taxanoms” in service:

Gesetzsammlung der Freien und Hansestadt Hamburg, Volume 23, 1887, Order of 15 September 1887.




In 1888, Ferdinand Dencker received two patents for further improvements in the “Taxanom” (DE Patent 47389, 27 June 1888; DE Patent 47390, 17 June 1888).  His particular contribution to the marketability of the device was a the ability to easily change the rate of the fare, for example, to reflect the number of people in the cab or different fares at different times of day, or any other reason.

Dencker’s letterhead, found in Germany’s Federal Archive/Military Archive (Courtesy of Günther Oestmann), reflects his wide range of interests and accomplishments.  His role in the development of the taxameter is placed prominently at the bottom of the list; the only accomplishment spelled out in all caps:
Inventor of the Cab-Fare-Indicator “TAXAMETER”:

 

As taximeters improved, the business may have become bigger and competition became stiffer.  When the City of Paris evaluated taximeters in 1889, for example, there were said to have been 112 different systems available; although only the Dencker/Nedler system was found to be practicable.[xiii]  But even though Nedler and Dencker may have had a leg up on the competition, the game may have become too big for a music professor and clockmaker to handle.  


Westendarp & Pieper

In 1890, Nedler and Dencker assigned their patent rights to a new corporate entity.  It is unclear whether this was a hostile takeover, a natural progression of the company, or a group of better businessmen rescuing a small company that was getting too big for their breeches.  I have not been able to determine whether Westendarp and/or Pieper were shareholders in the original Taxanom-Aktien-Gesellschaft or new partners.  I have also been unable to determine whether Nedler or Dencker retained an interest in the new company, cashed out, or were forced out.  But I have not been able to find either Nedler’s or Dencker’s name, in connection with the Taximeters, after they assigned their patent rights to Taxameter Fabrik [(Factory)] Westendarp & Pieper in July 1890.  Dencker continued making chronometers well into the 1900s; and even pioneered (unsuccessfully) the mass-production precision timepieces. [xiv]Nedler served as the chairman of the board of a Northern German insurance company, in 1889;[xv]the last reference I could find to him.

  20th Century Marine Chronometer by F. Dencker; auctioned at Bonhams - Auction 22622.

I have been unable to find a detailed list of the principals of the Westendarp & Pieper company, but it seems likely that it was run by two engineers; George Westendarp and Carl Pieper.  George Westendarp had been in business in Hamburg, in various capacities, since at least the late-1860s.  In 1869, he was the Hamburg agent for receiving designs in an architectural design competition, judged by Martin Gropius (great-uncle of Walter Gropius, founder of the Bauhaus movement).  In the 1870s, he designed a planned community around what was then called Eichenpark (now Eimbuetteler Park am Weiher), in the Embuettel section of Hamburg (the community was never built, and most of the land is still an urban oasis in the middle of Hamburg’s urban sprawl).  In the 1880s, he proposed designs for a dedicated freight train line through a tunnel under the Elbe, to connect Hamburg with a new “free” port, or special customs zone.  In the 1890s, George Westendarp and Carl Pieper were named co-inventors on at least two patents; one for a control system for a “water engine,” and one for gunpowder that was supposedly insensitive to friction and physical shock.  There was a patent attorney named Carl Pieper in Berlin during the 1880s, but I cannot tell whether he is the same man as the one who later made taximeters with Westendarp in Hamburg.

George’s brother, Wilhelm (who may have had an interest in the new venture), was also a successful businessman in Hamburg.  He was a champion rower, African explorer, and one of the biggest elephant-ivory dealers in the world.  Later in his career, impressed by elephants’ deep intelligence, he promoted the use of elephants as beasts of burden, instead of killing them for ivory.  That’s Wilhelm there – fourth from the left – rowing for the champion “Nordstern” (North Star) team of the Germania Rowing Club in Hamburg in 1864):



Westendarp & Pieper ushered the “Taxameter” (later Taximeter) into the modern era; as horse-drawn cabs slowly gave way to automotive cabs.  But as successful as they were through the 1890s, when the old guard passed away, their children were unable, or uninterested, in running the business.  One of their chief designers took control of the company in 1906.

Wilhelm Friedrich Gustav Bruhn
Walter Bruhn, the man whom most English-language sources credit with “inventing” the “Taximeter,” was a lead designer at Westendarp & Pieper as early as 1889.  He claims to have been had a hand in designing Westendarp & Pieper’s first taximeter to achieve widespread commercial success.  Although his name does not appear on the patents (German patent law did not require naming the inventor), he may have been the designer responsible for a string of patents awarded to Taxameter Farbrik Westendarp & Pieper  in 1890.  His name does appear on two taximeter patents issued in the United States during the 1890s; US Patent 485,529 (November 1, 1892) and US Patent 605,442 (June 7, 1898). 

Bruhn’s big contribution was the visible “For Hire” sign or “flag”; which, when folded down, starts the taximeter, while also giving a visual indication the taxi is occupied or available for hire, as displayed at the Chicago World’s Fair in 1893:





The only fare-indicators which have proved perfectly reliable in practice are those manufactured by the taxameter factore [(Westendarp Pieper)] in Hamburgh.  These apparatus have been successively introduced in Hamburgh and Bremen, and since January last in Berlin also, and have met with very good success.  The leading cab companies and many other large firms of this trade have provided their carriages with this system of indicators, the introduction of which is very much appreciated by the authorities and the public.  In Hamburgh the police authorities have made the use of it compulsory for all cabs submitted for new licenses.

Transactions of ASME (American Society of Mechanical Engineers), Volume 14, New York, ASME, 1893, Page 620.



Bruhn went out on his own in 1897, forming the Internationaler Taxameter, G. m. b. H., Hamburg, with an initial capitalization of 1,100,000 Marks.  

Handbuch der Gesellschafter mit beschraenkter Haftung im deutschen Reichs, Leipzig, A. Schumann, 1898, page 101.

By 1906, he was successful enough to buy the Taxameter Fabrik Westendarp & Pieper from the original owners’ heirs.[xvi]  Although he kept the name of the company, and expanded their product line, he seems to have enjoyed putting tacking his own name onto all of their products; which may explain how the rumor got started that he “invented” the taximeter:

Deutsche Luftfahrer Zeitschrift(Berlin), Number 13/14, July 22, 1918, page 3.
 


The Growth of the Taximeter Industry

The taxi industry started small and grew slowly.  After finding an early home with the chronometer specialists in Hamburg, and establishing themselves in Hamburg, and branching out into Leipzig, Bremen and Berlin, it still took more than a decade for the concept to succeed on a wide scale.  One thing that helped was the concurrent introduction of another new technology – automobiles.

But before they were put on automobiles, you could ride a pedal-powered, three-wheeled Taxameter in Berlin:



Die Dreirad-Droschke [(Tricycle-Cab)]

The endless parade of vehicles that move through the streets of Berlin has been increased by the original tricycle cab.[xvii]

The cab was fitted with a “comfortable” leather seat, retractable footboard for easy boarding, and a retractable awning for protection from the elements or enjoyment of the fresh air.

 
Motorized cabs, still without taximeters, were still so uncommon in 1896, that it was newsworthy when French inventor and automobile manufacturer, M. Roger, petitioned the police authorities of Paris for permits to operate motorized cabs in Paris – but apparently without taximeters:

M. Roger, the inventor and manufacturer of automobile carriages, has made application to the police authorities of Paris for permits to run a number of horseless carriages on the streets, for hire at the regular rate of 30 cents a drive or 40 cents an hour when hired on the street . . . .  That horseless carriages can be run cheaply enough to compete with the regular fiacres is thus shown.[xviii]

Roger died about one year later; apparently without seeing his vision realized.

Later that year, a Stuttgart businessman in the cab business, Friedrich Greiner, ordered ten new automobile cabs adn had them outfitted with taximeters. They were the first motorized
“taxameter cabs” - even though they still looked a lot like the old horse-drawn cabs - just without the horse:

Der Motorwagen, Volume 1, Number 2, 1898, page 14.


They were an immediate hit with riders and owners when they finally hit the mean streets of Stuttgart in May of 1897:[xix]  

The recently introduced motor-taxameter (Daimler) are giving the horse-drawn cabs a run for their money, and enjoy increasing popularity with the public.  The price is not set higher than the horse-taxameters, but the service is significantly faster.[xx] 

The first taxameter of this style went into public service in May 1897, and can cover, on the average, 70 in a day.  The experience with these motorcars, with respect to income and expenses, is a very favorable . . . .[xxi]

But despite the auspicious start, the changeover to motorized taximeter cabs was a long, slow process.  Even places like Berlin (an early adopter of taximeters) had vastly more horse-drawn cabs than motorized cabs as late as 1906.  Testifying before London’s Select Committee on Cabs and Omnibuses in 1906, F. W. G. Bruhn noted that only 300 of Berlin’s 7,500 cabs were motor cabs.

By fits and starts, as more cities introduced taximeters, motorized cabs and motorized taximeter cabs; but the transition was not always smooth:

The “taxameters” recently attached to hacks and other public vehicles in Stockholm for the purpose of registering the distance traveled, have proven highly unsatisfactory, and the police authorities have decided to condemn them.
 Willmar Tribune (Minnesota), April 13, 1897, page 3.


Herr Hermann Spannier, of Berlin, accompanied by some capitalists, starts next week for the United States to introduce in the large cities of America the cab taxamter system of automatically regulating fares.
The Saint Paul Globe, December 19, 1897, page 9.

Electric Cab London – 1898.

Electric Cab New York – 1898.





Taxameters.

An effort is being made in England to introduce the “taxameters,” which have proved useful in Paris in regulating the pay of drivers.  A “taxameter” is a sort of cyclometer and cash register applied to cabs, which keeps records of fares and distances . . . .  But the cabdrivers’ trade union has protested, and threatens a boycott if the new device is used.
The Worthington Advance (Minnesota), May 5, 1899, page 8.



The new and ingenious little machine called the taxameter, which is designed to prevent extortionate charges on the part of cabmen and to do away with all possibility of disputes between them and their fares, had recently aroused great interest in London.
New York Tribune, April 30, 1899, Illustrated Supplement Page 2.

Topeka State Journal (Kansas), April 24, 1899, page 3.

The old style of London cabman is doomed – there is no doubt about that.  Not only has he to contend with the taximeter, but the yellow electrical cabs after a brief interval of retirement are to burst upon the streets once more today to the number of eighty.
New York Tribune, June 12, 1899, page 8.

Although the Russians are not noted for their gallantry toward women they have scored one on other people.  St. Petersburg has recently been provided with new taxameter cabs.  They work on a dual system, one for ladies and the other for gentlemen, the authorities having been thoughtful enough to introduce a new tariff, according to whch ladies are only required to pay half the fare demanded of mere men.
Valentine Democrat (Valentine, Nebraska), July 4, 1901, page 7.

The weak success of the taxameter-cabs recently introduced in Vienna was under discussion recently discussed in the Lower-Austrian Parliament.  People have complained that most of the Taxameters in Vienna are out of order.  Mayor Graf Kielmannsegg, who recommended using Taxameters based on their proven success in other large cities, gleaned from police files that 90 percent of smashed Taxameters were rendered unusable by acts of violence at the hands of coachmen of other types of vehicles.  Only a small percentage of coachmen want to let their passengers see the fare.  The mayor closed his presentation with a warning that if the “fiat” and one-horse wagon drivers do restore order, that they would all be simply put out of business, and replaced with an entirely new system of transportation.

Indiana Tribüne (Indianapolis, Indiana), December 11, 1903, page 5.

They did not take permanent hold in any of these cities until about 1906; and even then, it wasn’t all smooth sailing:

Paris, July 28. – The registering apparatus for public cabs which is known as the taximeter came into use in Paris a little more than a year ago.  Since that time, it is said, cabmem have devised a dozen different schemes of beating the cab companies in the count.
The Minneapolis Journal, July 29, 1906, page 3.

Taximeter Tricks Played on Foreign Passengers
Paris, July 6. – Americans now in Paris are experiencing the shortcomings as well as the delights of the taximeter cab system, for the “taxi” is not all that it seems when viewed from the sidewalk. 
Los Angeles Herald, July 7, 1907, page 2.




The latest and best thing in London is a lot of handsome new motor cabs, which are furnished with a “taximeter,” to measure the distance, and charge only eight pense – 16 cents – a mile.  The Londoners call them “taxi-cabs,” and they are fast driving out the old horse cabs.
The National Tribune (Washington DC), May 23, 1907, page 2.



In the United States, riders in New Yorker, Boston and Philadelphia were to get their own taste of modern taxicab travel:

Evening Star (Washington DC), March 7, 1907, page 7.


Some of New York City’s taxicabs were of French design:

A French society has made arrangements to furnish New York with three hundred Darracq taxi-metre cabs, says a despatch.

The Columbian (Bloomsburg, Pennsylvania), May 23, 1907.



This image from 1907 shows an original, 1898 New York Electric Cab; now retrofitted with a taximeter.


Within the next few years, motorized taxicabs were everywhere; and were being built everywhere:


Made in Columbus, Ohio - 1908
Made in St. Louis - 1907
Made in France - 1907
Made in Stuttgart, Germany - 1909

Made in Connecticut - 1910

Made in Chicago - 1915

One hundred years later – there’s a new kid on the block; what will the next century bring?








[i]Dr. Emil Kneschke, Das Conservatorium der Musik in Leipzig. Seine Geschichte, seine Lehrer und Zoeglinge. Festgage zum 25jaehrigen Jubiaeum am 2. April 1868, Leipzig, Breitkopf und Haertel, 1868.
[ii]Alexandre Tolhausen, Grande Supplement du Dictionaire Technologique dans les Langues Francaise, Volume 1, Leipzig, Bernhard Tauchnitz, 1883.
[iii]Guenther Oestmann, “Towards the ‘German Chronometer’.  The introduction of precision timekeeping in the German mercantile marine and Imperial Navy in the nineteenth century,” Antiquarian Horology and the Proceedings of the Antiquarian Horological Society, 35, September 2014, page 949.
[iv]Deutsche Industrie-Zeitung (Chemnitz), Volume 25, Number 2, January 9, 1884, page 19.
[v]Deutsche Bauzeitung; Fachzeitschrift fuer Architektur (Stuttgart), Volume 18, Number 16, February 23, 1884, page 95 (a follow-up lecture to the same group, by Herr Roeper on February 13, 1884, was reported in the March 5 issue of the same magazine).  
[vi]www.mercedes-benz.com (“Die Daimler-Motoren-Gesellschaft lieferte das erste Motortaxi der Welt”). 
[vii]“Polizeiliche Vorschriften fuer den Betrieb der Taxanom-Droschken (Anhang zum Droschken-Reglement,” den 23 April 1884,” Gesetzsammlung der Freien und Hansestadt Hamburg, Band 20, 1884.
[viii]Karl Baedeker, Northern Germany. Handbook for Travellers, Leipzig, K. Baedeker, 9th edition, revised and augumented, 1886, page 164.
[ix]Franz M. Feldhaus, Ruhmesblätter der Technik von den Urerfindungen bis zur Gegenwart, Leipzig, F. Brandstetter, 1910, pages 458-459.
[x]Oestmann, “Towards the ‘German Chronometer’”, page 957.
[xi]Oestmann, “Towards the ‘German Chronometer’”, page 958.
[xii]Oestmann, “Towards the ‘German Chronometer’”, page 957.
[xiii]Franz M. Feldhaus, Ruhmesblätter der Technik.
[xiv]Guenther Oestmann, Auf dem Weg zum “Deutschen Chronometer,” Bremerhaven, 2012,pages 79 et seq.
[xv]Jahrbuch fuer das Deutsche Versicherungswesen1889, Berlin, Ernst Siegfried Mittler & Sohn (Norddeutsche Versicherungs- und Renten-Bank. Aufsichtsrath: W. F. Nedler, Professor, Vorsitzender).
[xvi]Der Motorwagen (Berlin), Volume 9, Number 3, January 31, 1906, page 87.
[xvii]Scranton Wochenblatt (Scranton, Pennsylvania), December 3, 1896, page 6.
[xviii]The Evening Star (Washington DC), January 31, 1896, page 6.
[xix]Der Motorwagen, Volume 1, Number 2, 1888, page 14.
[xx]Zeitung des Vereins Deutscher Eisenbahn-Verwaltungen, Volume 37, Number 88, November 10, 1897, page 880.
[xxi]Der Motorwagen, Volume 1, Number 2, 1888, page 14.

Flight School "Taxis" - a History and Etymology of "to Taxi" (like an Airplane)

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In 1875, Wilhelm Friedrich Nedler, a music teacher from Berlin, Germany,  invented the taximeter; the device automatically calculates cab-fare in real time, based on time and distance covered, and which distinguishes a “taxi” or “taxicab” form an ordinary “cab.”  Horse-drawn taximeter-cabs first trolled the streets of Hamburg, Germany in 1884; and the first motorized taximeter-cabs prowled the mean streets of Stuttgart, Germany in 1897.  When large fleets of taximeter-cabs hit the streets of London and New York in 1907, they quickly became known by their new names; “taxicab,” “taximo” (in London), and more simply “taxi.” 

[For more information on the history of “taximeters” and “taxicabs,” see my post: Taximeter, Taximeter Über Alles – a History of the Taxicab.]

[For more information on the surprisingly long (much earlier than taximeters, even) history of “yellow cabs,” see my post: New York, London, Paris (but not) Munich – the Checkered History of Yellow Cabs.]

With the advent of flight at about the same time taximeters appeared, some people had fun imagining airborne taxicabs.  Speaking in 1909, and speculating on the state of aircraft technology in the year 1915, several experienced fliers joked about the possibility:

Stephane Lauzanne: No doubt there will be 10,000 aeroplanes registered with the Paris police, of which 7,000 will be fitted with taximeters.

MM. Max and Alex. Fischer: Unification of Aero Taxi Fares. –After the 1st of May next, all flyers fitted with blue taximeters will charge 1 fr. 50 c. for the first 100 kiloms. And 30 centimes for the following 50 kiloms.  Flyers fitted with red taximeters will charge 1 fr. 75 c. for the first 100 kiloms. And 40 centimes for each subsequent 50 kiloms.

Flight, Volume 1, December 11, 1909, page 804.

A couple years later, an artist imagined a future when aeroplanes might replace street-cars, and deliver visitors to the Iowa State Fair:

The Des Moines Register (Iowa), September 3, 1911, page 15.

That same year, a French company outfitted an airplane with a “taximeter,” bringing the fanciful predictions one step closer to reality:

Topeka State Journal (Kansas), May 17, 1911, page 1.


But think about it – if flying taxis had actually become a thing, the verb, “to taxi,” might have taken on a completely different connotation.  If an aero-taxi went about its business in the air, would we have said that airplanes “taxi” only when on the ground?  As things are, however, the verb, “to taxi,” meaning an airplane moving on the ground under its own power, is related to ground-based automobile taxis; but by a slightly circuitous route.

The Verb “To Taxi”

The verb, “to taxi,” dates to 1911.  Although it is ultimately derived from an allusion to an automobile “taxi,” it may not be a direct “allusion to the way a taxi driver slowly cruises when looking for fares” (see, for example, Etymonline.com), as generally surmised.  The origin of the verb appears to be a more directly derived from the name of a specific type of airplane – a “taxi” – a flight trainer with a small engine, extra weight, and wings adjusted to prevent real flight.  Presumably those “taxis” were named after automobile taxicabs which were also confined to the ground and used for short trips; so “to taxi” was derived from automobile taxis, but only indirectly.


Flight School “Taxis”

Flight trainers known as “taxis” were first used at Henri Farman’s flight school at a military base at Moulon, near Chalons, France:

There is a special aeroplane known as the “taxi,” on which pupils are taught to fly.  Its power is low, and its plane [(wings)] so adjusted that it can only be got off the ground with a certain amount of difficulty.  For the first lesson Instructor Chateau mounts with the pupil by his side, and while alternately running over the ground and flying through the air explains the movements to his pupils.

Then comes the first flight alone.  Starting from the door of the shed the machine runs up the rising ground without being able to rise into the air.  Then the top of the slope is reached, and the downward run commenced.  If the aeroplane is handled properly it will fly over the descending ground without any particular effort of the pilot.  After covering about a mile, however, the rising ground is again reached and as the power of the engine has not been sufficient to rise to a great altitude, the wheels touch and the machine once more runs over the surface.

When it is possible to fly around the course in this manner the pupil is sufficiently advanced to take his own machine, equipped with a more powerful motor and adjuste4d to rise from the sloping ground.  Under this method of instruction very little time is lost in repairs.  The “taxi” has covered several thousand kilometers, running over the ground and flying in the air in the hands of various pupils without a single breakage.

The San Francisco Call, December 19, 1909, page 38.

Several other accounts of the flight school at Moulon describe the “taxi”:

Mortimer Singer [(heir to the Singer Sewing Machines fortune)] had the best preparations for the operation of an airplane. . . .  Housed in Mourmelon for a few weeks, he began his apprenticeship on the famous taxi de Voisin, which gave wings to so many people.  He then acquired a Blériot, an Antoinette and an Henri Farman biplane, with which he continued his training with the utmost diligence.

L’Aerophile (Paris), Volume 18, Number 4, February 15, 1910, page 73.

A Dutch writer, who wrote a George Plimpton-esque book about his experiences in the flight school at Mourmelon, said of the “taxi”:

[The Taxi] is a flying machine for learning to fly, but no one can really fly it.  It does not take off; it is too heavy, its engine too light.  What the “taxi” can do, however, is kick up dust in the field, like a runaway, beaten animal.

Jan Fieth, Een week als Vliegmensch (“One Week as a Flying-Man”), Amsterday, Scheltens & Giltay, 1910, page 40.

Elsewhere in the book, he describes riding up and down in the taxi, in short, back-breaking hops, twenty meters at a time, while mostly driving around on the ground.

In 1912, the French airplane manufacturer Bleriot designed a purpose-built trainer and named it after a flightless bird - the Taxi-Pinguin:


Flight, August 23, 1913, page 940.


The name “taxi,” for a heavy, low-power, low-flying trainer, was not confined to France.  Beginning in 1911, the pages of Flight magazine, published by the Royal Aero Club of the United Kingdom, is filled with reports about flight school students training in “taxis” at flight schools in England:

Baldwin was rolling and making straight flights on the school taxi; he has picked the control up very quickly and should make a good flyer.

Flight, Volume 3, October 28, 1911, page 931.

Wilkins, Baldwin and Sabelli, of the Deperdussin school, were out on the taxi, making straight flights.

Flight, Volume 3, November 4, 1911, page 963.

The Deperdussin school was very busy, Baldwin, Sabelli and Lieut. Ernie Chinnery were making straight flights on the taxi . . .

Flight, Volume 3, November 11, 1911, page 986.



“Taxiing”

The verb, “to taxi,” first shows up in the pages of Flightin mid-1911.  The earliest example relates to a training flight with an instructor and student in the plane.  Although it is unclear whether they were flying a “taxi” or a regular airplane; the flights are straight and confined to the school grounds:

Several straight flights were undertaken by Paterson with the pupil Driver as passenger in a 25 mile an hour wind.  To illustrate the qualified pupil, Driver took the machine over, and although he had only previously flown in a calm, he made a good flight from end to end of the ground.  On his return however things did not look so happy. . . . . [B]ut to the relief of everyone he manoeuvred cleverly, and landing near the railway embankment “taxied” the machine back to the hangars, smiling happily.

Flight, Volume 3, July 1, 1911, page 572.

By the end of the year, the verb appears in reports of flights by experienced fliers in real airplanes:

Mr. Oxley remarked that if the weather was favourable on the following morning he would make a flight around Filey previous to starting for Leeds to give the district an exhibition of what trick flying he could do. . . . Landing at Filey he taxied the machine to turn it round, then flew back towards the hangars . . . . [(He died shortly afterward when his plane did not come out of a dive over the cliffs at Filey.)]

Flight, Volume 3, December 16, 1911, page 1082.

In early 1912, however, the verb was applied to an airplane that was clearly not a low-power trainer, as it was piloted by Tom Sopwith, who is best known to me as the namesake of Snoopy’s “Sopwith Camel”:

Monday was bright in the morning, but windy; in the afternoon, rain and fog started, in spite of which, however, Mr. Tom Sopwith [(the namesake of Snoopy’s “Sopwith Camel”)] was out on the Martin-Handasyde for a couple of spins round the aerodrome, getting lost, however, on the Mill Hill side.  Considering the weather a bit too thick for pleasant flying he taxied back to the hangars.

Flight, Volume 4, January 20, 1912, page 59.

The new verb did not find universal approval; but did receive official sanction:

It is interesting here to note that the much reprobated verb to “taxi” has official sanction.  It is a good little word, in that it is unlike any other and expresses a distinct idea, namely, that of running an aeroplane along the ground under its own power.

The Aeroplane (London), Volume 3, November 7, 1912, page 456.

“To taxi” was here to stay.

Conclusion 

While it seems clear that the verb, “to taxi,” was derived from the nearly flightless training machine, the reason for calling the flightless trainer a “taxi,” in the first place, is not immediately clear.  Perhaps it relates to cruising around slowly, like a taxicab looking for a fare, as generally assumed.  But the bumpy, up-and-down rides described in early accounts of the “taxi” do not particularly sound like a cruising taxi.  Perhaps it relates to a pilot or student getting a ride back to the hangar when they can't fly back or when there is some other technical difficulty, as described in a couple of the early accounts of such “taxis.”  Or perhaps it relates to the fact that the schools basically gave rides to customers for a fee - like a taxi.

Taxi!!! 

Escapes from Alcatraz - a History of Swimming from and Escaping from Alcatraz

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When I was young, the common impression was that “escape from Alcatraz” had always been “Impossible.”  The mystique was bouyed by popular films like 1979’s Escape from Alcatraz, and periodic TV, newspaper or magazine bits about Morris and Anglin’s notorious Alcatraz jailbreak and disappearance in 1963.  The temperature was too cold they said, the sharks too numerous, the currents and tides too unpredictable; no one could possibly survive such a swim without freezing to death, getting eaten by sharks or being swept out to open sea.

Today, however, thousands of swimmers swim from Alcatraz to San Francisco or Marin County every year, with the help of modern swimwear technology, an army of safety boats and lifeguards, and secure in the knowledge that thousands of others regularly make the same swim and live to tell about it.  Events like Escape from Alcatraz, The San Francisco Triathlon at Alcatraz, Escape from the Rock, and Sharkfest have taken a bite out of Alcatraz’s reputation as an un-escape-from-able fortress. A close look at Alcatraz’s history, however, shows that its reputation had already taken a big hit during the months before it closed; and may have been largely bluster from the start.

Although the federal government still claims that no one ever successfully escaped from Alcatraz during its three decades as a federal prison, John Paul Scott made it to San Francisco alive in late 1962:

Scott . . . was near death when he washed ashore at Fort Point just inside the Golden Gate Bridge and nearly three miles from the prison . . . .  Scott’s spectacular if futile swim from Alcatraz island destroyed once and for all the official position that escape from Alcatraz is impossible.  And it added strength to the supposition that other escapers have made it safely to shore.  Escapers such as Frank Lee Morris and John and Clarence Anglin, who are known to have entered the water last June.  Escapers such as Theodore Cole and Ralph Roe were last seen Dec. 16, 1937.  These five have never been found.[i]

Alcatraz federal prison closed for good, four months after Scott’s attempt. 

It is a testament to the human spirit’s ability to forget inconvenient truths that the myth survived for as long as it did.  The myth had been called into question decades earlier, at the very moment it was being  transferred to the Justice Department after seventy years as a military prison:

The scheme [(transfer of Alcatraz to the Department of Justice)] probably was sold to Washington on the strength of the myth that escape by swimming is impossible because of the currents that swirl around and around the island as they do in the case of the French Devil’s island off the Guiana coast.

Legend says that former warden at Alcatraz discouraged attempts at escape by offering a bathing suit and chance for liberty to each new arrival.  Those who accepted are supposed to have battled the currents vainly until fished out.

Now that myth has been blown up by the girl swimmer who stepped off at Alcatraz the other day and reached the mainland without difficulty.

Madera Tribune (Madera, California), October 21, 1933, page 2.



While the nation discussed Alcatraz island, in San Francisco bay, as a place where hardened criminals could be kept by Uncle Sam with no chance to escape, “Babe” Scott, 17, upset these theories by swimming from the island to San Francisco in 47 minutes.
              
Healdsburg Tribune (Healdsburg, California), October 23, 1933, page 2.

“It was easy,” said Anastalia (Babe) Scott.  She swam the one and one-half miles stretch in 47 minutes.

Her father is an army sergeant stationed on the island, now a disciplinary barracks, and she had planned to try the swim for years, she said.

Delaware County Daily Times (Chester, Pennsylvania), October 18, 1933, page 2.

The mere fact that the myth developed in the first place is surprising, since “Babe” Scott was not the first person to make the swim; much less the first young woman.  More than two decades earlier, the Corosio sisters swam out to Alcatraz and back.[ii]  

The San Francisco Call, September 5, 1910, page 8.
  
A couple years later, Tina Ihrmark, the nineteen year-old wife of UC Berkeley’s swimming coach, successfully swam to Alcatraz; sadly, she was aiming for Alameda:


The Sacramento Union, May 20, 1912, page 3.


A swimming club in San Francisco organized out-and-back races to Alcatraz as early as 1897:

San Francisco Call, June 1, 1897, page 7.
 
And a doctor from Alameda swam from Black Point in San Francisco to Oakland in 1882:


The Daily Bulletin (Honolulu, Hawaii), August 24, 1882, page 2.

The swim may have been “easy” for well-trained, highly-conditioned athletes like “Babe” Scott and Tina Ihrmark, but it was a different story for hardened criminals or young Army deserters, at night, with no safety boat, and with no opportunity to train for the swim.  Of course, the odds were against them, and many people died making the attempt, but escape was never impossible.  

Before Alcatraz became a federal prison, at least twenty-three people successfully escaped from Alcatraz military prison; several of them by swimming.  The first escape from Alcatraz, in 1868, was a swimmer – and he survived.


Escapes from Alcatraz

To be fair, escape from Alcatraz was always difficult; and its reputation as a place from which escape was difficult and potentially deadly was well deserved.  During its sixty-five years as a military prison, no fewer than 51 people “escaped” from Alcatraz one way or the other; of whom twenty-three were successful, nineteen were recaptured during the attempt,[iii]and one was never accounted for.  Six men died making the attempt; all of them swimmers.  Not great odds, I suppose, but perhaps worth it for young men stuck out on the “Rock”.

The first escape was in 1868, its first year as an officially designated military prison.[iv]  The last successful escape I could document was in 1924, nearly ten years before it was transferred to the federal prison system.  The escapees included German POWs from World War I and a convicted deserter from Philippine-American War who may actually have been more of a hero, and whose escape may have saved him from a death sentence (President Roosevelt commuted his sentence from death to life in prison after his escape).  The various means of escape included being mailed out in a box, paddling away in a butter tub, and simply walking onto a ferry wearing stolen uniforms or carrying forged orders.

The most dangerous escapes involved swimming.  Of twenty-seven people involved in the fifteen escape attempts involving swimming, or floating on improvised floats or rafts, seventeen were recaptured during the attempt.  Of the ten others, three reached dry land, six died, and one was never accounted for.

Escape was dangerous – especially for the swimmers – but it wasn’t “impossible.”


The Swimmers

In 1868, three soldiers named King, Frank and Swaney attempted to swim to freedom from Alcatraz; only one of them made it – perhaps the first “escape from Alcatraz.”  The one who made it had a sense of humor:

Big Swimming. – A San Francisco dispatch of Aug. 16th says:
A few days since three soldiers named Swaney, Frank and King, deserted from Alcatraz Island, and undertook to swim to Lime Point [(at the northern end of the Golden Gate)], a distance of four miles.  The sea was boisterous, but the extraordinary and unprecedented feat was actually accomplished by King, in six hours and a half.  Frank was drowned and Swaney was picked up off Fort Point [(at the southern end of the Golden Gate)], after having been in the water over five hours.  They all started with a small raft of logs, which they used as buoys.  King wrote from San Jose to the Colonel commanding Alcatraz Island, announcing his safety and sending his compliments.

Idaho Semi-Weekly World (Idaho City, Idaho), August 26, 1868, page 4.

In 1900, two swimmers were less successful: 

San Francisco Call, June 2, 1900, page 11.

 
Joseph Caulfield and Michael Tracy, two military convicts now confined in a dungeon at Alcatraz Island on a bread and water diet, have just passed through an adventure of attempted escape full of desperate chances and signalized by an utter disregard for personal safety. . . . [After escaping onto the roof through an unused chimney,] Caulfield and Tracy dropped to the ground, dodging the sentries and keeping well under cover until they reached the bellhouse steps on the south side of the island.  Here they found a board float which was moored fast.  This they succeeded in cutting adrift.  Nothing but large shingles was at hand, so they boarded the float, using these as paddles.

Out on the dark waters of the bay the two desperate men worked their way with their improvised paddles and an opportune float.  For several hours they excerted every effort to work their way toward the city, but they got caught in an eddying current and could make no headway.

Drenched to the skin, their strength spent by their arduous labors, they were discovered by a guard at 4 a.m. just as the day was dawning.  At the time they were floating hopelessly in the swirling tide, and a few shots from Guard Jorgensen wrought a desire on the part of the convicts to return to their island prison.  After a short time the two men on the float landed and were placed in a dungeon.

In 1906, prisoners, Arthur Armstrong, George Davis, Thomas Stinnatt and George Brossman made a similarly futile attempt to paddle away from prison in an old butter vat:

The San Francisco Call, April 5, 1906, page 1.

In 1907, August Stillke, paddling on a wooden plank, nearly made landfall at the Union Street ferry dock on a wooden plank; before being struck by a ferry boat in the dark.  After his rescue and a few hours in an emergency hospital; he was sent back to Alcatraz. 

The San Francisco Call, October 23, 1907, page 16.


In 1927, John Duckworth and Sam Kilgure swam to within about one mile of the Marin County shoreline (three miles from Alcatraz) when they were more politely pulled from the water by another ferry.  The pair were reportedly still “going strong” when they were picked up.  When asked why they tried to escape, Duckworth responded like a bored summer guest changing cottages; “Well, we got tired of staying on Alcatraz and wanted a change.”  Kilgure, a “tough character,” gave a more situation-appropriate response; “I decided to do or die when I escaped from the island. . . . [and would] try it again at the first opportunity.”

Sausalito News, October 8, 1927, page 1.


In 1920, Charles Roberts, J. J. Howington and E. R. Hannah made it all of the way to Goat Island (Yerba Buena Island between San Francisco and Oakland; a distance of more than three miles), before being picked up by authorities.  “The three were clinging to the wreckage of a raft on which they had made their escape from Alcatraz Island.  They were exhausted and were taken to the emergency hospital.[v] 

Two men floated off on a ladder in 1929 and were picked up in the bay.[vi]  In March of 1930, three swimmers swimming toward Marin County called for help when they foundered in the cold water; they were rescued by an army launch.[vii]

On June 24, 1930, Jack Allen, 23, was reported missing from Alcatraz.  He was never seen again.  Officials were unsure whether he made it ashore or drowned on the way; but he had apparently prepared for the swim like a real long-distance swimmer.  His pants, left behind on the island, were found to have lard in the pockets.[viii]  Long distance swimmers still smear grease on their bodies to keep the cold water off the body, and to provide a small degree of thermal protection.  Who knows, maybe he made it.

Harry Rodgers’ fate, however, is known.  In April 1932, he may have been the last person to attempt a water escape from Alcatraz during its time as a military prison.  Guards saw him enter the water; and watched him slip under the water about 400 yards from shore.  He never came up.

Others died too. Patrick O’Leary gave his life to escape prison, despite his elaborate, stealth raft:

San Francisco, Oct. 10.- The hungry tides that lap the shores of Alcatraz island make it difficult to escape from the federal prison there.  Patrick O’Leary knew it, for that is the reputation of the prison the soldier calls “The rock,” wherever United States soldiers are, but O’Leary made the attempt.  Today he is dead.  The slackened ebb left his body today on the Oakland water front.  He had died of exposure battling with the flood.

Unusual ingenuity and daring had not availed.  O’Leary cut the bottom from a tool chest, all except one plank.  It made a covered ark, in which he could ride astraddle, his head and body shielded from observation, his legs free to swim.  Two small air-tight kegs, attached at either side of the chest, served as sponsoons.

The contrivance did not fail, but the prisoner’s strength did.  He was not sighted and he did not sink, but he could not make headway against the tide.  He was clad only in his underclothes and the chill of the ocean steadily drained away his vitality.

Sacramento Union, October 11, 1914, page 28.

Claude Ely died in 1916; but his partner survived – he was picked up on a rock near the island after foundering in the fog on a drifting log:

San Francisco, February 20. – Two military prisoners made an attempt to escape from Alcatraz last night by swimming, an attempt that ended in the death of one of the prisoners and the surrender of the other.

The Hawaiian Gazette (Honolulu), February 22, 1916, page 5.

A report of the drowning of an unnamed prisoner in 1921 leaves open the possibility that there was yet another escape.  The report referred to him as “one of the prisoners who recently escaped from Alcatraz prison.”[ix]  I do not know what happened to the other one.

Not all swimming escapes were futile.  In addition to prisoner King, who taunted his commanding officer after his escape in 1868, two others survived the ordeal and successfully escaped in extraordinary fashion.

         Squires
In November 1908, a prisoner named Squires swam to freedom with some unintentional assistance.  During his swim from Alcatraz, Squires was picked up by a passing barge as he was being swept out to sea.  The story might have ended there, but the barge was en route to Monterey, home to a large Army presidio.  The captain of the barge figured he could just as easily deliver the prisoner to authorities in Monterey and still stay on schedule.  What could go wrong? 

Before the barge arrived in Monterey, Squires slid into the bay, swam ashore and was never heard from again.  



Wilmore

The most surprising thing about Leonard Wilmore’s daring swim from Alcatraz to Oakland in November 1901 is that it may not have been his most dangerous escape.  Before he ever arrived in Alcatraz, he had already made two harrowing escapes under fire during his service in the Philippine-American War; each time escaping from one army and its death sentence, and toward another army and another death sentence.  His final escape from Alcatraz was not made under fire, and was not made in the direction of a second death sentence.  The escape from Alcatraz may even have saved his life.

Albert Wilmore was born in Philadelphia in 1879; the son of a white doctor and a half-Black, half-Native American mother.  He attended Missionary High School until the age of 10, when he ran away from home and eked out a living in the horse-racing business for many years.  In 1898, he found himself in Lexington, Kentucky with no job prospects and on an extended string of bad luck.  Just in the nick of time, the Spanish-American War broke out; he enlisted in the United States Army.

Upon enlistment, he was assigned to the 25th Infantry Regiment – the Buffalo Soldiers.  After a brief time at Fort San Carlos, Arizona, he was shipped out to the Philippines, where he was stationed at “Eba Sanbalos” (Iba Zambales) on Luzon.  This film clip shows General Burt leading elements of the 25th Regiment on their return from Mount Arayat (near Iba Zambales) in 1898.  It’s unlikely, but possible I suppose, that Wilmore might be somewhere in the group.

At Iba Zambales, Wilmore frequently served as a scout and sniper.  He was such a keen shot, and caused so much damage to the Filipino rebels, that they put a bounty on his head – dead or alive; which makes it even more remarkable that he would “desert” his Regiment and join the rebels when he found himself in trouble with the Army.  The trouble began, as it often does, with a game of three-card Monte.

One night, Wilmore sat down with Privates Hart and Thurston in the Regimental barracks to play what he believed was a friendly game of three-card Monte.  Three-card Monte is a “gambling” game (usually just a con game) in which players (usually a mark) try to identify which of three overturned cards is the Queen of Hearts after being shuffled around by the dealer; like a shell game, but with cards. 

Wilmore, a veteran of the racetrack and likely no stranger to gambling schemes, said that he thought the game was being played for fun, among friends; not like a real con as it would normally be played on the street.  After Thurston made a “foul lay,” Wilmore complained:

“We had been playing a friendly game, and I did not much care whether he had dealt foul or not, but I don’t like a man to be unsportsmanlike. 

A bystander named Weedy called Wilmore an easy mark, and an argument ensued.  Weedy loaded his rifle and moved to point the gun at Wilmore, and Wilmore drew his pistol in self-defense.  Wilmore fired first; killing Weedy before he could bring his rifle to bear.  Another man drew a sabre and attacked Wilmore from behind; cutting him in the shoulder.  Wilmore wheeled around and shot him:

He staggered out on to the veranda and toppled over the railing to the ground below, dead.

Wilmore ran from the scene.  He did not run away; he ran straight to General Burt’s office to set the record straight.  He was not a murderer; he fired in self defense.  At trial, however, the witnesses turned against him, and he was sentenced to death for a double-murder. 

While waiting for his conviction to be affirmed, Wilmore made his escape.  He broke the latch on his door; knocked down one guard, and made his way across a three hundred-yard clearing, hoping to make it into a rice field before he was shot by soldiers pursuing him from behind.  After he disappeared into the rice field, his training and experience as a scout came in handy.  He evaded capture, while staying close to town, for several days; hoping to steal a boat, go down river, and ultimately reach China.  But his plans changed when he was surrounded by a band of Filipino soldiers.  



The rebel commander told him that he could not leave the country; and that he would spare his life, but only if he agreed to join the rebels.  With no better option at hand, Wilmore assented.  His loyalty to the cause was not questioned, in part because they knew of his tenuous status in the American Army.  As a result, and because of his military training and experience, they made him a “captain in their much-officered army.” But his loyalties had not really changed; he took advantage of his new position and authority to act as a double-agent, sending valuable intelligence and rendering other assistance to the Americans:

I became a rebel only in name, however; in reality I was a spy for the Americans, and was able to help them even more while supposed to be a deserter and a renegade than I had ever done while a member of my company.

I did not abuse [my authority as a rebel officer], however, by doing my countrymen any harm; in fact, I used every means I could to help them.  I was able to do this through the assistance of an ex-sergeant named Kearney, who had formerly belonged to my regiment, but had left the army and married a Filipino woman.  She was a native princess or noblewoman of some kind, and the Filipinos regarded her house as their head-quarters for hatching treason against the hated Americanos.  Kearney, while pretending that he was in sympathy with the Filipinos, was in reality heart and soul with the Americans.  So was I, although I knew only too well that I had no hope of receiving any benefits from them.  Between us, however, Kearney and I managed to keep our countrymen posted regarding the various secret expeditions of the enemy.  Often and often I have warned the Americans of ambuscades and acts of treachery prepared for them by the Filipinos.

Leonard Wilmore, “The Convict’s Story,” Wide World Magazine, Volume 18, Number 104, November 1906, page 169.

After five months in the rebel army, Wilmore eventually got on their bad side.  His commanding officer sentenced him to death for helping other United States soldiers escape rebel custody.  While awaiting execution, he and another American named Robinson made a mad dash through the jungle; where they were pursued for several nights, while exchanging fire with their pursuers.  Wilmore and Robinson eventually separated; hoping that it might make their chances better.  When Robinson was recaptured, Wilmore killed the two rebels who had him in custody, and returned Robinson to his unit.  Wilmore continued on, surrendering to General Burt and the 25thRegiment in Iba Zambales. 



Wilmore’s account of events, for the most part, appears to be true.  Even President Roosevelt believed the story.  On January 3, 1902, Roosevelt signed an order granting Wilmore clemency, commuting his death sentence to life in prison, on the strength of recommendations by the Commander of the Department of the Army and the Secretary of Defense.[x]  Roosevelt signed the clemency order six weeks after Wilmore escaped from Alcatraz – the hard way – by swimming to Oakland.

On the night of November 16, 1901, after only two weeks at Alcatraz, Wilmore and another prisoner scrambled over a wall when the guards were not looking.  They hid in a shed until nightfall.  When darkness came, they found a wooden ladder (or staircase) to support them during the swim.  But shortly after entering the water, the ladder sank – taking Ernest along with it.  Wilmore made it back to shore on Alcatraz, where he found a board, reentered the water and emerged hours later, incredibly, in Oakland – a distance of about six miles.  



When Wilmore surfaced in Hawaii two years later and claimed to have swum from Alcatraz to Oakland, an Oakland newspaper recounted Dr. Riehl’s 1882 swim from Black Point to Oakland for skeptical readers:

A negro convict at Honolulu has written an account of his adventures before reaching the islands.  According to this statement he escaped from the military prison at Alcatraz and with a companion started to swim to Oakland.  The undertaking was too great for his companion, who was drowned, but he succeeded in reaching the shore after being in the water for eight hours, and made good his escape.  The fact that he felt attracted toward Oakland rather than towards San Francisco shows that he must have had some good still remaining in him, and causes us to feel an unusual interest in his career.  The exploit which he describes is a very possible one, and recalls a similar one that occurred over the same course several years ago.  When the steamer Escambia was lost outside the heads in calm weather and a number of her crew drowned, a well known physician in San Francisco asserted that the loss of life was unnecessary; that every man, especially if he were connected with the sea, should be able to swim the four or five miles necessary to reach land. [(Fourteen people lost their lives when the Escambia went down on June 19, 1882.)]

His statement was challenged and he agreed to prove that such a thing was possible.  Clad in his ordinary clothes he sprang from a boat, a mile west of Alcatraz, and finally left the water at the end of Oakland wharf, having been swimming for six hours.  The swimmer was nearly exhausted at the end, as he had been swept far out off his course by the tide.  But his success in proving his point shows that a convict might make a similar swim and reach the Oakland shore, especially when freedom was the prize. – Oakland Enquirer.


The Hawaiian Star, April 1, 1903, page 8 (citing an article published in the Oakland Chronicle).

Soon after his escape, Wilmore signed on as a crewmember with the whaling ship, California, under the name Leonard Palmer.  After seven months cruising Chinese and Japanese waters, he became ill and was let off the ship at Hokadate, Japan; where he spent two months convalescing in a hospital.  After a short trip to China, the American Consul at Yokahama arranged transportation for him to Honolulu, where he arrived in August of 1902.  Weak from sickness, and short of money, he fell in with a gang of highwaymen to earn some money for passage back to the mainland.  He was caught, arrested, convicted, and sent to prison on Oahu with a twelve year sentence for highway robbery, all under the “Roger James.”  He eventually confessed his true identity to the warden, but only after Sergeant Bates, the man who had escorted Wilmore to Alcatraz two years earlier, recognized and identified him.[xi] 

Years later, when Wilmore was released from a state prison in Hawaii after serving time for highway robbery, Wilmore received what amounted to a de facto pardon; the military authorities did not demand his return to prison.

Other Escapes

Not everyone who escaped from Alcatraz were swimmers.  But many of them made equally elaborate or dramatic, if less dangerous, exits from Alcatraz.

Forgery

In the largest and most successful prison break in Alcatraz’ long history, four prisoners were escorted from the prison onto a waiting ferry on the strength of forged release orders:

The officials at army headquarters are vainly attempting to get a trace of Joseph White, John L. Moore, Cornelius Stokes (colored) and James Darling (colored), who escaped from Alcatraz prison a week ago to-day on forged orders remitting their sentences, which amounted to about two years in each case.  Major Morrow, judge advocate, and Major Williams, assistant adjutant general, assert that their signatures were forged to the documents.

The San Francisco Call, October 14, 1903, page 14.

The base judge advocate had neglected to follow a system of double-checks that would otherwise have exposed the unexpected set of false orders before their release. 


Shipped Out

In 1900, Jesse Adams found a novel way of leaving the island undetected – he had himself mailed out in a crate – and it worked:



Jesse W. Adams, a military prisoner confined at Alcatraz, has gained his liberty.  He chose a novel means of escape, leaving Alcatraz as merchandise inclosed in a wooden box.  A blx marked “Handle with care” arrived from Alcatraz on the government boat McDowell on its last trip to the Presidio.  It was addressed to the general hospital, and landed at the wharf preparatory to beign transferred to the hospital later.  The wharfmaster found when he came to open it that the box had been broken open and was empty.  Inquiry at Alcatraz showed that one of the 10-year-term prisoners was missing.  How the box was shipped and how the man effected his escape are a mystery.  The box was exceedingly small, being only one and a half feet wide and three feet high.

Rock Island Argus (Illinois), October 6, 1900, page 4.

Frank Holt did the same thing a few years later:
 

The San Francisco Call, January 12, 1902, page 19.

Frank Holt, a trusty at Alcatraz, serving thirteen years for desertion, cleverly escaped from the island yesterday morning in a large wooden box.  Edward P. Timmons, who was released from Alcatraz about the time that Holt escaped, is being detained by the local police as an accomplice.

A few weeks later, a copycat attempt failed.  A recently discharged Army cavalryman from Oswego, New York, tried shipping himself home when his money was about to run out.  He had had $700 in his pockets when discharged from the Army, but couldn’t find any steady work.  After going to Hawaii looking for work, he returned to San Francisco and started playing the horses when his funds got low – which naturally made them get even lower.  And no, he wasn’t in F Troop, as you might expect; he was in A Troop:

Harry M. Prouse, a former corporal in Troop A, Eleventh Cavalary, imagined that he could travel as freight in a packing case from this city to Chicago.  It was lucky for him that he was discovered before commencing the journey.  He is now being detained at police headquarters until Captain Seymour, who has interested himself in his case, can procure proper transportation for him. . . .

He . . . bought a two weeks’ supply of provisions, including tins of sardines, salmon and sausages, some raisins, a piece of cheese, a demijohn of wine and two pounds of crackers.  He also filled two other demijohns with fresh water.  Two of the boards [in the container] were fixed on the inside with clamps so that Prouse could open them and make his way out of the packing case when the chance arose.

 The San Francisco Call, January 29, 1902, page 7.



German POWs

In 1917, German POWs, perhaps civilian merchant seamen caught up in the conflict, were held at Alcatraz.  Two of them went on what may have been more of a joyride or sightseeing tour than a bona fide escape attempt:

After escaping from internment on Alcatraz island and cruising about San Francisco bay all morning, Captain C. B. Rauch and Engineer Lorenzo Lau were found and recaptured 11 o’clock by a revenue cutter. . . .

After the recapture of the men, it was announced that all interned German members of steamship crews will be taken to an eastern camp, and will start tomorrow.

Red Bluff Daily News (Red Bluff, California), October 17, 1917, page 1.

Stolen Bonds, Cash and Uniforms

The following year, L’Estrange Bach and Carl Zirker took a more forceful route; they stole uniforms, bonds and cash (totaling $700) from the trunk of an officer’s car, and walked onto a government tugboat dressed in the stolen uniforms.[xii]


Blended in with Visitors

In 1924, three prisoners made a more brazen exit:

Roy Kennison, Basil Mann and Edward Lay are still at large after escaping from Alcatraz island military prison last night.
It is believed they mingled with the guests at an entertainment and escaped to the mainland on the visitors’ boat.

Madera Tribune (Madera, California), October 9, 1924, page 1.

The “entertainment” that Kennison and Mann used for cover is perhaps one of the most surprising aspects of life at Alcatraz military prison: 

Once a month, with the consent of the commandant, the prisoners are allowed to give an entertainment.

The soldiers on the island are charged 10 cents admission and visitors from the city are charged 25 cents.  The proceeds go toward buying odds and ends for the prisoners not in the prison fare.

The San Francisco Call, August 19, 1898, page 16.

The prisoners’ “entertainments” had also played a role in a successful three-man escape twenty-five years earlier.


Stole the Commandant’s Boat

The San Francisco Call, August 19, 1898, page 16.

In August 1898, H. R. Beale, John Meredith and Edgar M. Sweeney escaped from Alcatraz in a small rowboat belonging to the son of Major Kinzie, the commandant of the prison.  They made their escape while rehearsing in the library for one of those monthly “entertainments.”  Although the boat dock was guarded, they circled back around the entire island, and came up from behind the guard.  They were able to get into the boat, launch it, and get a sizable head-start before they were discovered.  They were pursued by a five-oared boat, but never caught.[xiii]


Multiple Escapes

One man escaped from Alcatraz not once, but twice.  He was recaptured twice as well; but only after extended periods of freedom.

In May 1890, two prisoners stole a rowboat and got a two mile head start before they were discovered.  Although pursued by guards in a commercial steam-powered ferry (the government’s own steamer was in for repairs), they got away without being caught.[xiv]  One year later, the two were picked up in Sacramento.  Blame it on the booze:

While Bennett was drunk in Sacramento he betrayed his identity, and was arrested and taken back to Alcatraz.[xv]

The Record-Union (Sacramento), February 26, 1892, page 1.


The Morning Call (San Francisco), September 2, 1891, page 3.


Six months later, Bennett was up to his old tricks again:

Two prisoners gave the guards the slip at Alcatraz last night, and made their escape from the island.  Their names were Kelly and Bennett, and both were under sentence for desertion.  A few days ago both pleaded sickness and were sent to the hospital.  They were evidently not very ill, as they made wonderfully quick time in getting out of the way. . . .  The alarm-bell was sounded, and in a moment the island was aroused.  Scouts were sent out in every direction, and in a very short time the rock was entirely surrounded by soldiers.  Up to noon to-day, however, no trace was discovered of the missing men, and it is presumed that they got off the island.

The Record-Union (Sacramento, California), February 26, 1892, page 1.

But he didn’t stay away for long; and hadn’t gone very far:

The Morning Call (San Francisco), September 2, 1891, page 3.
 




[i]SF Gate, December 17, 1962 (excerpted from SFGate.com, December 16, 2012, accessed May 22, 2016).
[ii]The San Francisco Call, September 5, 1910, page 8.
[iii]In “escapes,” I count escapes and escape attempts for which I could find contemporary accounts, in which the escapee was able to get off the island.  I did not count reports of escapes in which the would-be escapees were caught on the island or never got more than a few yards into the water.  There may be more, perhaps many more, “escapes” or attempts that I missed because they were not reported, or I have been unable to find the reports.
[iv] Although Alcatraz had housed prisoners since at least 1861, “[i]n 1868 the department commander, Maj. Gen. Henry W. Halleck, renewed the idea of Alcatraz serving as the place of confinement for all long-time military prisoners in the department [(Department of the Pacific)], which at that time included California, Nevada, Oregon and the territories of Arizona, Washington and Idaho.  Once again, no specific orders for this development have yet been unearthd.  It is known that the adjutant general of the army, Brig. Gen. Lorenzo Thomas, was interested at that time in establishing military prisons and companies of discipline around the country.  A letter by Engineer Mendell to the commanding officer of Alcatraz in June 1868, indicates that Mendell had been approached about the feasibility of erecting a wooden prison on top of the guardhouse.” Erwin Thompson, The Rock: A History of Alcatraz Island, 1847-1972 Historic Resource Study (this 600 page volume is available as a pdf file from a a link at the bottom of this National Park Service webpage.
[v]Red Bluff Daily News (Red Bluff, California), October 12, 1920.
[vi]Santa Cruz Evening News (Santa Cruz, California), April 19, 1929.
[vii]Madera Tribune (Madera, California), March 12, 1930.
[viii]Santa Cruz Evening News, June 30, 1930, page 1.
[ix]Red Bluff Daily News, March 30, 1921.
[x]Evening Star (Washington DC), January 6, 1902, page 1.
[xi]The Coeur d’Alene Press (Coeur d’Alene, Idaho), March 7, 1903, page 4.
[xii]Los Angeles Herald, November 18 1918, page 1.
[xiii]The San Francisco Call, August 19, 1898, page 16.
[xiv]The Morning Call (San Francisco), May 6, 1890, page 4. The contemporaneous account of the escape says the prisoners were named Stone and Miller; but two later accounts of the same incident, say that Bennet, who escaped again two years later, was one of the escapees.
[xv]The Record-Union (Sacramento), February 26, 1892, page 1.

Get My Goat Update - Navy Boxers in Earliest Example

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"GET MY GOAT" UPDATE

The idiom, "to get one's goat," is an idiom that means, "to make one angry or annoyed."  Its earliest examples of use, however, reflect a slightly different sense; namely, to make someone lose their composure or their will to go on.


See, for example, my earlier post, "Getting Goats, Losing Goats, Stable Goats and Navy Goats - a History and Etymology of 'Get My Goat'", in which I surveyed and analyzed numerous early examples of the idiom.  The expression appears to be an allusion to the widespread practice of keeping goats as mascots (particularly in the Navy or fraternal organizations) or as companions for livestock, particularly racehorses. The expression first appeared widely in print in articles about boxing matches; when one boxer gets the other's "goat," he removes that boxer's will to fight; as though his mascot or good luck charm had been taken away.

Based on the longstanding practice of keeping goats on ships (the mascot of the United States Naval Academy is still a goat), some early explanations of the idiom suggesting that the expression was Navy slang, the prevalence of boxing in the Navy, and boxers with nautical nicknames, I postulated that the idiom originated in the Navy and may have been introduced into boxing circles by ex-sailors.  A newly identified early example of the idiom corroborates (or is, at a minimum, consistent with) my suggestion that the idiom, "get my goat, originated in the Navy and could have been introduced into boxing circles by Navy boxers. 


NEW REFERENCE

An observant reader, identified as Jeff Otjen in a comment to my earlier "Get My Goat" post, brought my attention to what now appears to be the earliest known example of the idiom in print.  It was published in Kansas in 1900 (five years earlier than the previous "earliest" example), and involved a sailor and a boxer. 

The idiom was also presented without explanation; suggesting, according to Jeff Otjen, that the expression may have already been in common use.  While that is possible, there may be another explanation.  The article may have been published as an example of colorful, naval language, with no attempt to explain, or expectation that it be understood.  The expression appears in brief excerpts from a letter home, written by a local baseball player who had joined the Navy and was then on deployment onboard the USS Kentucky (BB 6).  In colorful language, the author lets his friends know that he will be home when his enlistment expires in 1904; unless. . .

. . . "some boxer gets my goat":

Wikimedia Commons




 On The Kentucky.

Atchison Ball Player Joins the Navy and Enjoys It.

Atchison, Nov. 28. – Roy Krebs likes the navy.  He is on the Kentucky, the splendid new battleship, and writes Frank Beauchamp, from Gibraltar, Spain, under date of November 9, as follows:

“This life has ball playing skinned a city block.  You don’t have to worry over your batting average in the summer or dodge snowballs in winter.”

The Kentucky left New York October 25, and arrived at Gibraltar November 7, after a rough voyage.  The breakers ran clear over the ship, and carried away one of its life boats.  The Kentucky left Gibraltar November 10 for Algiers, where a stop of a week will be made, when it will continue to Naples, and from there to Alexandria, Port Said, through the Suez canal and by way of Aden, Arabia, Colombo, Ceylon, Singapore and Siam to Hong Kong.  The ship is due off the Chinese coast January 16, but may not get thee by that time, as there is talk of sending it to Turkey to make the sultan pay a claim which the United States has against him. 

My enlistment expires June 15, 1904,” writes Krebs, “when I return to Atchison, unless some boxer gets my goat.”

The Topeka State Journal (Kansas), November 28, 1900, page 2. 




DUH, HOW'D I MISS THAT?

I am a little embarrassed to admit I did not find the example myself; it shows up in a newspaper database I use regularly, and used while preparing my original "Get My Goat" post.  I have a theory about how and why I missed it; it involves an old joke - a joke that was already at least twenty years old in 1900 - a joke that was experiencing a renaissance in late-1900.


When searching for "gets my goat" on the Library of Congress' online newspaper archive, ChroniclingAmerica.loc.gov, there are no fewer than twelve "hits"; eleven of them examples of a new round of an old joke about old kid gloves -  only one of them an early example of the idiomatic use of "get my goat."

Unless the newly identified reference is a from a newspaper was only recently added to their database, I imagine that I may have browsed through several of the "hits" that were all the same joke, and then just ignored the rest of the "hits" from the time span during which the joke was making the rounds.  That, and the fact that all of my other searching - and searching by others on the same quest - all came up with earliest examples from five years later; a one-off example in print, five years earlier, may have seemed far-fetched.

OK, it's not a very good excuse.

The joke is not very good either.  To be fair, it may have been better back in the day, when more people wore "kid" gloves; that is, gloves made from the soft, supple leather of young goats - "kids."  The joke that made the rounds in late-1900, and foiled my ability to easily sort through the chaff to find the early example of the idiom, was at least twenty years old by 1900.

The joke uses the phrase, "get my goats," to mean - go retrieve my goat-leather gloves.  The punch line replaces the word "kids," a standard manner of referring to a pair of kid-leather gloves, with the word, "goats."  She calls her "kids,""goats," because they are so old - hinting that he should buy her some new ones.  The joke does not appear related to the now-familiar idiomatic sense, of aggravate, or the earlier sense of losing one's composure or will to fight.

Here are a few examples of the joke as it appeared in newspapers between 1880 and 1902:

Norwood News (Norwood, New York), May 11, 1880, page 4.

The Topeka State Journal, July 1, 1896, page 8.
The Daily Leader (Gloversville, New York), October 5, 1896, page 5 (the same version of the joke appeared in The Geneva Daily Times (Geneva, New York), November 22, 1902, page 6).

Western Kansas World (WaKeeney, Kansas), November 17, 1900, page 1.

Dodgers and Dips - the Dark History of the Dunk Tank

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Lelands.Com, Lot 862, August 31, 2001 (it's not what they thought it was).



In 1895, sportswriters first referred to the National League’s Brooklyn baseball team as the Brooklyn Trolley Dodgers.  The happy-go-lucky name masks a grim reality; numerous deaths at the hands of the new electric trolleys; which were more powerful, faster and more dangerous than the slow, plodding horse-drawn trolleys they replaced.  By some accounts, Brooklyn’s electric trolleys caused nearly 150 deaths, and four times as many maimings, during its first three years of operation (see my
earlier post, The Grim Reality of the Trolley Dodgers).  The name was not, as some sources suggest, a reference to a network of streetcar lines around Brooklyn’s baseball stadium.  There were, in fact, no electric streetcar lines near the stadium (see my earlier post, Rail Service to Eastern Park, Brooklyn).

In 1895 (and earlier), there was another baseball-related game that used the name, “Dodger.”  The origin of that name is arguably even more disturbing and darker than the “Trolley Dodgers.”  But despite its ugly origin, a reformed, uncontroversial version of the ugly game persists today.  You can see it at county fairs, fundraisers, fraternity and sorority parties, church picnics, and even Buddhist temple fairs in Thailand.  It’s fun, it can be titillating, a nice way to be cooled off on a hot summer’s day; or get revenge on a teacher, boss or other victim without actually harming them, and without getting in trouble.

It’s the “Dunk Tank.”  


Dunk Tanks


A dunk tank is a large tank of water with a collapsible seat suspended several feet above the water, with a victim or dunkee sitting in wait.  Contestants throw balls a target; and when they hit the target, the seat collapses and the dunkee drops into the water – hilarity ensues.  As currently practiced, it is a game of skill (accurate baseball throwing) and fun – the pleasure of seeing the dunkee dunked.  In may cases, the dunkee is a teacher, local politician or celebrity, or the parents, sibling or friends of the thrower; adding an extra dimension to the fun.

But one-hundred years ago, before “fun” became the main point, the innocent-sounding game masked a darker past.   The first dunk tanks were generally known as “African Dips”; and the dunkee was traditionally a black man.  A less common variant of the game, with women in the seat, was known as the “Sappho Dip.”  The “Sappho Dip” ran afoul of the morals of the time, however, what with the public display of women in wet, clinging clothing.  The “African Dip,” on the other hand, as distasteful as it may seem now, was widely acceptable for many decades.

But as distasteful as it was, it was a vast improvement over its predecessor – the “African Dodger”; a carnival “game” in which participants paid for the questionable pleasure of throwing baseballs at the unprotected head of a black man.

African Dodgers

During the first week of July, 1895, New York City’s German Schuetzen-Bund (shooting club) held a days-long Schuetzen Fest; with sharpshooting contests, a bowling tournament, a beer garden, and a “Negro Who is a Target.” 


The beer girls were a popular feature of the fest:

The beer and sandwiches were served by a dozen good-looking young women.  They were German, all of them, and they wore bright-colored dresses that reached just to their knees.  Their stockings were of many colors and were well filled out.  Their arms were bare, and on their heads they wore target caps.

The Sun (New York), July 3, 1895, page 3.

Another popular concession was the “African Dodger.”  Contemporary newspaper accounts give a sense of how it was played, the attitudes of some of the white customers, and the danger involved; as well as a taste of some some good old-fashioned trash-talk:

Some mention has already been made in The Sun of the popularity of the “coon dodger,”but he came to grief yesterday.  This negro has a big mouth, filled with white teeth, and a voice that invariably runs into a chuckle when he speaks.  His methods are unlike those of other “coon dodgers.” As he sticks his head through the canvas background and invites the spectators to hit him with a baseball thrown from a stand about twenty-five feet in front, he begins to talk.  He sizes up the man who is throwing at him and indulges in personal remarks about his dress and his style.  He is very quick to pick out a man’s weak points.

At 3 o’clock yesterday afternoon a stolid-looking German was throwing himself red in the face in his vain efforts to hit the negro on the head. 
“Why, yo’ ole fahmer,” commented the target, “yo’ ain’t no good.  Too high there, hi-yi-yi! Yo’ clo’s don’t fit yo’.  I know yo’re tailor in Hoboken.  That’s the ideah! Hit me in the head! Hit me! Yo’ can’t do it, yo’ Hoboken farmer!”
The man who was throwing the balls didn’t like the guying and he got angry.  That was what the negro wanted.  His throwing became wilder, and he finally gave it up after offering to punch the negro’s head.

A well-dressed, smooth-faced young man, who wore on his waistcoat a college society pin, had been sizing up the game, and as he stepped forward to try a throw or two the negro opened his mouth wide and emitted a loud laugh.
“Get yo’ money furst from dat-dude, Petey!” he called to his partner. “Ow! Wow! He’ll break his arm, shore, ef he t’rows hard!  Just look at those clothes, yo’ Hoboken, good-for-nothing farmer.”

The young man stepped back, and with a run of two or three steps he delivered a straight overhand ball that struck just above the negro’s head with a whack that made the eyes of the target roll until they seemed to be all white.  “Yo’ didn’t do it, smarty,” he called out jeeringly.  “Just yo’ try it again.  Yo’ll get a cigar that’ll make yo’ sick ef yo’ hit me.”

The young man threw two more balls, one an in curve that puzzled the negro and struck close to his chin.  They were swift balls and the target stopped guying.  His eyes seemed to be popping out of his head as he watched the throwers.

The young man bought three more balls.  Again he stepped back, and as his arm shot out the ball left his hand with speed.  Before the negro could size it up the ball struck him square on the head.  There was a loud yell, and his head disappeared.  A second later the negro came out from behind his screen.  He was mad clean through.

“Don’t yo’ sell any more balls to that dude!” he shouted to his partner.  “Don’t yo’ do it, yo’ heah me?  I won’t stand it.  My head’s busted wide open now!”

“All right,” said the young man, “I’ve had enough if you have,” and he walked off, followed by the Hoboken man, who wanted to buy him beer.  It was the only time during the day that the negro was hit, and it gave him something to think about.

The Sun (New York), July 3, 1895, page 3.

The following day, the Schuetzen Fest’s resident “African Dodger” nearly came to grief again  when customers threatened to bring over a major league pitcher, Amos Rusie, who had won the triple crown of pitching (wins, ERA, Ks) the previous season.  Rusie threw the ball with unprecedented speed and is considered one of the major reasons that baseball moved the pitcher’s mound back from 50’ to 60’ 2” before the 1893 season.[i]  Like The Sun had a couple days earlier, The New York Times presented the story using “ethnic” dialect spelling, as was common at the time (for example, “brack man,” meaning “black man,” is in the original; it is not my typo):

The African dodger was very much subdued by an event during the only big rush he experienced all day.  He had successfully dodged the spheres thrown by a Brooklyn trio.  The balltossers being urged by him to keep on trying to “break his black skull,” they told him they would bring Rusie, the baseball pitcher, to-day.  This alarmed the loquacious colored man, and with tears in his eyes he exclaimed: “Fo’ de law’s sake, white man, don’t bring dat Giant pitcher ober heah, please.  He shuly kill dis n[-word].  Ef you fotch dat big feller heah I gibs up my job; sartain and shuh.  Please hab some ‘sideration fo’ a poo’man, though he only am a brack man, please.”

The New York Times, July 5, 1895.

The Schuetzen-Bund’s “African Dodger” was not the first one on record.  The earliest description of such ball-throwing carnival concessions that I could find dates to 1884; albeit without the name, “African Dodger” (or its less common variants[ii]):

Fair Notes: A colored man, with a piece of canvas hung on boards which he supports perpendicularly with his hands, is covering himself with glory and overwhelming his manager with nickels.  Sambo puts his head through a hole in the canvass and invites the public to hurl base balls at it for a charge of three shots for five cents.  He dodges most of the balls with wonderful alacrity and the “gentleman” who manages and exhibits him, challenges base ballists and other experts to try their best.

Lancaster Daily Intelligencer (Lancaster, Pennsylvania), September 4, 1884, page 2.

The earliest example of the game by its proper (improper?) name, “African Dodger,” that I could find dates to 1887.  If this “dodger’s” trash-talk is to be believed, the game dates back to at least 1877:

White Plains Fair. 

Just at the west of Floral Hall was a small tent.  On one side was painted a large sunflower with a hole in the centre.  Above the hole was the inscription, “The African Dodger,” and below, “The Patagonian Baby.”  Through the hole appeared the grinning countenance of the negro whose head was the target for the hardest of base balls.  The show was not new, but the negro had had a political education.  As business grew dull he shouted: “Come, all you good people.  Try your luck.  I’ve been in the business seven years, and have got as thick a skull as Henry George.  Step up now and tell me why I am like Gen. Butler.  Nobody guesses?  Well, it’s because I take lots of hard cracks and come up smiling every time.”

The Sun (New York), September 29, 1887, page 2.

The writer’s surprise that a carnival baseball dodger’s “political education” might include familiarity with General Butler was perhaps misplaced.  General Butler commanded “colored” troops during the Civil War, and was later the author of the Ku Klux Klan Act (Civil Rights Act of 1871), and proposed the Civil Rights Act of 1875, which banned racial discrimination in public accommodations.  Henry George was an economist who had run for mayor of New York City the previous year, as a member of the United Labor Party in 1886; he beat out a young Teddy Roosevelt for second place in the balloting.

Sadly, however, the same man had a different type of education the following day:

The White Plains Fair

Thursday the morning opened wet and gloomy. The flag on the top of Floral Hall drooped limp, and the spirits of the Treasurer drooped in unison. A few people straggled in at the gates, and it seemed as though Westchester patriotism was a thing of history. Everything seemed to go wrong. The African Dodger was disabled. A very hard ball had explored a very soft region of his cranium and ho was laid up for repairs. However, things soon brightened, people began to pour in, a north breeze unfurled the damp folds of the flag, and another negro was procured to do the African Dodger's act.

The Brewster Standard (Brewster, New York), September 30, 1887, page 2.

Although live “dodger” acts persisted at least into the 1920s, they did have their critics; even if the criticism was more about how the game affected the thrower instead of the dodger:

Tricksters at Agricultural Fairs.

Wherever large numbers of people gather, a class of persons is usually found who make a living by deceiving the public.  They have schemes and tricks innumerable that appear to be easy and simple; but in reality they are quite difficult and in some cases impossible to successfully perform.  They have wheels and machines that are doctored to turn as the proprietor may wish to make them.  They have cocoanut headed negro dodgers to arouse the brutality in men and boys. They have tented shows [(presumably a reference to hoochie coochie dancers)] which are disgusting in coarseness and vulgarity.

The Progressive Farmer (Winston-Salem, North Carolina), August 24, 1897, page 1.

Whether out of humanitarian impulses or by the economics of staging the show, more humane options were available on the market by 1893. “Hit him, and make him laugh and ring” – at least it was cast-iron and not flesh and blood:


The New York Clipper, July 8, 1893, page 292.

The New York Clipper, July 7, 1894, page284.

Ty Cobb proved that he was more than just a great hitter at what was presumably a static or mechanical “African Dodger” booth in 1911:

Cobb arrived at the amusement resort [(Glen Echo)] and the first thing he did was to look up the African dodger booth.  No one there seemed to recognize the great ball player, and he took three balls.  These went true to the mark, and he repeated seven times in succession before every one became nervous and inquired who the man was.   When it was discovered that it was the one and only Cobb quite a crowd gathered.  Cobb was offered ten cigars, which he did not smoke, but moved away and soon returned to the city.

The Washington Times (Washington DC), June 2, 1911, page 15.


In 1917, a table-top version enabled children to enjoy the dubious thrills of pretend-hitting grown men in the head in the comforts of their own home:


In 1912, you could catch Clinton and Nalon’s skit, The African Dodger, at The Kimmel Theatre in Cairo, Illinois:

The Cairo Bulletin, November 25, 1912, page 3.

Another version of the game, while perhaps not actually being more humane, at least did not threaten the lives of humans – just monkeys:





Dangers

Although safer alternatives were coming onto the market, the traditional live-dodger games continued apace; and the injuries mounted: 




New York Tribune, January 27, 1896, page 12.
New York Times, August 31, 1897.
Semi-Weekly Interior Journal (Stanford, Kentucky), September 7, 1897, page 2.
Numerous additional baseball dodging injuries are documented on the Jim Crow Museum of Racist Memorabilia website, hosted by Ferris State University.

Backlash

The gradual development of non-human options may reflect changes in the public’s taste for blood-sport; but disturbingly, the earliest report of an explicit attempt to punish a live dodging act was about p protecting monkeys – not people:


An ill-treated monkey and its enterprising owner were in the police court yesterday morning and a fine of $20 and costs was assessed against the latter by Judge Wilcox.  Nakatana, as already related in the Advertiser, used the monkey for the amusement of his customers.  These threw rubber balls at a basket attached to the right fore-shoulder of the grimacing ape, which dodged right and left to escape being hit in the face.  Five rubber balls were sold for five cents, and for every ball that was thrown into the basket a prize of five cents was given.  Nakatana was shrewd amusement monger and reaped many nickels during the day and evening.

The Pacific Commercial Advertiser (Honolulu, Hawaii) July 20, 1900, page 5.

In 1911, a New York newspaper mocked the $25 fine assessed against the operator of a monkey dodging concession at the Kentucky State Fair:

After an hour and a half of testimony and legal oratory about Darwin, “monkey prostration,” “nervous fatigue” and other things that the ordinary layman would not believe a monkey was heir to, the magistrate decided that the owner should pay a fine of $25 for letting the visitors at the fair make his monkey a target for rubber balls.
The Sun (New York), April 9, 1911, page 15.

Four years later New York banned baseball dodging outright.  But the law was not universally applauded.  It made the news in one of those annual articles about ridiculous laws:

The Freak Legislator

Every year sees the introduction of freak bills into the legislatures of one or more states, but the spring of 1915 seems to have capped the climax.  The freak legislators have run mad. . . .

Prohibiting free lunches. Neb.

Compelling churchgoers to leave their firearms outside. Texas.

Prohibiting the smoking of cigarettes by school, normal and university instructors. Wis.

Prohibiting a man from becoming a “ball-dodger” i. e., allowing persons to throw base balls at one’s head, for hire. N. Y.

The Glasgow Courier (Glasgow, Montana), March 26, 1915, page 6.

All of these changes coincided with and reflected changing social and political conditions of the “Progressive Era,” which was marked by political reform, labor reform, and increased concern for health, safety and public welfare, generally.  There was one more reason that made the time ripe for banning live baseball dodging (other than the fact that it was distasteful, dangerous and demeaning); the emergence of a new, less dangerous alternative in about 1910 – the dunk tank.

African Dips
The earliest reference to a dunk tank that I could find is in an advertisement for the upcoming Tazewell, Virginia – “the best exhibit west of Richmond”:

About the very funniest thing, though, will be the “African Dip.” Everybody wants to know just what an “African Dip” is – whether it’s a kind of an animal, a piece of machinery, a game, or just an ordinary “colored person.”  If you were to guess any one or all of these things, and more, you might not be very far wrong.  But the “African Dip” will be demonstrated, shown, played or exhibite4d, or all, and if you want to find out just what it is, go to the Fair September 13, 14, 15.

Tazewell Republican (Tazewell, Virginia), August 25, 1910, page 1.

If you didn’t make it to the fair, you could see what the fuss was all about in the November 1910 issue of Popular Mechanics; although they used a different name:


In 1911, you could purchase an entire set-up for only $45:


Billboard Magazine, July 23, 1911, page 84.

An actual photograph reveals a more forlorn looking, portable model installed on a beach in Southern California in 1912:

An article about the purveyors of the “African Dip” at Coney Island gives a sense of the business model of the “African Dip,” as well as the “African Dodger” game it displaced:



New this year among sideshow attractions at Coney Island and elsewhere is the African dip ball game, which is a variation, expansion, elaboration of that familiar game known as the African dodger.

In the African dodger game a negro sticks his head through a hole in a netting or canvas and lets people throw balls at it.  There are lots of people in all parts of the country who think it is fun to throw things at a negro’s head.  It is the negro’s business to dodge the balls if he can and be jolly about it.

In the African dip ball game the negro is wholly protected by a net.  He can’t be hit at all, but something else can happen to him.

. . . The object of the ball thrower is not to hit the negro’s head, but to hit that disk, and if he does hit it the impact releases a clutch connected with the mechanical attachment running down to the chair and then the chair itself comes apart and the negro is dropped into a tank of water below; he takes a dip.  Then the crowd shouts, the negro stands up dripping and smiling and climbs back into the chair again and the game goes on.

Both the dodger and the dip game are hard work and in the dodger game the negro must be very alert.  In the dodger game to stay in the business and to give what he himself would consider a fair deal to the ball throwers the dodger must keep his head through the hole or behind it in line, where the throwers will have at least a chance to hit him, and sometimes they do hit him, though it is not so easy to do this as it might seem.

The balls regularly supplied are soft and cannot do serious injury; but other missiles are sometimes worked in.  Occasionally some man in the crowd may throw a brickbat at the negro’s head, or may think it is funny to throw a tomato or something of that sort.

While a dodger may sometimes get hurt, he is likely to go on through the season free from injury.  One New York man in the show business who has put dodger games on the road for years had in his employ one dodger who followed this business regularly season after season for ten years and was never seriously injured.  He made this his regular occupation.  Probably half the colored men in the dodger business are interested in the same way and the pay is good.  A good doger or dip man gets $5 a day and all his expenses paid.

With the rough and tumble character of the business it might be supposed that the men employed in it would necessarily lead hard lives; but the fact is that the men are constantly looked after about as carefully as if they were prizefighters.  It takes some money to equip a dodger show and more for a dip, and space concessions to set up the show cost more or less money everywhere, depending on the place.  Obviously it is to the show owner’s interest to keep his men in good condition and fit and he looks after them always as carefully as he can. . . .

[S]howmen say the people like them.  There is more action in them than in the dodger game and more fun; and apparently the people like action and sheer fun better than fun mixed with brutality. . . .

For a single dip game there are required three men, two dippers and a white man at the front to sell the balls and talk..  Two dippers are required for a single dip for the simple reason that the work, if the throwers are in any degree accurate, is rather more than one can stand continuously; even in warm weather the water may give the dipper in time a chill.  So they have one dipper up for an hour and then his side partner takes the chair, and so they alternate through the day. . . .  With a dip game with two chairs the show would take three dippers, such an outfit carrying altogether four men, three dippers and the man in front.

The Sun (New York), August 27, 1911, page 13.

The “African Dodger” game may have reached its zenith (nadir?) at the Panama-Pacific International Exposition held in San Francisco in 1915.  In Dave Gilson’s blog post, “The Mysteries of the African Dip,” you can see a photograph of a gigantic, grotesque twenty-foot tall plaster(?) “African” head, with gigantic hoop earrings and nose ring; resting his huge chin on his giant hands; with his elbows cradling the entrance to the “African Dip” arcade at the exposition.  Gilson’s article also discusses a similar storefront, from the same exposition, for a second ball-throwing game, “Soakum”; where customers could knock hats from dummy heads.  Dummies were available for “any nationality that you are down on, be it Irish, German or Chinese . . . .”  At least they weren’t living people – now that’s progress!

Although the danger was gone, the underlying racial attitudes of customers took longer to dissipate.  The dunk tank concession at Chicago’s Riverview Park, by some accounts, was called, “Dunk the N[-word]” in the early 1940s.[iii] However, “Dempsey Travis, the former president of the Chicago branch of the NAACP, wrote in An Autobiography of Black Chicago that he remembers the now-defunct Riverview Amusement Park had a dunk-tank game called “Dunk the Darky” at least until 1942.”[iv]  The name of the game was reportedly changed to the more conventional, “African Dip,” in the late-1940s; and dismantled in the late 1950s, in response to pressure from the NAACP.

Chicago was not the only city with a dunk tank bearing a patently offensive name.  There were carnival concessions called “N[-word] Dip” in Santa Cruz, California[v]and Fredericksburg, Texas,[vi]in the 1930s and 1940s, respectively.  But those, perhaps, more offensive names seem to have been increasingly the exception rather than the rule; the more neutral name, “African Dip,” being nearly universally used.  That’s something, I guess.

A modern reader may have a difficult time relating with the cultural or societal conditions that made throwing baseballs to dunk black people in water more entertaining than dunking, say, anyone who wanted to cool down in a dunk tank.  It may have been a sort of cultural inertia that made it easier to adhere to the traditional “African Dodger” idiom, than to start fresh with new technology. 

But not everyone wanted to dunk black men.  Some people wanted a more titillating experience; something more akin to a spring break wet T-shirt contest.

Sappho Tips

A sexy alternative was already available during the early days of dunk tanks.  The first devices were marketed under the alternate names of, “African Dip” or “Sappho Tip,” depending on who was to sit on the chair.   

Young women (but not too modest) sat on the "Sappho Tips":

The Tennessean (Nashville), September 1, 1912.


There were very few references to so-called “Sappho Tips” (at least by that name) in the databases I searched; perhaps because they were frequently frowned upon by local moralists:

 
An effort has been made to keep out everything of an objectionable character, and the effort has been successful in a great degree.  The Sappho tips became a little raw in their work on Friday and were immediately closed.  One of them attempted to reopen last night and was promptly arrested.

San Bernardino County Sun (California), February 25, 1912, page 5.

If the “Sappho Tip” business was bigger, or more widely known under a different name, I have been unable to find anything.  Or perhaps it just never could compete with the "tent shows" or "hoochie coochie" dancers that were available at many of the fairs or events that also hosted dunk tanks of one kind, or another.


“Dunk Tanks”

Dunk tanks were known as “dunk tanks” by at least 1950, when the Active Club of Sweet Home Oregon raised money for the swimming pool fund with a “dunk tank,” during Sweet Home Frontier Days.[vii]  Although there was no specific indication, the “dunk tank” was presumably non-race specific.  Four years later, organizers of Albany, Oregon's Timber Carnival used a “dunk tank” to punish violators of “woods law” - people found without “proper Timber Carnival clothes - plaid shirts, jeans and red hats.”[viii]  Local VIPs were the first victims of the tank:

Two past Timber Carnival presidents found walking through Albany streets while not properly dressed will be first culprits to take places in the “dunk tank” Wednesday.

The Albany Democrat-Herald (Albany, Oregon), June 22, 1954, page 2.

Finally, a “dunk tank” I can relate too.  If I remember correctly, when I was young, I was much more interested in being dunked than doing the dunking; but no one really wanted to pay for that.

Thankfully, the “African Dodgers” and “African Dips” are largely forgotten.  So well forgotten that in 2001, Leland's sports memorabilia auction house sold an “African Dodger” baseball (presumably from a static or mechanical “African Dodger” arcade game) as a “1930s African Dodgers Negro League Baseball” - lot 862, auction date August 31, 2001, 2001, sold for $349.33.

It is good to remember or learn about the  past, however, if only to appreciate how far we've come and to acknowledge the momentous nature of the societal upheavals that finally moved us beyond the casual violence and open racism that so freely on public display at the Schuetzen-Bund's Schuetzen Fest of 1895.

Go Dodgers! and the Dodgers went - at last.



[i]Paul Gillespie, Amos Rusie: The Pitcher Who Changed the Game, http://fromdeeprightfield.com/amos-rusie-the-pitcher-who-changed-the-game/.
[ii] A search on the Library of Congress’ online historical newspaper archive for newspapers dated before 1922 (Chronicling America), “African Dodger” returned 233 hits; while “Negro Dodger,” “N[-word] Dodger,” and “Coon Dodger” resulted in 17, 6 and 6 hits, respectively.
[iii]“Fun Town: Chicago’s Last Amusement Park,” Jake Austen, Beltmag.com/elegy-fun-town-chicagos-south-side/, February 13, 2014. See also, http://whgbetc.com/home/riverview-park-history.html(although this account suggests, impossibly, that the game was called, “Dunk the Bozo the Clown” before it was called “Dunk the N[-word] in the 1940s.  Although the word, “Bozo,” for stupid or silly people, had been in existence since the late-1910s, the character “Bozo the Clown” did not exist until 1946 (see my blog post, What Came First, Bozo or Bozo?)).
[iv]“Confronting the Paradox, Facing what we’ve forgotten about race relations could be as important to Illinois’ future as celebrating what we remember,” Maureen Foertsch McKinney, Illinois Issues (a publication of the University of Illinois at Springfield), June 2000, page 13 (text, and link to pdf magazine, available here).
[v]Santa Cruz Sentinal (California), July 7, 1937, page 8.
[vi]Fredericksburg Standard (Texas), August 20, 1947, page 1.
[vii]Albany Democrat-Herald (Albany, Oregon), December 12, 1950, part 3, page 9.
[viii]Albany Democrat-Herald (Albany, Oregon), June 18, 1954, page 1.

Irish Stew, Irish Militias and Chowder Parties - a History and Etymology of "Mulligan Stew"

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"The Mulligan Guard Lies But - Surrenders" (Puck, 1884 - a precursor of "Mulligan Stew"?)
 
Mulligan Stew is “a stew made from whatever ingredients are available.”[i]  In the early 1900s, it was closely associated with hobos or tramps who would make stew with whatever they could get their hands on:


On Monday this band of vags [(vagabonds)] started out to work the town which is probably the only work they have been guilty of for many a moon.  They held up all our store people for grub in different forms, and later on assembled below town to cook it.  Near the Monarch mine they started the fires, and with old apple cans to serve as pots, began the manufacture of a Mulligan stew.

The Neihart Herald (Neihart, Montana), July 18, 1896, page 3.

Now I know why the Lady was a Tramp:

She wined and dined on Mulligan Stew . . . that’s why the lady is a tramp!

Rodgers and Hart, “The Lady is a Tramp,” from Babes in Arms.

(Lady Gaga and Tony Bennett sang “The Lady is a Tramp” (although they skip the opening verse and its mulligan stew line).)

But why is it a “Mulligan” stew?  A “mulligan stew” is frequently described as being similar to an “Irish stew,” so perhaps Mulligan, an Irish surname, is merely a placeholder name indicative of its Irishness; as others have surmised.[ii]  But “Irish stew,” itself, was already used idiomatically, on occasion, from as early as 1805, with a meaning similar to “Mulligan stew”; something thrown together from random, disparate elements at hand. 

Which raises the question, why “Mulligan”?  The answer may lie in a popular play about a rag-tag Irish militia outfit in New York City . . .  

The Mulligan Guard Chowder

. . . which featured a chowder made with a cat.  And of course, if you make a chowder with a cat, isn’t it really a stew?




Coincidentally (or not?), the earliest examples of “mulligan stew” in print related to another group of rag-tag militia units; “Coxey’s Army.”


Coxey’s Army and Mulligan Stew

In 1894, the United States was in the second year of what would be a four year long depression; the worst depression in history up to that time.  To protest the economic policies that contributed to the Panic of 1893, and to lobby for the creation of a government jobs plan that would pay workers with paper currency, Ohio businessman Jacob Coxey organized an army of workers to march on Washington; and inspired workers in other parts of the country to organize similar armies to mount similar marches.  These rag-tag militia-like units were collectively known as, “Coxey’s Army.”[iii]

An army marches on its stomach, and Coxey’s armies (or at least some of them) marched on “mulligan stew.”  All of the earliest examples of “mulligan stew” I could find in print related to feeding Coxey’s armies:



Contributions of food came in liberally yesterday . . . .  The meat and potatoes were stewed together into what is called Mulligan stew, “because it goes further that way,” as Commissary Brown put it.

The Seattle Post-Intelligencer (Seattle, Washington), April 12, 1894, page 5.

Tensions were high two weeks later, when one wing of the “Industrial Army,” under the command of “General” Hogan, commandeered a train in Montana to transport their members to Washington DC.  The real militia was called out, and there were rumors that the federal government was sending some “regulars,” including four companies of the so-called “Buffalo Soldiers,” who were stationed at Fort Missoula, Montana.  Through it all, the workers (or wannabe workers) ate “mulligan stew”:


Rations were served to each company and the men had what they called a “mulligan,” which consisted of a kind of Irish stew made of the scraps left over from the former meals. 

The Anaconda Standard (Anaconda, Montana), April 24, 1894, page 4.

A few months later, a boatload of Coxeyites from the Northwest ate “mulligan stew” while passing through Detroit on their way to Washington DC:



Dinner was served today between the hours of 2 and 4 o’clock. . . .  The bill of fare consisted of “mulligan,” which closely resembles an Irish stew, potatoes, and black coffee.  “Mulligan” was the favorite and the men passed up their tin cans for refilling “full many a time and oft.”  Two or three men were having their hair cut while dispatching the delectable stew.  The floor is used for a table and the men eat with their fingers or improvised wooden spoons.  The cooking was done with oil stoves.  The stew was boiled in a battered old boiler and the coffee was prepared in an ex-water pail.

The Inter-Ocean (Chicago, Illinoi), July 23, 1894.

Other unemployed men, some of whom were headed to Washington DC to join the Coxey Army, enjoyed “Mulligan” stew on the road during the same period:



I soon found out they were on their way to Washington; two with the avowed intention of joining the commonweal army, the others on one of the aimless expeditions that go to make up the sum of existence for these latter-day nomads. . . .   During the afternoon Oakland bought his keg of beer, and on its arrival in camp it was voted unanimously to hold it until the next day and then to celebrate the day by cooking a “mulligan.” Now, mulligan is a stew of large proportions and many ingredients, and, as it would require considerable hustling to get together the stuff, we all started early.  To my share fell the tomatoes and potatoes.  Army was to get coffee, sugar, salt and pepper, and the rest were to provide meat, bread, and if possible, chickens. 

The Evening Star (Washington DC), May 17, 1894, page 3.

Although there is no direct evidence that “Mulligan stew” was a reference to “The Mulligan Guard Chowder,” the coincidence of a rag-tag army of workers eating “Mulligan stew” and a rag-tag Irish militia eating “Mulligan Guard chowder” may at least raise an eyebrow.  It seems plausible that someone in Coxey’s Army could have used “Mulligan stew” as a playful, pop-culture reference to “The Mulligan Guard Chowder.”  And even if the term did not originate in Coxey’s Army, it may nonetheless have been a reference to what had been a popular play fifteen years earlier.

“Mulligan stew” also owes a debt of gratitude to “Irish stew”.


Irish Stew

The Irish have long been associated with stew.  “Irish Stew” appeared in cookbooks as early as 1802.[iv]  The early recipes were generally pretty simple, and required very few ingredients; usually mutton (or optionally, beef), potatoes and onions, and sometimes thyme, parsley and/or carrots.  

Duncan MacDonald, The New London Cook, London, Albion Press, 1808, page 367.


But despite the simplicity of the recipes as they appeared in cookbooks, such stews were apparently known for being amenable to mixing whatever old or fresh ingredients were lying around.  As early as the 1805, “Irish Stew” was used idiomatically, to refer to thing made up of random collections of various ingredients; suggesting, perhaps, that some Irish stews may already have had something in common with what we now call a Mulligan stew.

In 1805, a writer likened the craft of writing poetry to the making of an Irish stew:

To the Author’s Grandson.

Into my room whene’er you pop,
You think it is some workman’s shop,
A Poet’s shop – where scraps and scratches,
Made like a motley quilt of patches;
. . .
A queer mixt medley, old and new,
Just as you make an Irish stew;
The Poet thus crams things together,
And stirs them with a Goose’s feather.

Mr. Pratt (Samuel Jackson), Harvest-Home, Volume 3, London, Richard Phillips, 1805, page 57.

In 1810, a theater critic described  production thrown together from old bits as an “Irish stew”:

Mr. Arnold’s Christmas dish, an Irish-stew, made up of old materials, appeared for the first time on the 26th.

The Monthly Mirror (London), January, 1810, page 65.

“Irish stew” was also used figuratively in the United States, from time to time.  In 1869, a review of the play, “An Irish Stew, or the Mysterious Widow of Long Branch,” for example, described the cast of characters as being, “mixed up in a regular Irish stew through the intolerable intermeddling of Mr. Macglider as a peace-maker.”[v] 

In 1886, a headline critical of inconsistent reporting in British newspapers as concocting “an Irish Stew With Socialistic Seasoning.”  Several London newspapers had apparently written editorials likening anarchist terrorists convicted of murder in the Haymarket Affair with pro-Irish independence agitators, like Jeremiah O’Donovan Rossa, in the United States.  Britain was then trying to negotiate an extradition treaty with the United States that would enable them to get their hands on those “political” criminals.  The American writer believed that comparing convicted political murderers to political agitators was a false equivalence.

Omaha Daily Bee(Nebraska), August 21, 1886, page 1.

 In 1887, an article about a Mexican dinner served at a banquet in Philadelphia described one of the dishes as, “Mexican-Irish stew”:



. . . “Puchero,” which came next, was made of fried cabbage, goat meat, fried carrots and fried bananas, and is known as a “Mexican-Irish stew.”

Arizona Weekly Enterprise (Florence, Arizona), June 18, 1887, page 1.
Since “Irish Stew” was sometimes regarded as a mix of incongruous elements, perhaps it was inevitable that a common Irish name, like Mulligan, would become the name of a “stew” made from whatever one has on hand.

But why Mulligan in particular?  Like many catch-phrases and new expression, its origin may have been on the stage.  In this case, its origins may stem from the well-known team of Irish comedians, Harrigan and Hart.


Irish Comedians

Hogan & Hart were one of the most successful comedy teams, producers and theater owners of the late nineteenth century.  In 1879, The New York Times referred to them as “ernest disciples of the type of gritty realism pioneered by Honore Balzac and Emile Zola.”[vi]



The reviewer compared Hogan & Hart’s series of “Mulligan Guard” plays to Zola’s series of Les Rougon-Macquart novels; stories about the lives of a middle class family during the Second Empire.  

 The “Mulligan Guard” series focused on the lives of members of the middle or lower classes in New York City.  The title characters were members of a neighborhood Irish militia company.  Other characters in the plays included members of a neighborhood black militia, the Skidmore Guards, captained by Simpson Primrose and the Reverend Palestine Puter; and a German couple, Gustavus Lochmuller and his wife Bridget.  Although the plays were considered low-brow entertainment (the New York Times reviewer assumed that names, Hogan & Hart, were only “vaguely suggestive” to its readers), Hogan & Hart’s Theatre Comique was the most successful theater in the city; and the Times gave them their stamp of approval:

Harrigan and Hart were formerly “variety performers,” and were highly esteemed in their profession.  This was their chrysalis state, for they soon developed in the butyterfly state of managers, and the Theatre Comique was their fertile garden.  Here they established the old-fashioned sort of song-and-dance performance, though it was soon observed that they were an unusually ambitious couple.  As time wore on, they began to introduce novelties into their business, and, thanks to their association with an able musician – Mr. David Braham – they were soon able to carry out an idea which had been fermenting in the brain of Mr. Harrigan.  The latter conc eived the project of placing upon his stage a series of plays depicting low life in New York, interspersed with original melodies.  The author of the Rougon-Macquart novels, it is needless to say, proceded from the same starting point.  Well, Mr. Harrigan wrote “Tue Mulligan Guards’ Picnic,” and Mr. Braham gave the piece a musical seting.  The success of the novelty was remarkable, and it was soon followed by another play of the same sort, “The Mulligan Guards’ Ball,” then by “The Mulligan Guards’ Chowder.”

[Their] plays have presented the same characters in new situations, and are connected in the manner of a magazine story, which is published serially.  Mr. Harrigan’s central purpose seems to have been to give a realistic picture of life among the poor wards of our City, although he has never hesitated to sacrifice realism to farce. . . . The basis of his work is simple Irishmen, Germans, and negroes figure in the story, and the absolute impossibility of these three elements of nationality to live in concord furnishes its amusing texture.

The New York Times Theater Reviews, 1870-1885, New York, The New York Times & Arno Press, 1975 (1879 D 21, 7:2).



The lower classes depicted in the plays were also fans.  This etching depicts an audience watching the “thrilling spectacle of the march of the Mulligan Guards” – with the guardsmen all decked out in mismatched, non-uniform uniforms:



An image from the novelization of the first episode of the Mulligan Guard shows the “march of the Mulligan Guards” as they go home after a day of drilling and a “target shoot.”  The joke of the episode was that they never could hit the target during the drill, so they had to literally “drill” holes in the wooden target in order to salvage their reputation.

The History of the Mulligan Guard, New York, Collin & Small, 1874, page 28.

 The song from the “Mulligan Guards,” was popular enough, and ubiquitous enough, that an Italian organ grinder had the song on his organ in 1878, when he was still in mourning over the recent death of King Vittorio Emanuele II:

An organ-grinder struck the town yesterday with his organ draped in mourning for the dead King.  His silent token of his grief was very touching until he began to grind out “The Mulligan Guards.” – Oil City Derrick.

Puck (New York), Volume 2, Number 47, January 30, 1878, page 13.

When the “Mulligan Guard Chowder” debuted in 1879, the New York Times gave it a favorable review:

The Mulligan Guard's Chowder” . . . is a very broad and realistic sketch of low life, but an irresistibly comic one.

The New York Times Theater Reviews, 1870-1885, New York, The New York Times & Arno Press, 1975 (1879 Ag 22, 5:2).

One advertisement for the play suggests that the chowder was made, like “Mulligan stew,” with random ingredients – including a “cat” or wild tomcat (proper name Thomas):


 The New York Herald, September 14, 1879, page 4.

A summary of incidents in the play, published in another advertisement, seems to confirm that the chowder may have been made with a cat; at least a cat is featured in the plot.  In scene 6, the action moves from Manhattan to the “Jersey Beach,” where there is some fishing, clam digging, a “Hot Chowder,” a funeral, and the “Appearance of the “Felis Maniculatus” – a cat (or a rat?[vii]).  The song that follows, “Dolly and Kitty and Mary So Pretty,” may be about a woman named Kate, or could a reference to the cat.

Although the scanty evidence does not prove a connection between the “Mulligan Guard Chowder” and “Mulligan stew,” the extended period of popularity of the “Mulligan Guards,” generally, suggests that the connection is possible.  The “Guard” were still popular enough during the mid-1880s that several political cartoons in Puck were modeled after them:

Puck (1884)


As late as 1893, Harrigan was still performing the “negro burial” bit from the “Mulligan Guard Chowder.”  Since that incident appeared in the same scene as the chowder incident, he may well have still been performing the chowder bit.  Although I could not find any specific reference to his performing the “chowder” bit into the 1890s, he or others may have kept it alive:

It is a pity that Mr. Harrigan cannot infuse the same up-to-date spirit into his productions, but the truth is that of recent years he has raked over his old material too thoroughly, and, besides, dozens of imitators have arisen with plays modeled on the ones that made him famous long ago, and now the public has grown a little tired of those phases of negro, Irish, and Italian characters which constitute Mr. Harrigan’s chief stock in trade.

The Sun (New York), August 31, 1893, page 5.

Ed Harrigan kept the “Mulligan Guard” characters and situations alive in the early 1900s, when he published a collection of “Mulligan Guard” stories.[viii]  Although the book did not include the cat-chowder incident from “The Mulligan Guard Chowder,” there are several references to chowder in the book.

 Although none of this proves that the “Mulligan Guard Chowder” was, in fact, the inspiration for “Mulligan stew,” it seems like a plausible explanation.  And, if “Mulligan stew” was inspired by a fictional “Mulligan Guard Chowder,” the “Mulligan Guard,” itself, may have been inspired by actual events.



Irish Militia



Neighborhood militia units were a common feature of life in New York City, and many of them resembled, in one way or another, the fictional “Mulligan Guard”:

There are a great number of militia companies in New York, and some of them are really very martial-looking indeed.  I am told there is a company of Highlanders, formed by the sons of far Caledonia; and there are German, French, Italian companies, &c.  There are a number of target companies, each known by some particular name – usually, I believe, that of a favourite leader who is locally popular among them. . . .

A few of them are “The Washington Market ChowderGuard” (chowder is a famous dish in the United States), “Bony Fusileers,” “Peanut Guard,” “Sweet’s Epicurean Guard” (surely these must be confectioners), “George R. Jackson and Company’s Guard,” “Nobody’s Guard,” “Oregon Blues,” “Tenth Ward Light Guard,” “Carpenter Guard,” “First Ward Magnetizers” . . . and multitudes of others.

. . .

Generally a target, profusely decorated with flowers, is carried before the company, borne on the stalwart shoulders of a herculean specimen of the African race, to be shot at for prize and glory, and the “bubble reputation” alone.  On its return from the excursion and practice, the target will display many an evidence of the unerring skill and marksmanship of the young and gallant corps.

Lady Emmeline Stuart-Wortley, Travels in America, Volume 1, London, Richard Bentley, 1851, pages 298-299.
 

The fictional “Mulligan Guard” may also have been based on a real-life “Mulligan Guard”:

At a Meeting of the James Mulligan Guard, held at their headquarters 125 Grand street, on Thursday evening, April 2, a full attendance being present, it was unanimously resolved to have an election for officers for the spring parade, and the following gentlemen were unanimously chosen: . . . Patrick McDonald; . . . Donahoe; . . . Donnelly; . . . Rourke; . . . Doyle; . . . Stuart; . . . O’Connor.  After election the members retired to an adjoining room and filled their bumpers [(glasses)].  The first toast was given to the Hon. James Buchanan, President of the United States; the second was the Army and Navy; the third, the James Mulligan Guard, one and inseparable; fourth, The Man whose name we bear; all of which were drank with three times three [(three cheers; three times)], and interspersed with various appropriate songs.

The New York Herald, April 5, 1857, page 7.

The name and ethnic makeup of the real and fictional militia units is not the only similarity between the two.  The life of the real-life James Mulligan, patron of the real-life Mulligan Guard, closely parallels the life of Terrance Mulligan, the fictional patron of the original fictional “Mulligan Guard.”[ix]

The History of the Mulligan Guard.

Who has not heard of the renowned Mulligan Guard? . . . Its members are earnest, honest, enthusiastic men, and the Guard will undoubtedly be the nucleus of a crack infantry regiment one of these days.  But even then it may be questioned whether it will allow its name to be changed, so proud are they of their patron, Terrence Mulligan, the Assistant Alderman of the red-hot Seventh [Ward] . . . .

The History of the Mulligan Guard, New York, Collin & Small, 1874.[x]

James Mulligan, the patron of the real-life militia, was a successful farrier (horse-shoer) and neighborhood politician who was active in Democratic and Tammany Hall politics.  He lived at 119 Grand Street in New York City, and owned an events facility at 125 Grand Street that he rented out for meetings, dinners, and balls. 

In 1854, a watershed year in Tammany Hall politics, he was on the Democratic ticket for School Trustee of the Fourteenth Ward.  He was also active in Irish politics.[xi]  In the mid-1840s, he was a member of the General Committee for the “United Irish Repeal Association”,[xii]a political movement that supported constitutional reform in Ireland and independence from Great Britain.   In the mid-1850s, James Mulligan served as President of the “Irish Aid Society,” a charity benefiting poor Irish in New York City.[xiii]  One of their programs granted money to people willing to relocate to “the West . . . whose virgin soil teems with fertility, ready to give up its golden treasures to the first efforts of industry.”

Although James Mulligan appears to have become a successful businessman and community leader, his earlier life involved some comic situations that would have been right at home in a “Mulligan Guard” skit. 

In 1838, Mulligan was fined $25 and costs for throwing a bucket of water or two over Mrs. Webb’s head after she laid out her daughter’s best petticoat to dry in front of his fireplace without permission.  He threw the petticoat out into the yard, calling the child a “brat.”  She said, “my child, sir, is no brat, sir; you nasty good for nothing ------!”  Mulligan told her to get out of the yard, “or I’ll throw a bucket of water on you!”  She dared him; “Oh brave blackguard, throw a pail of water on a woman!  I dare you to do it, you dirty fellow!” So he did – twice.[xiv]

The previous year, Mr. Mulligan was in court as plaintiff when one, Edward Mahony, stole “a turnip and trimmings– a watch and its appendages, the property of James Mulligan, No. 119 Grand street.”  The defendant claimed he was only borrowing it.  A third-party testified that Mahony had offered to trade watch-chains with him.  The verdict – “petty larceny only.”[xv]

Ed Harrigan, who created the “Mulligan Guard” series, was born in New York City in 1844 and would have been fourteen years old when the “James Mulligan Guard” held its meetings in 1858.  If Harrigan lived in an Irish neighborhood in New York City, and had a passing familiarity with the social and political scene, he may well have been aware of James Mulligan and his “Mulligan Guards.”  The “Mulligan Guard” series could have been based on his childhood recollections of a specific or general recollection of the real-life “James Mulligan Guard.”

Another element of “Mulligan Guard Chowder” was also based on real life.  “Chowder Parties” were a common feature of local political, social and military life.


Chowder Parties

The “chowder party,” a close cousin to the “clam bake,” dates to at least 1834.

In a discussion of how best to celebrate the Fourth of July in 1834:

For our own part, we are free to say that we like not the tumult of a city celebration, and shall seek our pleasure in a more quiet mode; but whether it shall be by means of a chowder party in company with “the trampers,” on Barren Island – by a family dinner at home, or by a visit to one of the thousand beautiful spots which are to be found upon our own island, or within fifty miles of New-York, yet remains to be determined.

The Long-Island Star (Brooklyn), June 26, 1834, page 3.

One of the Vanderbilts offered “Chowder Party” excursions in the 1840s:

Morning Herald (New York), July 24, 1840, page 3.


There was a “chowder party” in support of women’s suffrage in Seekonk, Massachusetts in 1842:

Brooklyn Daily Eagle (Brooklyn, New York), August 8, 1842, page 2.

 Six decades later, a newspaper article surveyed the history of “chowder parties” as the “Chowder Party” season heated up in the late summer of 1900.  The article describes how the “chowder party” had become a standard feature of social, political and militia life; similar to the fictional “Mulligan Guard Chowder” and with similarities to the real life of James Mulligan, the patron of the real “Mulligan Guard”:



The chowder party was originally an outing arranged by a few men, who made use of a “day off” to fish and then have a “bite” and a drink before coming home . . . .  Target shoots and picnics suffered because of the popularity of the chowder parties, and it was only a few years after their introduction that outing parties had to bear that name to make them attractive.

But as they grew in size the chowder part became less important, and a chowder party for a shop association, lodge, military company or political club now usually dispenses with clams; what it really needs is beer.

The men who go into politics for the purpose of securing office for themselves or for their friends, if they live in the lower part of the city, usually have headquarters where their friends may congregate [(as did James Mulligan)]. . . . The association bears his name, and every winter the saloons, barber shops and little stores have a placard in their windows on which there is a portrait of the leader and the announcement that the Patrick McCarthy or Moses Cohen or Giovanni Peanutti Associatino will have a “grand reception ball” at some hall in or near the district. . . .

It’s a long time between drinks from one grand ball and reception to another, and in order to keep himself well before his constituents and to show that he is still “it” the leader usually selects the dog days to give his friends an outing, which has for years taken the form of a chowder party.

New York Tribune, September 9, 1900, Illustrated Supplement, page 1.

In testimony before the New York Senate in 1893, Tammany Hall Democrats were grilled about using the sales of the Seventh Ward’s “chowder party” tickets to secure political favors, influence and positions:

“Is it not a fact that the saloon keepers and houses of prostitution paid $5,000 for chowder tickets?”

The witness replied that the insinuation was infamous.

Then Chairman Lexow innocently inquired, “How much chowder was supplied a man for $5?” and ex-Judge Ransom assured the Senator that there were many other things in chowder parties besides chowder.  That gave Mr. Goff an opening, and he added to the prevailing merriment by remarking that chowder parties, and even chowder, contained as many things as are in the list of a district leader.

The Sun (New York), June 8, 1894, page 2.

Mulligan Parties
By the early 1900s, “Mulligan” came full circle.  Whereas “Mulligan,” perhaps from “Mulligan Guard Chowder,” became “Mulligan Stew;” “Mulligan,” apparently from “Mulligan stew,” may have occasionally replaced “chowder” in “chowder party.”  Or, perhaps the expression, “Mulligan party,” merely reflected the fact that some people organized parties around a “Mulligan stew,” as others did around chowder.

There was a “Mulligan party” at Pike’s Peak in 1907:

The Evening Statesman (Walla Walla, Washington), February 7, 1907, page 5.

In 1913, Thomas Gaines was arrested for holding “mulligan parties” with stolen chickens:

The Tacoma Times (Tacoma, Washington), August 16, 1913, page 1.

 In 1915, one writer (thinking ahead, presumably, to the end of World War I) said:

A ‘Mulligan’ is a great affair. It’s a sort of cross between a Sunday school meeting in Japan and an English athletic meet in Berlin in 1917.

Salt Lake Telegram (Salt Lake City, Utah), July 26, 1915, page 12.[xvi]


Conclusion

The expression, “Mulligan stew,” may reflect a melding of “Irish stew” with Harrigan & Hart’s “Mulligan Guard Chowder”; a chowder that the fictional “Mulligan Guard” made with a cat.  The expression may have taken root when unemployed men organized themselves into militia-like units – “Coxey’s Army” – for a march on Washington to protest economic conditions and lobby for a federal jobs program.  The widespread use of “Mulligan stew” in Coxey’s army may have influenced the continued association of “Mulligan stew” with tramps and hobos.  And, the fictional “Mulligan Guard” may have been based on the actual “Mulligan Guard” that was active in New York City in the 1850s.

Of course, I could be wrong; if so, I want a do-over – a “Mulligan”– but that’s a whole nuther story.




[ii]See, for example, “Mulligan Stew”, Wikipedia.org (accessed June 19, 2016) and Barry Popik, “Mulligan Stew”, The Big Apple online Etymology Dictinoary (accessed June 19, 2016).
[iv] John Mollard, The Art of Cookery Made Easy and Refined, 2d edition, London, 1802, page 53 (Cutlets a la Irish Stew).
[v]The New York Herald, February 9, 1869, page 7.
[vi]The New York Times Theater Reviews, 1870-1885, New York, The New York Times & Arno Press, 1975 (1879 D 21, 7:2).
[vii]“Felis” is the genus of a type of cat and “Maniculatis” is a species of mouse..
[viii]Edward Harrigan, The Mulligans, New York, G. W. Dillingham Company, 1901.  
[ix] The original manifestation of the fictional “Mulligan Guard,” in 1874, was said to have been organized by a man named Hussey, with a patron named Alderman Terrence Mulligan.  Later versions of the “Mulligan Guard” appear to have been organized by a grocer named Dan Mulligan.
[x]The book does not list the name of the author, but the characters and situations appear to be at least based on Ed Harrigan’s play, as his name is mentioned on page 1 of the book as one of the leaders of the “Mulligan Guard.”
[xi]The New York Herald, October 26, 1854, page 1.
[xii]New York Daily Tribune, February 8, 1844, page 3.
[xiii]The New York Herald, September 6, 1855, page 2.
[xiv]TheMorning Herald (New York), January 23, 1838, page 2.
[xv]The Morning Herald (New York), August 16, 1837, page 2.
[xvi]Credit goes to Stephen Goransan for uncovering the sense of “mulligan” as a party, and finding the citation from the Salt Lake Telegram, July 25, 1915, page 12.

Swat Mulligan, the Sultan of Swat and the Taliban – a history and etymology of “the Sultan of Swat”

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The Evening World (New York), August 15, 1908, page 4.

In golf, and in life, a do-over is a “Mulligan” - and has been since at least 1936:

[T]he serious slangsleuth Paul Dickson reports the earliest print citation to be an A.P. dispatch of May 5, 1936, crediting the use of mulliganto Marvin McIntyre, an aide to F.D.R., which the reporter defined as “links-ology for the second shot employed after the previously dubbed shot.” The word was popularized in the coverage of President Eisenhower’s golf outings.

William Safire, “On Language,” The New York Times Magazine, March 23, 2008.

No one really knows the etymology for sure, but competing origin stories generally credit the term to a Canadian golfer from Montreal, or a golf club locker room attendant from New Jersey.

Sam Clements recently discovered[i]what seemed like, at first blush, a tantalizing clue:

If it is a bad ball, “off the wicket,” he may take a “mulligan” at it and knock it over the fence, “out of bounds” they call it.

The Colorado Springs Gazette, April 19, 1919, 12/3.

On closer inspection, however, it does not seem to be a perfect match.  The context and rules of cricket suggest that to “take a ‘mulligan’” here, refers to taking a full, hard swing at the ball; not to getting a second chance, as in golf. 

It is possible, I suppose, that this full-swing sense of “Mulligan” is a precursor to the second-chance sense of “Mulligan.”  Did “Mulligan” originate from taking a second tee-shot; a full swing?  But it may be just a “red herring”; any similarity being just a coincidence.  I do not know and have not found any direct evidence of a connection. 

But looking into this newly rediscovered sense of “Mulligan” opened a window into some forgotten aspects of early sports and pop-culture history; themythical homerun king, “Swat Mulligan,” the original “Sultan of Swat” (not Babe Ruth) and a possible etymology of “Mulligan Stew” (see my earlier post  -  Irish Stew, Irish Militias and Chowder – a History and Etymology of “Mulligan Stew”). 

The swing-away sense of taking a “mulligan” in cricket seems to be derived from the name of greatest baseball hitter you’ve never heard of – “Swat” Mulligan.  And, Babe Ruth was not the first “Sultan of Swat” in baseball; and the original “Sultan of Swat” was not even a swatter of baseballs – he was from Pakistan – no news on whether he played cricket or not.


“Swat” Mulligan

“Swat” Mulligan (or Milligan)[ii]was a mythical baseball slugger who played for the “Poison Oaks” of the “Willow Swamp League” during the earliest days of professional baseball.  His forgotten exploits were rescued from the trash-bin of history by the sportswriter Bozeman Bulger, who chronicled his Bunyan-esque baseball accomplishments in a series of articles in the New York Evening World, beginning in about 1908. 

One typical article told how “Swat Milligan” foiled “Fahrenheit Flingspeed’s” egg-pitch; only to be called out for being hit by his own batted ball.  Flingspeed, of the “Fungo Falls Club,” planned on getting the otherwise nearly invincible “Swat” Mulligan to swing and miss by pitching a Killaloo’s egg to him.  Unluckily for him, Flingspeed was wearing a pair of pants he borrowed from his bullpen-mate, “Harold Hangover.” In Hangover’s most recent outing, he had used some magician’s flash powder to throw his “celebrated ‘firebug’ ball causing Swat to set the woods on fire.”  Due to an unexpected chemical reaction between the egg and the residue of the powder, the egg became hard and rubber-like in his pocket before it was pitched.  Mulligan hit the egg out of the stadium; straight at city hall: 



But due to the “extra-ordinary resiliency of the ball (egg) . . . instead of going into the window it struck the swaying flagstaff on top of the hall with a mighty crash.  As if shot from a Mauser rifle the ball bounded back to the park and struck Swat squarely in the back as he was making his ninth run [around the bases].”  

The Evening World, July 1, 1908, page 12.

In another tale, an injured “Swat” Mulligan pulled a “Kirk Gibson”; limping onto the field after missing two games (he had been laid up due to his fondness for drinking baseball bat varnish), and hit a homerun after “getting the goat” of a Russian pitcher by telling him to, “go back to the mines” in Russian.  Heady stuff!



The Evening World (New York), August 15, 1908, page 4.


The only pitcher who ever really got the best of “Swat” was Cy Young; although it must have been late in Mulligan’s career (Cy Young became a professional in 1889 and entered the major leagues in 1890). 

The Evening World, July 1, 1908, page 12.


“Swat’s” sudden, post-career fame led to a stage play based on his life and a doll (action figures, I guess) in his likeness.

The Evening Star (Washington DC), February 12, 1911, part 2.

Tacoma Times (Washington), July 7, 1911, page 6.


In 1915, the New York Yankees tried to lure “Swat” out of retirement to coach the Yankees:

The Seattle Star (Washington), January 13, 1915, page 9.
And his son, “Swat Mulligan, Jr.”, also played some professional ball:

The Evening World (New York), June 14, 1919, page 9.
 
As a result of “Swat” Mulligan’s reputation as a great baseball slugger, other sportswriters would sometimes refer to strong hitters in baseball and golf as the “Swat Mulligan” of their respective team or sport:
 
The Evening World (New York), August 22, 1919, page 2.

The Evening World (New York), June 13, 1919, page 22.

The Evening World (New York), July 10, 1917, page 10.


In 1920, even the immortal Babe Ruth was said to display his “Swat Mulligan Stuff” at the Annandale course in Pasadena, California:

The Evening World (New York), March 13, 1920, page 8.

It seems likely that the word, “mulligan,” as used to describe a batsman in cricket, was a reference to “Swat” Mulligan and his prodigious talent.



The “Sultan of Swat”

Babe Ruth, who was a real “Swat Mulligan” of the diamond and the links, was also known as, the “Sultan of Swat”; a title he bore regularly beginning in the 1920 season; the year after he set a new major league homerun record (29) in 1919, his last season with the Boston Red Sox.

But “Babe,” who is still revered as THE “Sultan of Swat,” was not the first.  In August of 1920, for example, Grantland Rice (who is responsible for popularizing, “it’s not whether you win or lose, it’s how you play the game”) referred to Babe Ruth as:

. . . the new Sultan of Swat . . . [iii]

Earlier that year, Rice had even praised a different “Sultan of Swat” and tried to predict a successor – without including Ruth in the discussion:

[Ty] Cobb has only a year or two to go as the Sultan of Swat, and when he begins to skid the battle to take his place will be a merry one, with Sisler favored, as Collins, Jackson and Veach are no longer debutantes.[iv]

Just one month earlier, Grantland Rice had even referred to Pat Moran, the manager of the Cincinnati Reds as, “the Red Sultan of Swat[v]; and, two years earlier, dubbed Honus Wager, “Honus – Honus the Hittite – Sultan of Swat”.[vi] 

The expression had already been around for a few years, even if it did not appear regularly or often in print.  As early as 1911, a sportswriter from Detroit debated:

Who is the best hitter in the world? Here is a question that base ball fans throughout the territory in which the national game is played never tire of arguing.  Any one of a dozen sluggers can bring forward thousands of admirers who will talk until they are black in the face to prove that their man is the one and original Sultan of Swat.[vii][(candidates included Ty Cobb, Sam Crawford, Larry Lajoie, Tris Speaker, Honus Wagner and Sherwood Magee)]


The Real Sultan of Swat


In 2009, Foreign Policy Magazine online published an article entitled, “The Sultan of Swat,” about the dangerous Taliban leader who held sway over the Swat Valley at the time.  Although I do not know the motivation for the headline, I would not be surprised if the editors had intended the headline to be a clever reference to Babe Ruth's moniker.  If so, the expression had come full-circle since the "Babe's" nickname was derived, in the first instance, from an actual title of a former ruler of the region - the “Sultan of Swat” (see, for example, The Imperial Gazatteer of India, Volume 13, Oxford, 1908 - "Before the Yusufzai Afghans settled in the Peshawar valley, Hashtgnar was held by the Shalmanis, a Tajik race, subjects of the Sultan of Swat.").


Swat is a mountainous district in Pakistan once known as the “Switzerland of Pakistan”; but which is now better known as a former Taliban stronghold and location of some of the fiercest fighting in the Afghan War and the Global War on Terrorism.  As of 2015, however, peace had returned.

As noted by Greg Kemnitz, writing on Answers.com:

"Swat" [(in the nickname, “Sultan of Swat”)] is also a double meaning:

"Swat" is also the name of an actual district in Pakistan . . . .  At various times in its history, Swat's leaders were called Sultans.  So, there were "real" Sultans of Swat in history, and doubtless a sportswriter with some sense of history and geography gave The Babe this enduring nickname.

While it is true that sportswriters eventually gave the title to various baseball sluggers, including most enduringly to Babe Ruth, other writers in the early 1900s used the real title, “Sultan of Swat,” as a kind of humorous shorthand for any sort of exotic-sounding title. 

In 1904, for example, a writer for the New York Sun was so happy fishing that he would not trade places with an Eastern potentate:

For the gentle spring days have come, the balmy blissful days when the sun is just right and the earth seems to have reached teh very limit, and as we sit here, with our float bobbing up and down on the rippling water and the bait only half gone, we would not change places with the Sultan of Swat and the King of Knuck both rolled into one and riding around in a 100 horse-power automobile over a special track paved with prostrate cops and bill collectors.[viii]



In 1906, a poem in the New York Sun described how theatrical press agents create new sensations:

“The Milk Bath Artist Has Seen His Day,” 

. . .

The marrying girls of the sextette bunch,
   The girl who jilted a millionaire,
The girl who, ‘tis said, one time took lunch
   With the Sultan of Swat (on a girlish dare)[ix]


In 1912, writing about the love life of a famous actress from Cincinnati who affected a French persona:

Gertrude’s Parisian accent and shoulder-shrug won her instant recognition.  An Indian rajah – we failed to catch the gentleman’s name, but we are sure it was not the Sultan of Swat– visiting New York, was so enchanted with her beauty, and especially her dazzling, flashing teeth, that, when she declined to join his harem, he presented her with his favorite anklet of burnished gold to match Gertrude’s burnished gold hair . . . .[x]

In a 1914 article about how American diplomats avoid the ostentatious accessories favored by their European counterparts:

Swank! . . .Yankee swank!

Your ambassador to the Court of St. James must wear his dress suit without trimmings.  For him decorations of any kind are sternly forbidden.  No ribbons or medals may ornament his breast.  Knee breeches and silk stockings are not for him.  It is the same with the American minister plenipotentiary to the Sultan of Swat [(although the rest of the story was about an American diplomat to Zanzibar – which is nowhere near Swat)].

The use of “Sultan of Swat” appears to be a melding of the actual title and the idiomatic use of the title with yet another baseball title; the “King of Swat.”


The “King of Swat”

Long before anyone was the “Sultan of Swat” in baseball, the “King of Swat” (which dates to as early as 1901[xi]) reigned supreme.  At various times,  

Honus Wager was the “King of Swat” . . .  


South Bend News-Times (Indiana), December 25, 1913, page 8.


“Nap” Lajoie was the “King of Swat” . . .    

Tacoma Times (Washington), June 9, 1913, page 2.


Ty Cob was the King of Swat . . .

Tacoma Times (Washington), February 20, 1918, page 6.


. . . and “Shoeless” Joe Jackson was the “King of Swat.”

El Paso Herald (Texas), June 28, 1913, comic section page 6.


Eventually, Babe Ruth was crowned the “King of Swat”:

Richmond Times Dispatch (Virginia), November 6, 1921, page 62.


The earliest examples of Ruth as the “King of Swat” pre-date the earliest examples of him as the “Sultan of Swat that I could find; and he may have been better known as the “King of Swat,” at least early in his career, than as the “Sultan of Swat.”  Searches in databases of pre-1923 newspaper for [“king of swat” and “babe ruth”] yield about twice as many “hits” as [“sultan of swat” and “babe ruth”].  

But for some reason, the “Sultan of Swat” was more enduring . . . perhaps it was the ridiculous crown (King Vitamin).



[i] American Dialect Society’s e-mail discussion list archive, June 17, 20:10:25 EDT 2016.
[ii]“Swat’s” last name was originally “Milligan,” but over time, he was frequently referred to as “Mulligan,” even by writers in his own paper, and sometimes in headlines above articles in which the name was spelled, “Milligan.”
[iii]The Washington Herald (Washington DC), August 19, 1920, page 9.
[iv]The New York Tribune, January 2, 1920, page 10.
[v]The New York Tribune, December 26, 1919, page 10.
[vi]The Harrisburg Telegraph (Pennylvania), February 24, 1917, page 14.
[vii]The Ogdensburg Journal (Ogdensburg, New York), March 28, 1911, page 5 (referencing an article from the Detroit Free Press).
[viii]The Topeka State Journal, April 29, 1904, page 8 (reprint from the New York Sun).
[ix]The New York Sun, November 4, 1906, page 33.
[x]The Seattle Star (Washington), August 29, 1912, page 4.
[xi]The St. Louis Republic, November 1, 1901, page 4 (“[Patsy] Donovan has by no means given up hope of retaining the King of Swat [(Jesse Burkett)].”)

The "Kouta-Kouta" and the "Coochie-Coochie - a History and Etymology of the "Hoochie Coochie" Dance

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When Charo famously cooed, “coochie, coochie,” in her many guest-spots on The Love Boat in the late-1970s, she was only the latest in a long line of entertainers who shook their hips in a “coochie-coochie.”  At the time, the expressions, “coochie-coochie” (1894) and “hoochie-coochie” (1895), meaning a belly dance-like erotic dance, was about eighty years old.

The Random House Unabridged Dictionary defines “hootchy-kootchy,” “hoochie-coochie” or “cooch dance” as:

A sinuous, quasi-Oriental dance performed by a woman and characterized chiefly by suggestive gyrating and shaking of the body.


The danse du ventre (French for “stomache dance”) or “mussel dance” (from “Musselman”, an archaic term for Muslim person) became internationally famous during the Exposition Universelle (World’s Fair) in Paris in 1889; whose other lasting gift to the world is the Eifel Tower.  The dance became a fixture in American pop-culture during and after the World’s Columbian Exposition – the Chicago World’s Fair – in 1893; which also introduced the Ferris Wheel, the X-Ray and the Midway Plaisance. 

A dancer named “Little Egypt” frequently gets credit for popularizing the dance at the fair, although she would have been only one of many dancers who danced various forms of ethnic dances at several ethnic villages on the Midway Plaisance (if she were even there). 

The exotic, erotic form of dancing popularized at the fair later became known as, “coochie-coochie,” and then “hoochie-coochie.”  But the earliest examples of “coochie-coochie” in print are from about one year after the fair closed; and the earliest examples of “hoochie-coochie” about one year after that.

From about one year before the fair until about two years after the fair, such dances were frequently called the “kouta-kouta.”  The dancer who introduced the “kouta-kouta” in 1892, claims to have learned the dance in India, where she had worked for an “opera” company that operated mostly in India and the Far East.  She danced the “kouta-kouta” in places as far flung as New York City, Indianapolis, Washington DC and Chicago before bringing the dance to London in early 1894.  During and after the fair, the name “kouta-kouta” was also used more generally in reference to other dancers, many of whom had performed at the fair.  I found one reference from 1896 that used an apparently transitional name, “kutcha-kutcha.”

The transition from “kouta-kouta” to “coochie-coochie” and “hoochie-coochie” may have been influenced by a general familiarity with familiar song lyrics like, “kutchy, kutchy,” used in at least two songs during the 1880s, and “ “hoochie, coochie, coochie,” from “The Ham-Fat Man,” a staple of minstrel shows during the 1860s, and origin of the word “ham,” as applied to bad actors. 

“Hoochie-coochie” may have been influenced further by a linguistic template favoring rhyming reduplication expressions that begin with “H”, like “helter skelter,” hocus pocus,” and “hodge podge”[i]; and earlier such dancing girl-related expressions like, “hurdy gurdy,” “honky tonk” and “hula-hula,” all of which were in use before “hoochie coochie.”

Tracing the separate histories and origins of the dance, the names of the dance, and various dancers who helped make the dance famous, touches on several disparate threads of pop-culture, celebrities of the day, and famous personages whose names and personalities are still well known.

President Theodore Roosevelt, P. T. Barnum’s grandchildren, and “Little Egypt” were all involved in one early, notorious incident in which the “coochie-coochie” (by that name) was at issue. 



NOTE: This is Part I of II, covering: The Seely Dinner; the Kouta-Kouta; Before the Fair; and The Fair.


The Seely Dinner

Between Christmas of 1896 and New Year’s Day of 1897, President Theodore Roosevelt (President of the New York City Police Commission, still two years from climbing San Juan Hill and four years from ascending to the Presidency of the United States), took time out of his busy holiday schedule to respond to a crisis in the Police Department; Captain Chapman had been accused of official misconduct.  The high social position of the accusers added fuel to the fire. 

Famed restaurateur and hotelier Louis Sherry, Clinton Barnum Seeley and Herbert Barnum Seeley (P. T. Barnum’s grandchildren) and several prominent talent agents were among the accusers and witnesses.  Theodore Roosevelt, himself, was rumored to have been present during the incident; a claim he denied (he said he wasn’t even invited[ii]) and no proof of it ever surfaced; but I am not above fanning the tabloid flames more than a century later.

Roosevelt acted swiftly, setting a “trial” date (a police department hearing, as opposed to a criminal trial) for January 7, 1897, although the hearing would be postponed until January 14.  Despite the high-placed accusers and serious accusations, Captain Chapman promised a vigorous defense:

Capt. Chapman said yesterday that he would prove that the woman danced with nothing on but stockings which reached to a point about two inches above her knees.

The Sun (New York), January 1, 1897).

Captain Chapman stood accused of raiding Clinton Barnum Seeley’s bachelor party without cause.  The accusers’ allegations were straight-forward:

Mr. Seeley declares that the dancer known as “Little Egypt”did not dance in a nude condition.

Ibid.

But “Little Egypt” admitted that the dance was “indecent” – and that she did not dance alone:

Howard B. Seeley, she says, danced the couchee-coucheewith her, and that revelry ran beyond the decency point.  She also says that another woman also danced in indecent dress.  – New York Advertiser, Dec. 31.

Alexandria Gazette (Virginia), January 2, 1897, page 1.

The Washington Times(Washington DC), April 11, 1920.


Facts brought out a trial suggested that the raid was instigated by talent agents whose own dancers were snubbed in planning the dinner; and that the police jumped at the chance to raid the party, in part, because of friction with Teddy Roosevelt who was in the process of trying to clean up the department.

At the time, the expression, “coochie-coochie,” as the name of a dance, was only a couple years old.  Before then, the dance was generally referred to as the “mussel dance” (sometimes “muscle dances”, from “Musselman”, an archaic term for Muslim person), the danse de ventre (French for “belly dance”), or “kouta-kouta,” the expression that gave way to “coochie- coochie.”

The Dream City: A Portfolio of Photographic Views of the World’s Columbian Exposition, St. Louis, N. D. Thompson Publishing Co., 1893 (pages unnumbered).

 
The Kouta Kouta

In May of 1892, a “character actress” and “skirt dancer” named Avita (sometimes Vita, or Ada Vita), the “Vital Spark,” introduced the “Kouta-Kouta” (sometimes Koota-Koota) in a production of “Elysium”:

A novelty in dancing, it is announced, will be seen in “Elysium” at Herrmann’s Theatre next week.  It is called the “Koota-Koota,” whatever that may mean, and is danced by Avita, an English character actress, who is said to have performed it before the Rajah during her visit to the East Indies. Isn’t that real nice?

The Evening World (New York), May 13, 1892, page 5.

Avita had been performing in New York City and Boston since at least November 1891, sometimes billed as a “skirt dancer”; the kind of dancer who might kick up her skirt in a “can-can” or while singing “Ta-Ra-Ra Boom-de-ay!”  Her appearance in “Elysium” is the first time her dance is called the “kouta-kouta.”

Two years later, when she was in London, she described her background and how she came to learn the “kouta-kouta”; she also says that she danced the dance at the Chicago World’s Fair:

The “Kouta-Kouta” Dancer. 

“Vita’s” dance at the Trocadero is on the honi soitorder.   It is apparently suggested by the danse du ventre that came westwards with the last Paris Exhibition, but it does not go the lengths that it did there.  Still it is novel and daring, and will cause a lot of talk.  In the course of a few minutes’ chat that I had with “Vita” the other day she told me that she was born in San Francisco twenty-two years ago, and inherited her love of the stage from her mother, who was a famous dancer in Italy.  She was educated in Paris at the Convent of the Sacred Heart, and afterwards went back to San Francisco.

“How did you come to go on the stage?”

“Oh, I was always fond of the stage, and never happier than when appearing in amateur theatricals.”

“And this dance?”

I learnt it in India when I was with the Stanley Opera Company.[iii]   The favourite dancing girl of one of the Rajahs taught me all about it, and when I danced it in the Chicago Exhibition you cannot imagine what a furore it caused.  In England I am sure it will excite just as great interest.  Don’t you think so?”

Today (London), Volume 1, January 20, 1894, page 21. 

The Middle-Eastern dance was appropriate in the story of “Elysium”; an adaptation of a French play which was based on Mario Uchard’s book, Mon Oncle Barbassou[iv](My Uncle Barbassou[v]).  After reports of Uncle Barbassou’s death in “the East” surface, his nephew goes out to take possession of his inheritance, which includes a harem of eight beautiful women (four in the novel).  The nephew falls in love with the most virtuous harem girl; Uncle Barbassou shows up alive (he had just been trying to evade his first wife).  Although the virtuous love-interest refused to dance, other “gems of the Orient,” as the harem girls were called, were dancers – and one of them danced the “Koota-Koota”:

The scene in the harem, which is called Elysium, is enlivened with the “Koota-Koota” dance by Avita, a “Rose” dance by Gertrude Reynolds, and songs in café chantant style by Mlle. Ottilie.

The Times Picayune (New Orleans, Louisiana), June 19, 1892, page 16.

Intriguingly, but perhaps merely coincidentally, one of the harem girls was named “Koochi.”  Avita played a character named “Zoura”: Jenny Goldthwaite played “Koochi.”[vi]  And, when “coochie-coochie” became a common expression two or three years later, it was no longer in the context of the play; so any connection to the character named “Koochie” seems unlikely.

If Avita’s claims to have learned the dance in India is to be believed, and the name of the dance did come from India, there is a plausible linguistic connection to the Kannada or Canarese language, spoken by the Kannada people of Southern India: 

William Reeve, A Dictionary, Canarese and English, Bangalore, Wesleyan Mission Press, 1858.
Of course, it would be more interesting if the meaning were more in the nature of the word, “koota” or “kuta,” which can have a more salacious meaning:

William Reeve, A Dictionary, Canarese and English, Bangalore, Wesleyan Mission Press, 1858.
Professor S. N. Sridhar, Professor of India Studies at Stony Brook University, confirmed that “koota” still has one of at least three different meanings; a social club, where members gather together (the Association of Kannada Kootas of America (AKKA) lists 37 member “Kootas” throughout North America); a form of horoscope used in planning marriage compatibility; or sexual intercourse.  A Kannada/English Dictionary published in 1894 also lists the word, “kuta,” as being “an imitative sound . . . the noise of boiling water.”[vii]  It is possible, I suppose, that any one or several of the alternate meanings may be behind the name of the dance Avita brought to New York City in 1892.

Avita stayed with Elysium for about two months, and then went out on tour with Reilly & Wood’s show, “Hades and the 400”; a satire on New York’s elite – the “400” – with costumes seemingly inspired by Heironymous Bosch:




Between September 1892 and December 1893, she brought the “kouta-kouta” to Indianapolis, New York City, Washington DC, and presumably points in between, including Chicago; before going to London in early 1894. 

Avita was doing more than the “kouta-kouta” with Reilly & Wood; she also played nanny to one of the owners’ children.  Charles Borani, one of “the Disappearing Demons, Bros. Borani” who appeared on the bill with Vita was married, but his wife was not around and his daughter traveled with the show.  In a contested divorce proceeding, he claimed that his wife was a drunk and took lovers; she accused him of having at least two co-respondents, Avita and the famous Spanish dancer, Carmencita; and Avita claimed to be just the nanny.  He won the case and married Avita within the year – but only after she got her own divorce:

The Evening World (New York), December 20, 1893, page 1.


When Avita left “Elysium,” she was replaced by another dancer with an interesting past; Omene, the subject of raciest picture I have ever seen published in a mainstream magazine published in the 1890s. 

Metropolitan Magazine (New York), volume 5, number 2, March, 1897, page 218.

 Omene’s career started as the”Circassian” assistant to a mock-Japanese magician, Yank Hoe.  They performed their act in London before coming the United states in 1889.  One of his tricks was to place a potato on her throat, and cut it with a sword.



By June 1891, she was headliner in her own right, as an exotic dancer:

“The Tar and Tartar” company, at Palmer’s is treating New-Yorkers to the novel sensation of a genuine Oriental dance.  Omene, the Circassian dancer, who began her engagement on Monday night, is a type of the dancing girl of the East.  Her dancing is as different from that of the Spanish skirt variety as the latter is from the Italian ballet variety.  Omene is remarkably graceful in her contortions and promises to be as popular in her way as Carmencita.

The New York Times, June 24, 1891.

Her sexual style soon landed her in hot water:

“Too Risque.”

Omene, the new Turkish dancer, has been withdrawn from the “Tar and the Tartar.” Her “Dance of the Harem,” although graceful and, from description, like the hula-hula of Hawaii, was considered too “risqué.” There is no kick in the dance; it is a swaying, continuous wriggle.  The original costume consisted of thirty-five yards of silk gauze and nothing more.  This was wrapped around the body so as to form the semblance of a garment that partially enveloped the bust and reached down to and encircled her knees.  The effect was as though she was dressed in short Turkish trousers.  The legs from the knees down disdained any impediment, while through the diaphanous material around about the dancer the undulating, swaying outlines of her body were visible.

The Morning Call (San Francisco), July 5, 1891, page 11.

But she put the notoriety to good use:

Omene, the ex-Tar and Tartar dancer, is advertised now as a young woman whose dancing and posturing had to be suppressed by the management.

Los Angeles Herald, July 18, 1891, page 1.

A magazine article from 1897 refers to her as the only beautiful of the famous danse du ventre artists; the article also gives a different spin on the history of the dance in the United States – older, and from a different source:

The danse du ventre, which has raged more or less fiercely since the Columbian Exposition in 1893, first came into public notice at the Paris Exposition of 1890.  Until recently the dance had sunk to the lower class of variety shows and stag dinners, but recent developments of the Seeley dinner episode has had the effect of reviving it.  Little Egypt has achieved the most notoriety in this respect, and the dance is rather frowned upon now than otherwise.  Fatima is another well-known exponent of the wriggle, while Omene – really the only beautiful woman of the entire lot – has done the dance at times.

The negroes of the South have long performed this dance as a part of the Voudoo ceremonial, and it was familiar to those who frequented houses of ill fame in the South years before it came into public notice.

Metropolitan Magazine (New York), volume 5, number 2, March, 1897, page 218.

The Metropolitan Museum published a blog-post[viii]that chronicles episodes from Omene’s colorful life; her invented Turkish heritage (court records identified her as Madge Hargreaves), her stormy relationship with her mock-Japanese magician husband “Yank Hoe” (court records identified him as Ercole Castignone), her ill-fated affair with the Marquis Edmundo de Olivieri, her widely reported visit to Chicago’s “Suicide Club” (the only woman ever allowed inside), and death in Montreal in 1899.


Omene was also a shrewd businesswoman.  She followed the money out West to mining camps in Montana and eventually to Alaska, during the Yukon Gold Rush.  She also owned a half-interest in the Olympia Theater in Seattle, where she sometimes shared the bill with Edison’s Wonderful Projectoscope:



I imagine her as a sort of “Miss Kitty” of Gunsmoke fame – a saloon-keeper/dancehall girl with a heart of gold (Google it, kids).

Omene Cabinet Card (New York Public Library Digital Collection)


Although Avita and Omene were two successful danse du ventre entertainers, they were not the first.  And, although the dance became known in Paris in 1889, it was danced in Paris at least as early as 1866.


Before The Fair

Our Paris and Continental Correspondence.
Paris, April 6, 1866.

The next packet boat expected at Marseilles from Alexandria will bring over a dozen or sixteen Egyptian dancers, who have been hired, or, more properly, bought, at the last fair at Fanta.  This entirely new style of cargo is destined for one of our great Paris theatres – that of the Port St. Martin.

The Evening Telegraph(Philadelphia), April 24, 1866, page 2.

In the United States, non-dancing, exotic Middle Eastern beauties became a staple of “museums” and side-shows as early as 1865, in the form of the “Circassian Beauty; first displayed by P. T. Barnum.[ix]  Omene, herself, was sometimes billed as “Circassian Beauty” in advertisements for her partner “Yank Hoe’s” magic shows. 


Evening World (New York), August 15, 1889.

“Nautch” dancing was a form of dancing that enjoyed some success long before the Chicago World’s Fair in 1893.  Reports from travelers in India described the tradition:

The nautch girls are a caste in India – pariahs, it may be, but very beautiful.  They never marry and accumulate great wealth. . . .  It cannot be supposed that in the house of a respectable Hindoo merchant in Delhi any improprieties would be allowed in a nautch, but it has been surmised that in less respectable places the performance is carried into the regions of indelicacy, and that, by the conclusion of the performance, the nautch girls retain but little of their costume except the jewelry which adorns the person. . . .  Their pleasures may well be imagined to degenerate into orgies which are fortunately unknown in Western lands.

The New York Herald, May 24, 1869, page 5.

Dance of the Nautch Girls (1858) (New York Public Library Digital Collection).

In 1870, Niblo’s Garden in New York City presented the play, “The Black Crook,” which included a “Nautch Girls Dance.”[x]   P. T. Barnum traveled with a troupe of “Nautch girls, with pliant and voluptuous, though dusky, limbs” as early as 1884.[xi]  Perhaps that is where their grandsons acquired their appetite for erotic dance.

In 1888, Thomas Stevens reported seeing Nautch dancers performing at what he called “Kootub Minar” (now generally spelled Qutub Minar / Qutub – Koota – hmmmm?) while on his round-the-world bicycle trip:

An idea seems to prevail in many Occidental minds that the Nautch dance is a very naughty thing; but nothing is farther from the truth.  Of course it can be made naughty, and no doubt, often is; but then so can many another form of innocent amusement.


Thomas Stevens, “Around the World on a Bicycle. Through India XXVII”, Outing, volume 11, number 4, January 1888, page 362.

In 1884, the image of "Oriental" dancing girls was familiar enough to readers of the satirical magazine, Puck, that a cartoonist could depict the home of a Mormon polygamist as a Middle Eastern harem:


In 1886, General Custer’s widow saw the Italian-American dancer, Bonfanti (whom she had seen in “The Black Crook” 26 years earlier), dance an erotic Egyptian dance – the “Bee Dance,” which was apparently something like the “dance of the seven veils”:

She sways and undulates over the stage with a gauze scarf in executing the bee dance of the Almas . . .

New York Tribune, January 2, 1886, page 5.

Gustav Flaubert saw the “bee dance” in Egypt in 1849; and the dance had been danced in the United States at least as early as 1867, although it seemed to enjoy a brief renaissance in the late-1880s. 

In 1892, one year before the Chicago World’s Fair, another erotic dance fad, based on the “bee dance,” swept the nation – the “Serpentine Dance”:


Numerous young ladies and gentlemen are claiming the honor of inventing or first introducing it.  They forget that it is only a development of Pharaoh’s favorite “bee dance,” still to be met with on the banks of the Nile. . . . The exertion of working the 80 yards of China silk into graceful folds is about equal to the muscular exercise involved in a performance with the Indian clubs, and the foot dancing is necessarioly confined to a small space, for fear of entanglement.

Pittsburg Dispatch(Pennsylvania), September 17, 1892, page 9.

The captivating movements of the dance intrigued early film pioneers, the Lumiere Brothers and Thomas Edison, who captured her movements on film.  You can see her today on  YouTube.

But the poster may be more interesting than the film:
Serpentine Dance

Like many other prominent dancers, Loie Fuller led a colorful life.  She “married” a man named William B. Hayes by civil contract (he claimed to be a nephew to President Rutherford B. Hayes); sued him for bigamy when she found out that he was already married; and was sued by his real wife for $3,300 in an effort to recover money that he had given to Loie to help her open a burlesque company in Cuba; all in a day’s work for a hard-working Victorian dancer.

In 1888, P. T. Barnum’s circus traveled with a troupe of “Moorish” dancers.  Although the dance was not described, it may well have been similar to the danse du ventre that came to prominence the following year in Paris:

Barnum’s at its Biggest.  The children and a good many of the grown folks discovered that the Bedouins look exactly as they do in illustrated Bibles and Sunday school books, but when four girls with short Moorish dresses danced on a high platform to voluptuous music, the resemblance ceased.

The Sun (New York), April 3, 1888, page 2.

Waco Evening News (Texas), October 9, 1888.


The hit Broadway musical comedy, “A Brass Monkey,” of 1888 (the show that helped popularize the expression, “Razzle-Dazzle”) included a “Dance of the Orient,” reflecting at least a passing familiarity with, or interest in, with Eastern dance styles.



And, when the “stomach dance” made a hit in Paris, the satirist Bill Nye (not the science guy), reporting from Paris, recognized its box-office potential immediately:

I paid my money and visited the concert and stomach danceof Algeria.  The hurdy-gurdyof the transmission country and the can-can of the continent are not knee-high to this great exhibit.  It is barbaric.  It is heathenish.  It is unique.  If a New York man with money will take the troupe over to America, he will make more money than anybody. . . .

She is attired in a cool costume of white mosquito netting and a Marseilles quilt, which she lays aside when she begins.  She also wears gold anklets when the weather is cool, and a silk scarf in each hand as she proceeds with the dance, allowing joy to be entirely unconfined. . . . her corset bill is very small. . . . Several people from America went away while she danced, but a Franchman and I remained.  I stayed because, as a newspaper reporter, I have become accustomed to sights which would shock other people, and the Frenchman, remained because he was a Frenchman.

The Indianapolis Journal, July 14, 1889, part 2, page 12.

Bill Nye “shocked” by the Danse du ventre in Paris.

With the “nautch dance”, “bee dance,” “serpentine dance” and “oriental” dancing, generally, finding success on the legitimate stage; and with P. T. Barnum traveling around with exotic dancers; the public was primed for a more brazen style of erotic dance; and they got it with Avita and Omene.  And then, the “Midway dance,” or “kouta-kouta,” took the country by storm during the Chicago World’s Fair of 1893.


The Fair

To celebrate the 400th anniversary of Columbus “discovering” the New World, the city of Chicago hosted the World’s Columbian Exposition 1893.  The centerpiece of the fair was the “The Highway Through the Nations” located on the Midway Plaisance; an Epcot Center-style row of exhibit spaces, each highlighting the culture of different countries and regions from around the world. 

The word “midway,” meaning the entertainment area of a fair or carnival, is derived from the Midway Plaisance of the Chicago World’s Fair.  The name Midway Plaisance, itself, however, predates the fair:

Midway Plaisance was the name given by the founders of the South Park system of Chicago . . . to a strip of wooded land one mile in length . . . connecting the two great parks of the south division of the city, Jackson [(the site of the World’s Columbian Exposition)] on the east, and Washington on the west.  The word “plaisance as used in this connection signifies “pleasure way,” and as such it was accepted and used by Chicago people up to the commencement of preparatory work upon the World’s Fair.

John J. Flinn, The Authorized Official Guide to the World’s Columbian Exposition, 1893.

Some accounts of the Midway accuse the organizers of giving the Midway a racist or Darwinian organization, with “primitive” cultures at one end giving way progressively to more and more “civilized” or familiar cultures.[xii]  The official map of the Midway, however shows no such bias. 

The South Seas Islanders Village and Javanese Village were both closer to the fair entrance than the Austrian and German Villages.  The Dahomey Village (Ghana) and the Chinese village were both closer to the fair entrance than the Hungarian Concert Café and the American Military Camp.  Whatever the order was, it does not appear to be “Darwinian,” or overtly racist; unless Darwin liked South Seas Island music better than Hungarian music; which he may have.  And, the two Midway concessions closest to the entrance to the fair were the Blarney Castle and the Diamond Match Company on the other.  I’m not sure that the organizers believed that the gift of gab and instant fire were the pinnacle of human achievement.


John J. Flinn, Official Guide to the Midway Plaisance, 1893.

 
Exotic Dancers

Several of the villages provided dance exhibitions, some more shocking than the others.  “Ten pretty girls known as the ‘Troupe of the Bella Bayah’” danced, at the Persian Theater.  The Tunisian and Algerian Village featured “haughty odalisques and sultanas brought from a Moorish Harem” as well as “dancing girls” who performed in a hall with seating for 1,000.  There were Irish pipers and jig dancers, Hungarian dancers, Dahomeyan (Ghanaian) dancers, Brazilian dancers, Moroccan dancers and Javanese dancers.  But the ones who caused the biggest stir were the dancers of the Egyptian Theater in the “Streets of Cairo” exhibition.


The revised Official Guide to the Midway, issued in August of 1893, about half-way through the fair’s run, featured an image of the “Egyptian” dancers as the focal point of the cover illustration.  When the fair opened, organizers imagined it as a lofty educational and industrial enterprise.  But after the first six weeks of the fair proved to be a financial disaster, however, the powers that be brought in some professional help – a “snake oil salesman” - literally.

The fair managers turned over the promotion of the fair to a successful patent medicine salesman who brought in a number of amusement managers and circus managers to save the fair:

They discussed the business for three days and unanimously decided that the fair was but a big show and that show rules applied to it and that the show features would have to be brought out somewhat stronger if the thing was expected to pay.  There was a midway there then, but it was decided that it did not have enough drawing powers and that it should be increased ten to twenty-fold; that for every hootchy-cootchy [(the story was written seven years after the fair, using terminology that was apparently not current during the fair)] or other dancer, elephant, wild bear or monkey that was to be found on the streets of Cairo there should be at least ten more added and everything else in proportion and that as far as possible everything should be run ‘wide open.’ To use a show term.  It was decided that all the rest of the fair should be allowed to take care of itself if it would, but forced if it would not, until a change came in the condition of things, for it seemed to be sure that as the reformation from a fair to a show took place the thing would pay.

The Evening Star (Washington DC), May 5, 1900.


The new guidebook, written several weeks after the fair-management shake-up, featured the most notorious of the fair’s dancers prominently on its cover.  Although it might seem odd that the fair would publish a new official guidebook so close to the end of the fair (It opened on May 1, 1893 and closed October 30, 1893), the new guidebook would prove useful for more than a year after the fair closed.  Although the fair, proper, closed as scheduled in October, 1893, the Midway Plaisance, along with many of its attractions stayed open until early 1895:

The Java village, the streets of Cairo, old Vienna and the Dahomey [(Ghanaian)] people only came to their closing exhibition in the Midway plaisance on Chicago’s lake front last week! It seems incredible that they should still have delighted sightseers a full year after the exposition closed. – Philadelpia Ledger.

The Philipsburg Mail(Philipsburg, Montana), January 10, 1895 (citing the Philadelphia Ledger).


One reviewer was unimpressed, devoted plenty of ink to describing, in salacious detail, exactly what it was that he did not like about it:

Over in the Cairo theater may be found the other extreme.  The performance is begun by a dusky beauty in a peacock blue skirt with gold fringe about the bottom, and old gold ribbons hanging from the top.  She wears a waist to match, but it has only two points in front, just enough for a fastening.  The skirt hangs upon the hips, and the betting man offers three to one the dancer will lose it, but it looks like a cinch, and he can get no takers.  The skirt and the waist are not on speaking terms, and the yawning breach is bridged by an unmentionable nether garment, which permits a free lay of the abdominal muscles.  This garment also covers the decolette charm in the bodice.  There are bracelets about the dancer’s ankles strings of beads hang from her neck, and a flock of brass beer checks have made a nest in her hair. . . .
Fatima, the girl in blue, doesn’t prance up and down the stage, or go into mad gyrations, or try to kick a hole in the ceiling.  She keeps time in timid little steps, and occasionally sidles about the stage in slow, gliding circles.  It seems to be her pet ambition to disjoint herself at the hips, though a man in yesterday’s audience thought she was suffering from an overdose of green apples.  At any rate, her anatomy below the waist and the knees performs a series of violent tremors, spasms and contortions.  She literally humps herself in this wild agony, and occasionally turns her back to the audience to give ocular proof.  Tiny cymbals fastened to the dancer’s fingers like castanets keep up a clanging accompaniment.  It is long after the audience is weary of the monotonous performance before Fatima shows signs of exhaustion.  The cymbals stop to take breath, the eye-lids drop, a languourous tremor sweeps thro’ the swaying body and the dancer is about to drop asleep.  Unfortunately the tambo player wakes up at this inopportune time and starts a new bar of music.  That banishes sleep, and the poor girl has to do it all over again.

Sensibilities are Shocked.

This is the dans du ventre.  It might fracture Anglo-Saxon susceptibilities even to name it in English.  Many ladies seem to get their money’s worth before it is half over, for they leave the theater.  The dans du ventre is quite a strain on American sensibilities, but many want to see it as one of the oriental curiosities of The Fair.  It is not likely to become popular in this country, and yet it may be well in our virtuous dignity to remember that this was said a few years ago of the can-can, which is now familiar as the skirt dance.

Several varieties of this dance are given in the street in Cairo, but the distinctions are two subtle for American perception.  They appear to consist in differently colored dresses.  In one example two girls do team work, which seems to be a scheme to take a mean advantage of the ignorance of the audience and let a novice practice on it.  The oriental orchestra gets weary on the slightest provocation.  At the end of each dance it sneaks out to see a man and take a nap, and a new band files in.

The Sunday Inter-Ocean (Chicago, Illinois), June 4, 1893.

Another contemporary witness missed the more “naughty dances” that he heard were to be seen at night, but briefly described the “muscle dance”:

You hear a great deal of talk about naughty dances on the Midway.  I passed through this resort in the day time, and didn’t see any of the naughty dances – if such there be.  They do say, however, that a night on Midway will reveal several things not seen in the day.  I saw the muscle dance in the Turkish theatre.  As an exhibition of control over the muscles of the body the dance was a howling success, but as a thing of beauty it was not in it.  But that does not affect the price of a ride on the camel.

Asheville Daily Citizen(Asheville, North Carolina), October 13, 1993.

The Princeton Union(Princeton, Minnesota), September 14, 1893, page 6.

Another eye-witness to the dance was also (at least officially) unimpressed; he also criticized what he saw as hypocrisy in the widespread moral outrage about the dance:

The “Midway” owes a good deal of its attractiveness to the ferociously virtuous old ladies and epicene old gentlemen who made its popularity by denouncing it.  It looks almost as if it were a “put up job” between the social purity people and the fakirs, to boom the thing by “indexing” it. . . .  The objects to which curiosity has been thus directed are the dancing girls of various Oriental nations: Turkish, Algerian, Egyptian.  Modesty in dress or undress really seems to be a matter of latitude – of climate – of custom.  The Oriental woman would not bare her bosom below the armpits, as American and English women – prudish enough in other respects – do, nightly at balls of the best society.  The Turkish dancing girl does not display every line of her form in gauzy tights as do the ladies of the ballet, every night upon the stage. 

The Yellowstone Journal, October 24, 1893 (Miles City, Montana).

We may forgive these writers for apparently conflating “Turkish” and “Egyptian” dancers.  In 1893, Egypt had been part of the Turkish-controlled Ottoman Empire for centuries, and had only recently been occupied by England, although it would technically remain part of the Ottoman Empire until World War I.  My Norwegian great-grandfather fell victim to the same sort of mistake when he was listed as Swedish, of all things, on his arrival documents; Norway was, at the time, under Swedish control.  I know that when I was young, I probably loosely referred to all residents of the Soviet Union as Russian, the Russian dominance obliterating the notion of “union.”

But some writers could and did distinguish from among some of the various “exotic” dances on display in Chicago and other fairs afterwards.



The Sunday Inter-Ocean (Chicago, Illinois), June 4, 1893.

Most of the references that refer to the “kouta-kouta” dance at the fair were published during the year following the fair’s end; with the earliest accounts appearing within just a couple months of its October 31 closing date.  During the fair, nearly all of the accounts that I have seen refer to the dance variously as the danse du ventre, “mussel (or muscle) dance” or “Egyptian/Turkish/Algerian/pick-your-exotic country dance.”

I did, however, find one reference, an advertisement for a new-fangled midway attraction, that used the name, “Kota Dance,” demonstrating that the expression “kouta-kouta” was actually used during the run of the fair.


FOR SALE.
THE STRONGEST GRAFT ON EARTH IS
NELSON’S X-RAY

For looking through a person’s body.  It’s taking three and four thousand dollars weekly; it’s bankrupting all other attractions; it’s a novelty; it’s a sensation; it’s the best advertised attraction the world has ever known.  For men only; it’s a thousand miles ahead of the Kota Dance; can give a hot speil on it.  Rich and racy for side show.  Work it on stage; can use any man or woman for subject; just stand in front of the light, let them look through you. . . . [T]ake a nice looking lady, charge 10c. to look through her.

The New York Clipper, September 12, 1893, page 449.

Shortly after the fair closed, M. B. Leavitt’s “spectacular production” of “The Spider and Fly,” featured a song about the “kouta-kouta” dancers at the Chicago World’s Fair:

Naughty Doings in the Midway Plaisance

. . .
On the Midway, the Midway, the Midway Plaisance,
Where the naughty girls from Algiers do the Kouta-Kouta dance.
Married men without their wives give a longing glance
At all the naughty doings on the Midway Plaisance.

. . .
An old man said, “I’d like to get an introduction there;”
He sent his card around by way of chance,
And on it wrote, “Oh, darling, my naughty angel fair,
Teach me to do your ‘Kouta-Kouta’ dance.

The Seattle Post-Intelligencer, February 23, 1894, page 5.

San Francisco Call, March 21 1894.


For "Coochie-Coochei" (late-1894) and "Hoochie-Coochie (1895), and the deep history of pre-Fair "Kutchy, Kutchy" and "Hootchy, Cootchy, Cootchy, I'm the Ham-Fat Man," see PART II - the History and Etymology of the "Hoochie-Coochie" Dance.


[ii]The Sun (New York), January 14, 1897, page 2.
[iii]The “Stanley Opera Company” appears to have been a British touring company active in India and the Far East.  Although I could find very few references to the “Stanley Opera Company” in American sources, a British newspaper archive gets numerous “hits” for the company; most of them references to its touring in India, with a few references to its appearances in China and Japan.
[iv]Mario Uchard, Mon Oncle Barbassou, Paris, Ancienne Maison Michel Levy Freres, 1877.
[v]Maro Uchard, My Uncle Barbassou, London, Vizetelly & Co., 1888,
[vi]The New York Clipper, May 21, 1892, page 105.
[vii]Ferdinand Kittel, A Kannada-English Dictionary, Mangalore, Basel Mission Book and Tract Depository, 1894.
[viii]“Forgotten Scandal: Omene, the Suicide Club, and Celebrity Culture in 19th-Century America, Metmuseum.org, May 4, 2016.
[x]The New York Herald, December 28, 1870, page 2.
[xi]Omaha Daily Bee (Nebraska), September 27, 1884, page 5.
[xii]See, for example, Josh Cole, Cultural and Racial Stereotypes on the Midway, Historia, page 19 (citing Robert Muccigrosso, Celebrating the New World: Chicago’s Columbian Expositino of 1893 (Chicago: Ivan R. Dee, Inc., 1993), 164).

Part II - the History and Etymology of the "Hoochie-Coochie" Dance

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Part II

Naughty Doings in the Midway Plaisance

. . .
On the Midway, the Midway, the Midway Plaisance,
Where the naughty girls from Algiers do the Kouta-Kouta dance.
Married men without their wives give a longing glance
At all the naughty doings on the Midway Plaisance.

. . .
An old man said, “I’d like to get an introduction there;”
He sent his card around by way of chance,
And on it wrote, “Oh, darling, my naughty angel fair,
Teach me to do your ‘Kouta-Kouta’ dance.

The Seattle Post-Intelligencer, February 23, 1894, page 5.


The exotic, erotic form of dancing popularized at the Chicago World’s Fair of 1893 would later become known as, the “coochie-coochie” or “hoochie-coochie.”  When the same dance was popularized three years earlier, at the Paris World’s Fair, the dance was generally referred to as, the “stomach dance” or danse du ventre (French for dance of the stomach).  And even during the Chicago fair, the dance was generally referred to as, danse du ventre, “mussle dance,” “stomach dance” or the “Midway dance.”

About one year before the Chicago World’s Fair, a dancer named “Avita” (or “Vita”), an Italian-American dancer who was educated in a convent in France, introduced a dance called, the “Kouta-Kouta,” in a Broadway play about a man who inherited his uncle’s harem when the uncle (as it turned out) faked his own death to avoid facing his first wife.  Avita said she learned the dance in India from a Rajah’s favorite dancer.  The dance may not have been precisely the same as a belly dance, but it was considered just as risqué, and was generally lumped in together with the other exotic dances that shocked and titillated American audiences.

Shortly after the fair closed, and occasionally during the fair, the name, “Kouta-Kouta” (or the like) became widely associated with Midway dances at the fair.  The name “Coochie-Coochie” first appeared in print about one year after the fair closed; apparently derived from “Kouta-Kouta” under the influence of the expressions, “kutchy, kutchy” and “hootchy, kootchy, kootchy,” which had been popular song lyrics from as early as 1863.  The transition from “Coochie-Coochie” to “Hoochie-coochie” may have been further influenced by a linguistic template favoring rhyming reduplication expressions that begin with “H”, like “helter skelter,” hocus pocus,” and “hodge podge”[i]; and earlier such dancing girl-related expressions like, “hurdy gurdy,” “honky tonk” and “hula-hula,” all of which were in use before “hoochie coochie.”

The dancer named “Little Egypt,” who frequently gets credit for popularizing the dance at the fair, first appears in the written record within weeks after the fair closed.  It is possible that she danced at the fair, but if she did, she did not appear to achieve any degree of notoriety.  She did not become famous, or infamous, until taking her clothes off at a bachelor party thrown for one of P. T. Barnum’s grandsons in 1896.




After the Fair

When the Chicago World’s Fair closed in October of 1893, the dancers did not head back to Egypt, Algeria, Persia or other points of actual or purported origin.  Some dancers stayed in Chicago at the Midway Plaisance, which remained open for more than a year after the fair.  Other dancers, with and their promoters and entourage, picked up their tents and camels and packed off to other fairs.  The success of the Chicago World’s fair soon gave way to the California Midwinter International Exposition of 1894 (opened in January 1894), the Northwest Interstate Exposition (opened August 1894), and the Cotton States Exposition (opened in September 1895).  And some of the dancers would up in jail.

In the reporting of some of these fairs, the dance that would later be called the “coochie-coochie” or “hoochie-coochie,” was sometimes called the “kouta-kouta”; notably in relation to its performance in Boston and San Francisco.  But the first big post-Chicago fair was held in New York; well, to be fair, it wasn’t really a new fair; it was a recreation of the Chicago fair.


New York City

The Sun (New York), November 29, 1893, page 10.

The “World’s Fair Prize Winners’ Exposition” opened at the Grand Central Palace in New York City on Thanksgiving Day of 1893; thirty days after the Chicago World’s Fair officially closed:

The main floor will be entirely filled with foreign exhibits, the native exhibits being on the first and second galleries.  On the third gallery will be the Midway Plaisance features, including the streets of Cairo, the Javanese Village and the Oriental Café, with the Syrian dancing girls.

New York Tribune, November 29, 1893, page 12.

And, like clockwork, the Police intervened:


A decided commotion was caused in the Cairo Street last night when Inspector Williams rose from a seat near the stage, where Fareida was performing her “danse du ventre,” rather more fully clad than in Chicago, and, extending his arm, said, decidedly: “This show will not go on tonight or any other night.”

New York Tribune, December 3, 1893, page 4.

The action may have come as a surprise, since Anthony Comstock (who had formed the New York Society for the Suppression of Vice) “had seen the dance on Friday night and made no objection to it.”  It may also have come as a surprise to the dancer, “Omene” (see Part I), who was then appearing at New York City’s Imperial Music Hall, and who was reportedly “far more suggestive and bold in her treatment of the dance than the women of the Midway Plaisance.”[ii]

In order for force a test case and get a court ruling, the dancers went the next night in defiance of the police order; the police arrested them, and four dancers were fined $50.  Disappointed courtroom crowds never got to see them dance:

New York Tribune, December 5, 1893, page 3.



Zuleika Ziemman, eighteen years old, of Algiers; Zora Ziemman, seventeen years old, of Algiers, and Fatma Missgisch, twenty-two years old, of Algiers.  Their New York residence is at 114 East Fortieth Street.  They were charged with being public nuisances.  The Dancers manager is Adolph Delacroix, a Belgian and a civil engineer, having spent a number of years in Algiers and Egypt. . . . Manager Delacroix said he was weary of New York, and would take his show elsewhere.

The Evening World, December 6, 1893, page 3.

So he packed up his dancers and shuffled off to Boston – founded by puritans – what could go wrong?

          Boston

The “Kouta Kouta” dancers will no longer disgrace the Boston stage.

Like a surgeon’s knife, deftly wielded, the Post’s article yesterday morning cut out this and other abominations that have catered to depraved human nature at the Howard Atheneum.

Promptly seconding the Post’s demand yesterday morning came a petition of the leading organizations of Boston women calling for action.

The Boston Post, January 18, 1894, page 1.

The Herald (Los Angeles), January 18, 1894, page 1.


Arizona Republican (Phoenix, Arizona), January 18, 1894, page 1.

          San Francisco

The California Midwinter International Exposition was the first large regional fair to capitalize on the successful business model established at the World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago.  The organizers’ intent was to bring a World’s Fair to California and the Pacific Rim.  Remnants of the fair can still be seen in San Francisco, including the Dore vase at the de Young Museum and the Japanese Tea Garden, the reputed (and disputed) original home of the “Chinese” fortune cookie.


To capture or recreate the excitement and buzz generated by the Chicago fair, they recreated many of the same, successful elements. For example, the Midwinter Fair had a “Firth Wheel” (like the Ferris Wheel that debuted in Chicago) and an “electric tower” (the spittin’ image of the Eifel Tower and the smaller copy from Chicago).  And, of course, they brought along some of the fair’s big money-makers, including the “Street in Cairo” and many of the same dancers:

At the Paris Exposition, in 1889, the Rue du Caire attracted a great deal of attention from visitors of all nationalities.  At Chicago the idea was expanded, and developed into one of the greatest successes of that Exposition of great successes.  As a result of these two experiments we have here in the Midwinter fair an oriental Village or Street in Cairo, complete and perfect in every detail. . . .

Two of the principal buildings of the Village are the theaters, the one called the Peruvian [(sic – read Persian)] Palace of the Bella Baya and the other Cairo Street Theater.  It is here that the dancers and singers are to be seen and heard, those houris of the East, La Belle Baya, the Queen of Beauty, the bright particular star of the Persian Palace, Akoun Ben Eni, Ayesha, the soft-eyed, Soledad and Fatima, Enchantress of the Nile.  Here also are the musicians under the management of Zithoun.  In the Cairo Street Theater the visitor may see the sword dance and candle dance and the much talked of Danse du Ventre, performed by such stars of the East as Rachael of Beyrut, Ameede of Damascus and Feride of Egypt.

Official Guide to the California Midwinter Exposition in Golden Gate Park, San Francisco, G. Spaulding & Co., 1894, pages 113-114.

The Morning Call, March 27, 1894.


The dances the dancers danced at the Midwinter Fair in San Francisco were routinely called, the “Kouta-kouta”:

The kouta-kouta, as this dance is called, would shock a Puritan into death agonies.  It is characterized by lascivious suggestiveness run mad, and the antics of a Carmencita are discounted by its languourous suppleness.  Whatever wild Indians, Dervishes, Arabs, Kanakas, and scores of other specialties, can avail to make the show draw, is there.  Those who are surfeited with the kouta-kouta can go a short distance and regale themselves with the even more indecent houla-houlaof the Hawaiian dance girls.  “You pays your money and you takes your choice.”

The Herald (Los Angeles), February 1, 1894, page 4.

Several dancers in San Francisco were arrested – but were acquitted after performing their dances for an appreciative jury:

The Morning Call (San Francisco), April 10, 1894, page 12.

When the Midwinter Fair ended, one reporter and a group of his friends hired some of the dancers for a private and (he believed) more authentic dance – in the nude:

On Saturday evening last a party of friends, including myself, had the famous kouta-kouta dance performed in private.  The girls, who are devoid of all shame, danced before our party in an entirely nude condition, not a vestige of clothing remaining upon their persons.  This is the only way in which one can get a glimpse of the dance as it is performed in oriental countries.

The Herald (Los Angeles), April 25, 1894, page 6.

No arrests were made.


          Elsewhere

The “kouta-kouta” also showed up in Seattle, Washington, Albany, New York,[iii]Brockton, Massachusetts,[iv]and at the Westchester County Fair in White Plains, New York:

A loud-voiced man stood on the platform in front of a tent in which two alleged Kouta-Kouta girls were, and announced: “Ladies and gentlemen, within this tent is contained the two most beautiful girls who danced on the Midway Plaisance.  They do the most wonderful dance on record, namely, the Kouta-Kouta dance of the Midway Plaisance.

The Sun (New York), September 27, 1894, page 5.
 
The “kouta-kouta” (by that name) was still being performed in Washington DC[v]and Pittsburg[vi]during 1895. 

In late-1894 and again in 1896, two newspapers in Washington DC referred to the dance with an apparently transitional form of the word, midway between “Kouta-Kouta” and “Coochie-Coochie”:

The kutcha-kutcha dance, which was put on with the Reily & Wood show at Kernan's Theater, Monday night, was stopped yesterday by Mr. Kernan, who was much displeased with it.

Washington Post, December 5, 1894, page 6.[vii]

A roaring farce entitled “Two New Wives,” a scene in the sultan’s harem, concluded the performance and gave opportunity for Florence Miller to do her sensational kutcha-kutcha dance.

The Morning Times (Washington DC), December 29, 1896, page 4.

But by late-1896, the expression “Coochie-Coochie,” which first appeared as early as late-1894, had almost completely erased “Kouta-Kouta;” and “Hoochie-Coochie” was starting to make inroads.

Oscar Wilde’s Salomefeatured a “stomach dance” or “dance of the seven veils” on Broadway in 1893.
The Early Work of Aubrey Beardsley, London, John Lane, 1920, page 148.

Coochie-Coochie

The earliest example of “coochie-coochie” (or the like) that I could find, in the sense of an exotic, erotic dance, is from a fair in New Jersey; on the other side of New York City from White Plains, where the “kouta-kouta” was still in use:

VICE AND VLUGARITY AT A FAIR.
UNWORTHY FEATURES OF THE SOMERSET COUNTY AGRICULTURAL SHOW

Somerville, N. J., Sept. 13 (Special). – “Come, gents, walk right up and see the ‘Couchee-Couchee Dance.’ For gents only, remember; no ladies allowed.”

New York Tribune, September 14, 1894, page 5.

In February of 1895, a high-society “French Ball” in New York City featured a woman in a skin-tight, flesh-colored body suit, a high-kicker, a “hula-hula” dancer and the “coochie-coochie.”  The police were on hand to stop any funny business; and a reporter was on hand to chronicle the madness; and the band played, “snatches from the coochie coochie,” suggesting that the song, “Poor Little Country Maid” may already have been known:


By midnight the grand ball room was brilliant with gay maskers.  Capt. Pickett, who went into the Tenderloin with a determination to keep it straight, had his hands full from that time on, with his thirty-five uniformed men all over the place, to say nothing of the fifteen detectives up from Headquarters under Inspector McAvoy.
On they came, slender girls, buxom women and stalwart amazons, each vieing with her sisters in the liberality of her anatomical display.  Indeed, one young person set out from the dressing-rooms in a suit of flesh-colored tights, sans everything in the way of trimming; no skirts, no trunks, not even a girdle – a veritable living picture. . . . 
At 1 o’clock the dance music was a fashionable medley, including snatches from the “coochee-coochee,” and a score of women among the dancers “coochee-coocheed” spontaneously all over the ball-room – but only during the bars of the appropriate music.  Then came a bit of Spanish music, and forty emulators of Carmeneta appeared, and then weird strains remindful of the “Midway” and there was “Hula-Hula” wriggling in every set, exciting and highly enjoyable for the “old boys” and the gilded youth, but bewildering to the sedate Capt. Pickett and his men. . . .
At 4 o’clock a wee little one in knickerbockers and answering to the name of “Gyp” “coochee-coocheed”and wriggled in a box to the delight of a coterie o men until a stern committeeman stopped her.
At 4.03 a slender young woman, whose perversity in high kicking had been repeatedly curbed, gave vent to her pent up exhileration by doing her “act” in the middle of the floor.  Her limbs formed a straight line with a dainty slipper at either end. Then she was hustled away.
At 4.04 an amazon in baby blue tights wanted to punch her escort for spilling wine all over the blue nethers but was restrained.
At 5.10 the French ball for 1895 passed into history.

The Evening World (New York), February 12, 1895, page 3.


The “coochie coochee” music played at the masked ball may have been the popular song, “The Streets of Cairo; or The Poor Little Country Maid”; a song about a naïve young country girl who loses her innocence at the fair and gets a job, appearing “each night, in abbreviated clothes.” 


The lyrics featured the now familiar expression, “kutchy, kutchy”:

She never saw the Streets of Cairo,
  On the Midway she had never strayed,
She never saw the kutchy, kutchy,
  Poor little country maid.[viii]

The now-familiar melody is now played in every cartoon ever made with a snake charmer or a Middle Eastern dancing girl.  I think learned the tune in the second grade; it went something like this: “There’s a place in France, where the Ladies wear no pants, but the men don’t care, ‘cause they wear no underwear.”  Andy Bernard sang it on the office (with slightly different lyrics); and Dan Quinn recorded the original version of the song in 1895.

The same tune was published separately in 1895, as an instrumental called, “Kutchy Kutchy, or the Midway Dance.”


The iconic first five notes of the song (da-da-dah dah dah) are said to be identical to a French dancing song, “Colin Prend Sa Hotte,” which “appears in a French songbook from 1719”; and which, in turn, is nearly identical to “an Algerian or Arabic melody known as Kradoutja [that]has been popular in France since 1600.”[ix] 


The melody had also been associated with exotic dancers while the Chicago World’s Fair was still going on.  The theme appears in the “Persian Dancers” section of Gustav Luders’ 1893 composition, “An Afternoon in Midway Plaisance”[x]; beginning in the fourth measure.



It may be only a coincidence, but the fact that the original title of the “kouta-kouta” dance melody was apparently “Kradoutja” in France makes me wonder.  Is “Kouta” a corruption of “Kradoutja”?  I don’t know, and there’s no other suggestion that it is.  But still, the fact that exotic, Middle Eastern dance forms were a hit in Paris before they came to the United States, and they knew the melody as “Kradoutja,” makes me wonder.  Of course, I do not know how well known “Kradoutja” was in France, or whether it was popularly associated with Middle Eastern dance there, so the jury is still out.  French linguists – a little help please.  But the first use of the expression, “Kouta-Kouta,” by the dancer “Avita,” who said that she learned the dance in India, may be more likely. (See Part I).


By 1896, when Thomas Edison took time off from working on his nickel-a-view X-ray machine to film an exotic dancer doing the “coochie-coochie,” the expression “kouta-kouta” was nearly extinct:

X-Rays in a Slot Machine.
Drop a Nickel and See the Bones in Your Hand.

New York, March 29. – Thomas A. Edison ceased experimenting with X-rays today just long enough to see some Coochee-Coochee dancersphotographed for exhibition in his kinetoscope.  Then he went back to his Crookes tubes and stayed at work all night, for his wife was away.

The wizard has almost completed another nickel-in-the-slot machine.  You put your hand in a box containing X-rays and a fluorescent screen.  Drop in a nickel and see the bones of your hand.

The Pacific Commercial Advertiser (Honolulu, Hawaii), April 20, 1896, page 1.

Through the magic of Youtube – you can still see Edison’s Coochee-Coochee dancers (note, I do not vouch for the dates or titles; these are early images – but the dates, titles and places may be wrong):


The expression, “coochie-coochie” had a brief run of dominance, but “hoochie-coochie” was not far behind.


Hoochie-Coochie

The earliest examples of “hoochie-coochie” I could find date to 1896, in the title of another song about the fair, “When I Do the Hoochy Coochy in de Sky.”  The lyrics refer several attractions from the World’s Fair and reflect the casually racist language of the day (“coon” and “nig”) – and again with the X-rays:

Image from the Library of Congress (Copyright 1896)


They’ll turn the X-rays on me when the music plays,
So dat ev’ry one can see into the dance,

I’m goin’ to do the coochy seven thousand diff’rent ways,
And I’ll knock the Midway people in a trance.

Oh, I have got a big balloon
With a seat for ev’ry coon,
   So now ev’ry nig must either go or die;

Don’t you listen to strange rumors,
but go buy a pair of “bloomers,”
   For to do the hoochy coochy in the sky![xi]

In 1904, The Colored American(a newspaper based in Washington DC) called the songwriter, Gussie L. Davis, “[t]he most famous Negro composer of popular songs”; so it is not immediately clear whether they lyrics pandered to white attitudes and tastes, or reflected common black usage of the time.

Music historian, Charles Kennedy, in his essay, “When Cairo Met Main Street” (included in the book, Music and Culture in America, 1861-1918), places the expression, “hoochie coochie” (the dance) at Surf Avenue, Coney Island, in 1895[xii]; which, if true, would make the expression older than the song, but still younger than “Kouta-Kouta” and “Coochie-Coochie.”

Charles Kennedy also postulated that “hoochy coochy,” in the context of the song, did not refer to the then popular dance, but harkened back to an early meaning of the words, related to the lyric, “hoochee koochee koochee,” in the song, “The Ham Fat Man,” a s[xiii]  I am inclined to disagree.  The song’s exhortation to “buy a pair of ‘bloomers,’ [f]or to do the hoochy coochy in the sky,” is a clear allusion to purchasing a loose-fitting pair of “harem pants,” now perhaps better known as “Hammer” pants (as in M. C. Hammer); precisely the types of pants someone might wear to do a “hoochie-coochie” dance. 
taple of minstrel shows in the 1860s.

But that is not to say that there is no connection between “hoochie-coochie” and “The Ham Fat Man.”  The transition from “Kouta-Kouta” to “Coochie-Coochie” and “Hoochie-Coochie” may have been influenced by a general familiarity with the old Ham-Fat lyrics; and perhaps to more recent popular songs of the 1880s, like “Kutchy, Kutchy My Baby” (1884) and “Kutchy, Kutchy Coo!” (1888).


Kutchy Kutchy

The 1880s saw not one, but two popular songs with “Kutchy Kutchy” featured prominently in the title and lyrics.  Based on the context of the lyrics, the expression appears to have been in use, as it is today, for talking to babies and as kissing-sound onomatopoeia.

In 1884, Nellie Cox scored a hit with “Kutchy Kutchy My Baby,” a song about the joys of parenthood and kissing the baby:

Oh, how I love the baby,
There’s nothing quite so sweet,
As the bright eyed little baby,
With chubby hands and feet . . . .

Kutchy, kutchy, kutchy, little baby,
Happy all the day,
Kiss your little hand to papa, da, da,
When he goes away . . .


In 1888, M. H. Rosenfeld, who also wrote, “Hush, Little Baby, Don’t You Cry,” wrote, “Kutchy, Kutchy, Coo!”; a song that presages Rupert Holmes’ late-1970s classic, Escape (The Pina Colada Song), by about ninety years. 

A man and a woman, each cruising the street looking for a kiss-buddy (read, Victorian Tinder), find love – but inadvertently with their own spouse:

. . . As she pass’d along the street, Searching for a lover sweet,
“All I want is just a beau, To escort me to and fro” . . .

 So he took this maiden fair, With her bangs and golden hair, Down the street to take a trip, Held her close and kiss’d her lips,

Tighter grew his fond embrace, Tho’ he scarce could see her face, For the night was very dark, And he tho’t it such a lark. . .

Goodness gracious, in the light, There he saw a fearful sight,
He was stabb’d as with a knife, Who d’ye think it was, his wife.

Chorus:

Kutchy, kutchy, kutchy, coo! Lovey me, I lovey ‘oo,
Kutchy, kutchy, kutchy coo! Lovey Lovey ‘oo!
Kutchy coo! (Kiss, kiss,) Kutchy coo! (Kiss, kiss,)
Kutchy coo! (Kiss, kiss,) Kutchy coo!

The composer claimed to have been inspired to write the song after hearing a passerby say, “Kutchy, kutchy, coo!!” to some young lovers kissing on the street.


“Kutchy, Kutchy Coo!” reached a wide audience.  Newspapers in at least New York City and Boston published the complete sheet music, as a publishing gimmick to increase circulation:

Another evidence of the popularity of printing new music as a feature in daily journalism was evinced on Thursday, May 10th, by the publication in the Evening World of M. H. Rosenfeld’s song, “Kutchy, Kutchy, Coo!” a composition written originally for a soubrette and transferred to that newspaper.  The music was reproduced from the original plate by the electro process, and presented a clean and admirable appearance, typographically.  The Boston Globe also reprinted the composition on the following Sunday, issuing a large number of copies in excess of its regular edition.

Los Angeles Daily Herald, June 3, 1888, page 5.

If “Kutchy, Kutchy” was kissy-face, baby-talk nonsense in the 1880s, it may have been just rhyming, kissy-face nonsense in the 1860s, when “hootchy, cootchy, cootchy” is first attested – in the lyrics of “The Ham Fat Man.”



The Ham Fat Man

Both “hoochie-coochie” (derived from “coochie coochie”) and “coochie-coochie” (an altered form of kouta-kouta) may have been derived, at least in part, from a general familiarity with what was then a decades-old song lyric, “hootchy, kootchy, kootchy, I’m the Ham Fat Man.”  “The Ham Fat Man” was a staple of black-face minstrelsy in the 1860s, but is best known today as the inspiration for the word “hamfatter,” later shortened to “ham,” meaning a bad actor. 

The earliest reference I could find to the song is in a report of a military construction battalion of free black workers erecting the defenses around Baltimore during the American Civil War:

Several thousand hale, hearty and well-fed colored men, assured of receiving a fair compensation for their labors, are arduously engaged, and it is amusing to see the enthusiasm with which they discharge their duties.  Whilst shoveling up the earth and erecting the barricades, they enjoy themselves by singing such songs as “When this Cruel War is Over,” “Coochee, Coochee, Coochee, the Ham Fat Man,” and other similar compositions, and they certainly have many star singers amongst them.  They are all in high glee and in good spirits. – Balt. American.

The Daily National Republican(Washington DC), June 26, 1863, page 2.

At the time, the song was only a few years old.  The earliest indication of the song that I’ve found is an instruction to sing the early Civil War song, “The Union Man” (published in 1861) to the tune of “The Ham Fat Man.”[xiv] 

Although Baltimore’s construction battalion is quoted as having sung, “Coochee, Coochee, Coochee,” other published versions of the song, and later reminiscences of the song, generally recite the lyric, “hoochy, koochy, koochy” (or equivalent).[xv]  Alternate versions of the song, however, used “rooksey, cooksey, cooksey[xvi]or “roochy coochy coochy.”[xvii]

The song, or performers who sang the song, seem to have been wildly popular for a time; with several rival performers claiming to be the “original” “Ham Fat Man.”  But by 1865, the song had already overstayed its welcome:

The beauty of [Billy Emerson’s] performance is that his songs are new; he has very wisely laid aside all such worn-out airs as “Uncle Snow,” “Ham Fat Man,” &c.

The New York Clipper, June 3, 1865, page 62.

The song was still well known in 1872, as evidenced by this story about a group of New Yorkers visiting St. Augustine and learning about Seminole history:

“Are you not thinking of the distinguished chieftains Holatoochee and Taholoochee, and the river Chattahoochee?” suggested John.

“For my part, I can’t think of any thing but the chorus of that classical song, The Ham-fat Man, ‘with a hoochee-koochee-koochee,’ you know,” whispered the Captain to Iris.

“Don’t I!” she answered.  “I have a small brother who adores that melody, and plays it continually on his banjo.”

Harper’s New Monthly Magazine, Volume 50, Number 245, December 1874, page 12.

The expression, if not the song, may also have been kept alive by the black-face comedian, “Billy” Rice, who is said to have been called “Hoochy-Coochy Rice because he often repeated the catch-phrase, “hoochy koochy,” when taking the stage.  The nickname appears in a collection of stories collected at the Turnover Club, an actors’ social club in Chicago.  The story ends in a joke about how Rice never had any of his own new material; precisely the sort of bad actor who might also have been called a “hamfatter” (bad actor):

‘Hoochy-Coochy Rice, the minstrel man – they always call Billy ‘Hoochy-Coochy,’ because he invariably says that whenever he comes on the stage – entered Hoyt’s room with a dark lantern and a jimmy and stole a new song which the author [(Hoyt)] had just written and nailed to the bedstead.  I hardly believe this, though, as I have heard Billy Rice very often, and never knew of his having anything new.

William T. “Biff” Hall, The Turnover Club, Tales told at the meetings of the Turnover Club about actors and actresses, Chicago, Rand, McNally & Company, 1890, page 76. [xviii]


If “Billy” Rice did sing the “Ham Fat Man,” he borrowed the song from someone else as well; he did not start his career until 1865, a few years after the song is known to have first been sung.  When he died in 1902, he was remembered as one of the most famous of the dying breed of old-timey blackface minstrel comedians:



For more than a third of a century “Billy” Rice had made thousands of people forget their sorrow by his fun as a minstrel man “on the end.”  Almost everybody has heard of “Billy” Rice, and most people who live in cities of the United States saw and heard him expound minstrel philosophy.  In the old days he billed himself as “one hundred and ninety pounds of Rice,” and he lived up to his lithograph, particularly in the matter of weight.

The Topeka State Journal(Topeka, Kansas), March 3, 1902, page 2.

By 1903, with many of the old-time blackface performers dying away, the song may have reached such a level of obscurity that the origin of the term “hamfatter” (bad actor) was not widely known.  An old-timer explained the origins of the term for a new generation:

Perhaps from the giving away of ham at Pastor’s the impression may prevail that that’s just how the term ‘hamfatter’ for a bad performer originated but this is not so.

The expression is an old minstrel term and came from the refrain of a song and dance which goes something like this: ‘Ham fat, ham fat, smoking in the pan.’  This song became popular, and the performers and later the public caught up the term.  When a minstrel or a variety actor appeared and he was not up to the standard they used to yell at him, ‘Ham fat, ham fat, smoking in the pan.’  And this was abbreviated until poor actors were known as ‘hamfatters.’

The Rock Island Argus (Rock Island, Illinois), June 13, 1902 (reprint from the New York Sun).


Ham Fat Men

The “Ham Fat Man” was more than just a character in a minstrel show; he was based on an actual occupation.  Other occupations were also subject to parody by the minstrels.  One song book of the period[xix], for example, has songs about, “The Soap Fat Man” (another name for the “ham fat man”), “The Stage Driver,” “The Pop-Corn Man,” “The Charcoal Man,” “The Rat-Catcher’s Daughter,” “The Shop Gals,” and “The Candle Maker’s Daughter.”

Not long since a class of traders called “soap fat men” used to go from house to house exchanging soap for the refuse fat accumulated by housewifes.

The Democrat (London), Volume 2, Number 23, December 5, 1885, page 178.

Soap-fat men, or ham-fat men, were at the low end of the food chain.  Ham-fat men went door to door collecting leftover ham and bacon grease for delivery to a soap boiler.  The soap boiler, in turn, made soap and tallow candles to be sold or traded back to the households donating the fat.  A nostalgic piece from 1920 described the business as practiced in one neighborhood in Washington DC:

Who remembers the soap factory on the banks of Rock Creek at the terminus of Twenty-fifth and U streets, where you could take a quart bucket of grease and get a long bar of common soap, good for family washing, household scrubbing, etc?

The Washington Times(Washington DC), May 23, 1920, page 16.

A description of a poor neighborhood in which a quack doctor treated patients at the police station in the early 1800s lumps “soap-fat men” in with a number of other lowly trades:

These, however, were the aristocrats of my practice; the bulk of my patients were soap-fat men, rag-pickers, oystermen, hose-house bummers, and worse, with other and nameless trades, men and women, white, black, or mulatto.

The Century, volume 59, number 15, page 114.

A household-hints article from 1889, counseling housekeepers to cut out the middle-man and make their own soap:

Every economical housekeeper has her pot of “soap grease,”which, instead of trading it off with the soap man for soap, often of a poor grade, she makes into soft-soap.

The Iola Register (Iola, Kansas), May 17, 1889, page 7.

The soap boiler, the tradesman who created the soap and candles and who presumably stood a notch above the ham-fat man, were themselves considered a lowly profession.  In 1864 a political hit-piece critical of former Louisiana Senator (and son of a “soap boiler”) John Slidell, played off his lowly “ham fat” beginnings:

A curious old assignment has been handed to the editors of the New York Evening Post dated April 20, 1824, by which it appears that John Slidell was in those days a tallow chandler!  This John Slidell, insolvent soap boiler of 1824, was the father of John Slidell who in 1864 calls himself a Southern aristocrat, and whose daughter married a Parisian banker! Soap and tallow lard and ham fat!! Whew!!!

The Hillsdale Standard(Hillsdale, Michigan), November 29, 1864, page 1.

A soap boiler’s show was one feature used to highlight the low-class nature of a rough neighborhood in 1859:

[I]f the reader will endeavor to imagine a couple of oil-mills, a Peck-slip ferry-boat, a soap-and-candle manufactory, and three or four bone-boiling establishments being simmered together over a slow fire in his immediate vicinity, he may possibly arrive at a faint and distant notion of the greasy fragrance in which the abode of Madame Prewster is immersed.

Q. K. Philander Doesticks, The Witches of New York, Rudd & Carleton, 1859, page 41.

A handbook of soap chemistry, however, defended the honor of “soap boilers” – and recommended a more genteel title:

Thus, we have preferred the more unexceptionable expression savonnier to that of soap-boiler, which is stigmatized, however undeservedly, as harsh and opprobrious, and rather reproachful to the worthy operatives in this art.

Campbell Morfit, Chemistry Applied to the Manufacture of Soap and Candles, Philadelphia, Carey and Hart, 1847, page iv.

After the invention of margarine (“butterine”), the soap boilers another product to their line of goods:

If the “ham-fat man” brings in more grease than is wanted for soap the surplus can be made into butterine.  If he brings in more than is wanted for butterine, the surplus can be turned into soap.

The Progressive Farmer, June 23, 1886, page 2.

But although “soap fat men” and “soap boilers” were considered to be a low, dirty job, some of them became a success.  William Colgate, the founder of Colgate-Palmolive, started his career as a soap and candle maker.

If the title of “soap boiler” was “stigmatized . . . harsh and opprobrious,” the “ham fat man” must have fallen even lower on the scale. 

But the “Ham Fat Man” did have one advantage; he had an opportunity to meet all of the women, cooks and kitchen staff in the neighborhood.  Like the milk man of later generations, the “Ham-Fat Man” of song was a sort of neighborhood lothario; precisely the kind of man who might be the “someone in the kitchen with Dinah,” another staple of minstrel performances.


The Lyrics

The various versions of “The Ham-Fat Man” and “The Soap Fat Man” that I have seen, involve a relationship with someone on his fat-collection route.  In “The Soap Fat Man,” which does not appear to be the same song, although it relates to a similar character, he seduces an “old maid” who is “fifty-six with a face of tan”; takes her to a “lager bier” garden; convinces her lend him $10 to open his own beer garden; and then absconds with the funds; as “he’d a wife and seven children, had the soap fat man.”

Two versions of “The Ham-Fat Man” may also offer a peek into social conditions that led to the development of so-called, “Soul Food;” traditional foods associated with African-American culture in the South.  Although some features of soul food relate back to grains and vegetables brought over from Africa, other elements of soul food reflect the practice of slave “owners” feeding their captive workers as cheaply as possible.  Slaves had to make do with what were considered less desirable “greens,” as well as less desirable cuts of meat.  The “Ham-Fat” Man is satisfied with the fat of the ham; who needs veal, venison, chicken, hare or lamb:

Oh! good-ev'n to you, white folks,
I'm glad to see you all,
I'm right from ole Virginny,
Which some people say will fall;
You may talk about ole massa,
But he am just de man,
To make de n[-words] happy
Wid de ham-fat man.

Chorus.

Ham-fat, ham-fat, zig a zig a zam,
Ham-fat, ham-fat frying in de pan;
Oh! roll into de kitchen fast, boys, as you can,
Oh! rooksey, cooksey, cooksey, I'm de ham-fat man.

Ole missus she's up stair
A-eating bread and honey;
Massa's in de store
A-counting ob his money;
But Susan's in de kitchen
Frying at de ham,
And saving all de gravy
For de ham-fat man.-Chorus.

Some n[-words] likes de mutton,
Puddin', cakes and jam;
Some like veal and venison,
Chicken, hare and lamb.
But of all dese birds and beastesses
Dat plow the raging main,
Dey're not to be compared
To gravy in de pan - Chorus.


In this version, his relationship with Susan seems to be a good one; she saves her “gravy” and “ham fat” just for him, in what may be a mildly naughty sexual suggestion.

In another version, the “Ham Fat Man” is jealous of his rivals; and his “yaller gal’s” loyalty may be suspect:

When wittels am so plenty, oh! I bound to get my fill;
I know a pretty yaller gal, and I lover her to kill,
If any n[-word] fools wid her, I’ll tan him if I can,
A Hoochee, Koochee, Koochee, says the Hamfat man.


A third version of the song involves a more brazen cheater, who leaves town with an Asian man:

White folks attention, and listen to my song
I’ll sing to you a ditty and it won’t detain you long
It’s all about a pretty girl, whose name was Sara Ann
And she fell deep in love with the ham fat man.

Ham fat, soap fat, candle fat or lard,
Ham fat, cat fat, or any other man,
Jump into the kitchen as quick as you can,
With my roochee, coochee, coochee, the ham fat man.

Now the ham fat man, he couldn't stand the press
For every day she wanted to buy a new dress
His money it was gone and the faithless Sara Ann
She hooked it off to Bathurst with a Chinaman

Elements of the second and third versions point to another early influence on the song; a traditional Irish song called, “The Cuckoo’s Nest.”  Both versions are about a woman who is, or may be, unfaithful, and the third version, from Australia, is said to be sung to the tune of “The Cuckoo’s Nest.” 

The connection is plausible.  Although a musicologist might see it differently, you can make your own judgment.  Listen to the Australian version here– and compare it to this version of “The Ham Fat Man” melody; there is a marked similarity, particularly in the chorus, which begins in the second line:


The chorus sounds an awful lot like the “Oompah, Loompah” song from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.  Compare . . .

Oompa Loompa doom-pa-dee-do . . .

. . . with several variations of “The Ham Fat Man” chorus . . .

Ham-fat, ham-fat, zig a zig a zam . . .
Ham-fat, ham-fat, fryin’ in de pan . . .
Ham-fat, ham-fat, candle-fat and lard . . .

The “coochie” and “cooksey” elements of the songs could also relate back to “cuckoo’s nest”; or, it may just all be a big coincidence.  But the melodic and rhythmic similarities seem strong.  Other traditional melodies and songs were also the result of decades of evolution and borrowing a melody here, a theme there, and another lyric over there.  See, for example, my earlier post on the history of the beloved Irish ballad, Cockles and Mussels or Molly Malone.


H-Word Rhyming Reduplication

The transition of Coochie-Coochie to Hoochie-Coochie may also have been influenced by a linguistic template that favors rhyming reduplication words beginning with the letter H.  The linguist, lexicographer and language commentator, Ben Zimmer, for example, pointed out that:

 A lot of these [rhyming reduplication words] in English start with the letter H, and very often they are words that connote [(or evoke)] recklessness – chaos: Helter-skelter, harum-scarum, higgledy-piggledy, hugger-mugger, hodge-podge, hurly-burly . . . hurdy-gurdy, hocus-pocus.”

Once one or two of these get planted in the language, it kind of sets the template for others to follow.
Slate.com podcast, Lexicon Valley (Episode No. 65), “The Jittery History of a Very Nervous Phrase [(Heebie Jeebies)], July 27, 2015.

Several H-word, rhyming reduplication expressions for seemingly reckless or chaotic dances (at least by American puritanical tastes) pre-date “Hoochie-Coochie” as the name of the dance.  “Hurdy-Gurdy” (dance halls in American mining camps), “Honky-Tonk” (dance halls along cattle-drive trails between Oklahoma and Texas) and the Hawaiian “Hula-Hula,” for example, were all in use before “Kouta-Kouta” evolved into “Hoochie-Coochie.”

“Hurdy Gurdy,” originally a name for a hand-cranked musical instrument, was a common name of a dance hall in mining camps of the American West, from as early as 1864:

About 12 o’clock last Saturday night, a row occurred in the Hurdy Gurdy house on Main street, formerly known as the Idaho Restaurant, between Tom Wilson and a butcher from Romer & Collen’s market . . .

Boise News (Bannock City, Idaho), July 23, 1864, page 2.

In 1865, Virginia City, Montana issued an ordinance to regulate “Dance or Hurdy Gurdy Houses.” [xx]  In 1889, when the danse du ventre was making a sensation at the Paris World’s Fair, American humorist Bill Nye (not the science guy) compared the American “Hurdy-Gurdy” and the Continental “Can-Can” to the “Algerian Stomach Dance.”  “Hurdy-Gurdies” and “Hurdy-Gurdy Girls” were still a familiar feature of life in mining camps during the Yukon gold rush in the late-1890s:


“Honky-Tonk,” first attested in 1889, first appears regularly in newspapers in cities along the long cattle drive routes between Oklahoma and Texas.

“Hula-Hula,” is admittedly not an English word, but the reduplication of “hula” may be American.  “Hula-hula” appears in print in American newspapers as early as 1860[xxi]; but generally appears as only “hula” or “hula dance,” in English language newspapers published in Hawaii.  There were some exceptions, but even then, it is difficult to determine whether it reflects the usage of an Anglo-American immigrant or local tradition.  In any case, “hula-hula” was a known name for a seemingly chaotic dance form that was known before the “Kouta-Kouta” evolved into “Hoochie-Coochie.”   The linguistic template favoring H-word rhyming reduplication may have influenced the creation and/or acceptance of “Hurdy-Gurdy,” “Honky-Tonk,” “Hula-Hula,” and “Hoochie-Coochie” into the language.

Harper’s, volume 47, number 280, September, 1873, page 548.


 
Little Egypt

“Little Egypt”, who caused all of the commotion at the Seeley Dinner (see Part I), does not appear in the written record, at least by that name, before or during the Chicago World’s Fair.  Donna Carlton devoted an entire book (Looking for Little Egypt (1995)) to the search for evidence of Little Egypt at the Chicago World’s Fair, and apparently found none.  It is possible that she danced at the fair under a different name, or in relative anonymity, since her name (or at least a dancer with the same stage name) does appear in print less than three weeks after the Chicago Fair closed, and less than two weeks before the post-World’s Fair Exhibition opened in New York City.  She performed with the Empire Gaiety Company, alongside Mahomet, “the educated horse,” S. H. Burton, and his dog circus, and others, at Proctor’s in New York.[xxii] 

 “Little Egypt” also appeared at a second “miniature Midway Plaisance” at the Convention Hall in New York City in April, 1894, with Fatima in Brooklyn in June 1894 (“When it was all over the men looked at each other sheepishly and the women spectators hurried out”), at the St. Louis Fair in August, 1894, and again with Fatima in New York City, as part of Reilly & Wood’s Big Show (the same troupe that Avita performed with in 1892 and 1893).  She did not become a household name until after her sensational arrest during the Seeley Dinner in December 1896.


“Little Egypt,” who was identified as Ashea Wabe in court following the Seeley Dinner, but whose real name was apparently Catherine Devine, parlayed her notoriety into a sizeable fortune.  She married well too; to a man named Frederick Hamlin, the scion of a New York banking family; but she never saw any of his money.  The marriage was not known publicly until after her death; and they had been estranged since shortly after their marriage due to his family’s opposition to her notorious reputation.  A few weeks before her death, he reportedly asked her for a divorce so that he could marry a clergyman’s daughter.  And when she died under suspicious circumstances before the divorce was ever finalized; he came out of the woodwork to file papers to gain control over her $100,000 estate – I say he was a good banker, not a good man:

“Little Egypt,” the dancer who, unclad, save for a few almost superfluous pieces of gauze, danced before the diners the “danse du ventre” or “hootchy kootchy” . . . was found dead in her room under mysterious circumstances. . . . She lay as though she had been carelessly flung across the bed.  Her left hand was tightly clenched.  Her mouth, from which blood had poured, was wide open, as though she had died screaming for help.  On her throat were livid marks like the imprint of murderers’ fingers.  No one was able to tell who or what had caused her death.


In the interest of completeness, I feel compelled to note a possible influence on her chosen stage name, “Little Egypt.”  Although it could have been a reference to the miniature Street of Cairo exhibition (analogous, perhaps, to Wee Britain in Arrested Development), it may also have been a reference to a purported, traditional name for the “kingdom” of Gypsies in England and Scotland, “Little Egypt.”  In 1892, Edgar Wakeman published an essay on the history of Gypsies in Britain, in which he shared historical stories about Anthnonius Gawino, “Earl of Little Egypt” in the early 1500s, and John Faw, “Lord and Earl of Little Egypt” in the mid-1500s.  The word “Gypsy” was purportedly derived from “Egypt,” reflecting the notion that they were descended from Middle Easterners.  The essay, which was widely reprinted in numerous newspapers across the United States, may have inspired S. R. Crockett’s well advertised book, The Raiders, Being Some Passages in the Life of John Faa, Lord and Earl of Little Egypt, which was published in early 1894. 

It seems plausible that “Little Egypt” could have been similarly inspired to adopt the name as her own.

Years later, her fame was still such that a fish lure manufacturer named its “wiggling” worm lure after her:

Summary

The expression, “hoochie, coochie, coochie,” dates to at least the early 1860s, as an apparently nonsense lyric in the popular minstrel song, “The Ham Fat Man.”  The expression may have been influenced by an older, melodically and rhythmically similar song, “The Cuckoo’s Nest.”  It may also have been understood as a kissing sound (as it would be later in the popular songs, “Kutchy, Kutchy, My Baby,” and “Kutchy, Kutchy, Coo!”), since the ham-fat man of the song generally had some sort of sumpin’-sumpin’ going on with someone.

The “Eastern” dance style popularized at the Paris World’s Fair in 1889 and Chicago World’s Fair of 1893 is not known to have been called the “coochie-coochie” or “hoochie-coochie” until a year or two after the fair closed.  The dancer, “Avita” (or “Vita”) introduced the “Kouta-Kouta” dance on Broadway in 1892, in the harem scene of the play, Elysium.  She claims to have learned the dance in India, where the word, “Kouta” is known to have been the name of a “quick style of dance” as early as 1858.  Avita toured the United States for at least a year, performing the “Kouta-Kouta” in New York, Indianapolis, and Washington DC, before taking the dance to London in early 1894, just a few months after the Chicago World’s Fair closed.

The dance name, “Kouta-Kouta, became associated, generally, with dancing at the Chicago World’s Fair before it closed in October, 1893.  By mid-1894, the “Kouta-Kouta” had made news in all corners of the country, usually in association with dancers said to have performed at the Midway Plaisance at the Chicago World’s Fair.  The name, “Coochie-Coochie,” first appeared in association with the dance in late-1894; and the name, “Hoochie-Coochie,” appeared about one year later.  By the end of 1896, the names, “Coochie-Coochie” and “Hoochie-Coochie” had nearly erased Avita’s “Kouta-Kouta” from the popular lexicon.




[ii]The Sun (New York), December 4, 1893, page 3 (the woman at the Imperial Palace is more suggestive and bold); The Evening World (New York), December 5, 1893, page 6 (Omene appearing on the bill at the Imperial Palace).
[iii]New York Clipper, March 24, 1894, page 38 (Bryant & Richmond’s Vaudevilles drew to good attendance.  The Kouta Kouta Dancers were a feature.).
[iv]Boot and Shoe Recorder, volume 26, October 10, 1894, page 117.
[v]Evening Star (Washington DC), August 27, 1895, page 12 (Florence Miller made a hit with her songs and her kouta-kouta dance).
[vi]New York Clipper, November 9, 1895, page 567 (Moorish dancers, in their kouta-kouta dance, will be the principal feature for the current week).
[vii]Identified by Douglas Wilson and posted on the American Dialect Society message board, March 10, 2005.
[viii]“The Streets of Cairo; or the Poor Little Country Maid,” written and composed by James Thornton, New York, Frank Harding, 1895, (Johns Hopkins, Sheridan Libraries Special Collections, The Lester S. Levy Sheet Music Collection, Box 144, Item 23).
[x]“An Afternoon in Midway Plaisance, Fantasie for Piano by Gustav Luders, as played with phenomenal success by the Schiller Theatre Orchestra,” Chicago, Henry Detmer Music House, 1893 (Johns Hopkins, Sheridan Libraries Special Collections, The Lester S. Levy Sheet Music Collection, Box 170, Item 4).
[xii]Michael Saffle and James Heintze, Music and Culture in America, 1861-1918, London and New York, Routledge Taylor & Francis Group, 1998, pages 280-281, footnote 30 (citing Edo McCullough’s history of Coney Island).
[xiii]Michael Saffle and James Heintze, Music and Culture in America, 1861-1918, London and New York, Routledge Taylor & Francis Group, 1998, page 278.
[xiv]Songs for the Union, Philadelphia, A. Winch, 1861, page 32.
[xv]See, for example, A. Jones, Ham Fat Man, a Comic Song, Cincinnati, John Church, 1863 (Library of Congress digital Collection)
[xvi]Henry de Marsan’s New Singer’s Journal, number 24, page 158 (undated; 1860s?);  De Ham Fat Man, Wehman Universal Songster, Volume 13(1880s?).
[xvii]An Australian Folk Song a Day, Wednesday, May 11, 2011 (from an old Australian Songster).
[xviii]See, Dave Wilton, “Hooch/Hootchy-Kootchy,” Wordorigins.org, February 9, 2009.
[xix]Billy Birch’s Ethiopian Melodist, New York, Dick & Fitzgerald, 1863.
[xx]The Montana Post (Virginia City, Montana), February 25, 1865, page 3.
[xxi]The Union County Star and Lewisburg Chronicle (Lewisburg, Pennsylvania), June 22, 1860, page 1 (“wahine hula-hula (singing woman)).”
[xxii]The Evening World (New York), November 18, 1893, page 5.

Parlor Quoits, Bean-Bags, and Faba Baga - a History of "Cornhole" (the Game)

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In 1885, in the face of increasing professionalization of previously recreational sports, one observer was at least cheered by the fact that “bean-bags” was still an innocent pastime:

Base ball is already spoilt as a recreation and pastime, and tennis is threatened with the same ruin from similar cases.  The gentle game of “bean-bags” seems to be about the only one which is able to withstand the tendency of the age towards “championships,” “science” and other mischievous developments.

Evening Star(Washington DC), June 22, 1885, page 2.

That would change more than a century later.  In the early 2000s, groups like the American Cornhole Association (2003) and the American Cornhole Organization(2005) established standards of play and started organizing professionally run events, tournaments and championships.  The renaissance of the game in has been well chronicled in book by Mark Rogers (Cornhole: Throwing Bags in a Hole, Chicago, Amalgam, 2011) and film by P. J. Nelson (Brotherhood of Bags: Cornholing America, Produced and Directed by P. J. Nelson, Do Good Productions, 2011).   

The early origins of the game, however, have remained  a mystery – a big “cornhole” in history.   

Let me [ahem] fill that hole.

The resurgence of the game in the last decade was centered in such Midwestern “Cornhole” hotbeds as Cincinnati and Chicago.  According to Frank Geers, President and CEO of the American Cornhole Organization, players in the Cincinnati/Kentucky region have called the game “Cornhole” for at least about forty or fifty years.  In Chicago, players traditionally called it simply, “Bags”; avoiding the uncomfortable double entendre implicit in the Cincinnati name (Google it). 

When the game first surfaced in the mid-1880s, the game was known alternatively as “Parlor Quoits” or “Bean-Bags.” But those names presented a minor difficulty; they were both ambiguous.  “Parlor quoits” was the name of an earlier indoor ring-toss-like game which, like “Cornhole,” was played with a game board – but with pegs and rings, instead of bags and holes.  “Bean-Bags” was the common name for a high-speed game of catch, using larger bean bags, which had been enjoying a run of popularity. 

In the late 1880s, America’s first large-scale toy manufacturer alleviated the confusion, giving the game a more distinctive and appropriate name:

Faba Baga.

Faba is the Latin word for “bean,” and Baga, I suppose, is about how Father Guido Sarducci (Google it, kids) might-a pronounce-a the English-a word-a “bag”-a.  The name stuck, and was used regularly for several decades.  It’s two-sized, double-holed board, added another element of difficulty and fun:


Although the initial fad came and went in just a few years, the game never completely disappeared.  Since its inception, it has been regularly described in educational, exercise and recreational books, manuals and texts, as a recommended game for picnics, parties and schools.  Over the years, the game has gone by numerous names; Bag Board, Dummy Boards, Dadhole, Doghouse, Baggo, Bags, Corn Toss, Bean Bag, Bean Toss, Soft Horseshoes, Indiana Horseshoes, to name a few. 

“Cornhole” is currently in vogue, although the reason is unclear – and many people probably like it that way.  Although some players may insist (and for some it may be true) that the name merely refers to throwing a bag of corn (instead of beans) through a hole, the word, “cornhole,” has a long, uncomfortable history as something else entirely:

Dictionary of American Underworld Lingo, New York, Twayne Publishers, 1950.[i]

Yeah - you may need to Google “catamite” too – I know I did.
                                                                                 
The word “Cornhole” first came to my attention during the 1990s, when MTV’s Beavis and Butthead frequently invoked the name of “Cornholio”– and even then it wasn’t quite clear what it meant or why.  I only recently learned that the game I have always called “bean-bag toss” had a more colorful moniker. Perhaps Beavis and Butthead had some influence in taking the word mainstream?

The choice of the name, itself, may be intended, at least in part, as a poke in the eye of polite society; a proud nod to the game’s supposed blue-collar roots.

Such class warfare was evident when a reporter from the Eastside of Cincinnati visited the city’s Westside to report on the growing popularity of the sport:
                                                                                                                                                                    
“Well, um,” [she] stammered, “how come I’ve never heard of it?”

“Because People on the East Side are afraid to say cornhole,” Boomie said with a booming laugh.


The game was already popular in the rural Midwest more than a century ago:

A favorite amusement in the country especially at church socials, is faba baga or bean bag. 

Rock Island Daily Argus (Illinois), February 27, 1891, page 5.

But surprisingly, perhaps, for a sport with such folksy pretentions, the roots of the game may actually lie among East Coast elites.  When the game came to Louisville, Kentucky in 1887, for example, it was said to be an import from the summering resorts of Gilded Age glitterati:

The latest fad is the game of “Bean Bags,” which is now prevailing alarmingly.  It is an importation from Long Branch and Saratoga, where it had a successful run, taking the place of “progressive euchre,” “blind man’s buff,” etc.  A polished board, four feet by two, is set at an angle of twenty degrees.  A hole four inches in diameter is cut in the upper end. . . . The game is having a big run in the upper-tendom, and is said to be very amusing and entertaining. . . . [Louisville Post.

Semi-Weekly Interior Journal (Stanford, Kentucky), April 5, 1887, page 4.

The game was also popular among the political class:

Bean-bag partiesare all the rage in Washington, and society belles are becoming very expert at the new game. . . .  Many young society ladies have become quite expert at pitching the little bags, and show excellent judgment and skill in accurately gauging the distance and the strength necessary to be exerted. . . . The sport is full of interest and bean-bag boards are now found in every household which expects to be considered up to the times. – Washington Post.

Murfreesboro Index (North Carolina), December 16, 1887, page 4.

The earliest inklings of the fad appeared in a widely circulated article[ii] first published in late 1883.  It described a board nearly identical to modern, tournament-legal boards – the same proportions (although slightly smaller); the same size hole (although square instead of round); the same hole placement (9 inches from the top); the same size bags (6 inches square); and the same rise from the front of the board to the back of the board – 9 inches (although today’s specs elevate the front of the board 3 inches above the ground, with the back 9 inches higher).  One bonus feature of the old game, however, was one extra-large bag – the “Jumbo” – which counted for extra bonus points:

A NEW GAME.

For Holiday and Winter Amusement.

The new game of “Bean bag” is becoming very popular among our socially inclined young people, and “Bean-bag” parties are all the rage.  The game is quite a novel one, and considerable skill can be developed in playing it.  . . .  First, a board three feet long and one and a half feet wide, smooth on one side . . . .  One end of the board rests on the floor and the other is raised about nine inches by means of a prop, so it presents a sloping surface to the player.  Nine inches from the top a hole six inches square is cut.  Next make five cloth bags six inches square (when finished) and loosely fill them with beans; and one bag (called “Jumbo”), size six by ten inches.  Each player stands five to eight paces from the board and throws all the bags, trying to make them go through the hole.  Every bag going through the hole counts the player ten; those landing on the platform count five each; and all falling on the floor discount, ten.  “Jumbo” must be thrown last, and counts or discounts twice as much as one of the smaller bags. . . . – [Medina, N. Y., Cor. Buffalo Express.

Detroit Free Press (Detroit, Michigan), December 19, 1883, page 8.

The game was not only enjoyed by America’s social elite, it was invented by one of their own.  In September 1883, about three months before the earliest accounts of the game surfaced, the United States Patent Office issued a patent for the game to Heyliger A. de Windt, a Harvard grad with close family and friendship ties to at least five Presidents of the United States (hint: his middle name was Adams, and he named one of his sons Delano).

In 1885, an actual president may also have enjoyed the game.  Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper, a long-running, popular periodical with a national circulation, put an image of President Cleveland on its cover, enjoying a game of “bean bags” (note the pile of bean-bags at the bottom of the image):

President Cleveland in the North Woods – scene on the piazza of the Prospect House, Prospect Lake.  The President and Dr. Ward enjoying the game of “Bean Bag.”



But since the name of the game was ambiguous at the time, it might actually depict the earlier game of “Bean-Bags.” It is unclear; but bean-bag games were clearly enjoying a period of widespread popularity.

The history of bean-bag toss comes from two major sources; “parlor quoits” and regular quoits before it, and bean bags.  “Parlor quoits,” which had been around since the mid-1870s, was an indoor version of the ancient game of Quoits.  Bean-Bags, on the other hand, were relatively new.  They were invented, as a recreational device, in the late-1850s, and popularized by a Boston-based fitness guru in the 1860s.


Early Pre-History – Quoits and Horseshoes

“Cornhole” or “Bags” has its deepest roots in the ancient and honorable British game of “Quoits,” which dates to at least Shakespeare’s time:

Doll Tearsheet: Why does the prince love him so, then?
Falstaff: Because their legs are both of a bigness, and he plays at quoits well . . . .

King Henry IV,Second Part, Act II, Scene IV.

Americans may be more familiar with quoit’s poorer, yet more egalitarian, relative; horseshoes:

Rustics in the country, for want of proper quoits, frequently play with horse-shoes; and hence, in many places, the quoit is called a shoe.

Jehosaphat Aspin, Ancient Customs, Sports, and Pastimes, of the English, London, J. Harris, 1832, page 198.

John Trotter Brockett, A glossary of North Country Words, Newcastle upon Tyne, E. Charnley, 1829.

Horseshoes and “Cornhole” are so similar that Matt Guy, one of the game’s greatest champions, was a top-ten ranked horseshoes player before switching to bean-bag tossing in the early 2000s.[iii]

In quoits and horseshoes, the goal is to encircle the target, a “hob” or post, with a thrown “quoit” (like a discus with a hole in the middle) or horseshoe.  Bean-bag toss turns the game on its head.  The intent is to encircle a thrown object with the target – put the bag in the hole. 

Bean-bag toss was not the first game that involved throwing things into a hole from a distance, although it is unclear whether or how much influence the earlier game had on the development of “Cornhole.”

Polynesians threw “quoits” into a hole long before Cornholers holed their first corn.  In the 1850s, visitors to the National Institute in Washington DC (now the Smithsonian Institute) could see a set of Polynesian “quoits”: 

A Popular Catalogue of the Extraordinary Curiosities in the National Institute, Washington DC, A. Hunter, page 18.

(Did you notice how the Pennsylvanian who wrote the commentary switched up the units of length to make his peeps seem more impressive?  Sixty-three feet is only twenty-one yards – not all that much more than 18.)

The Polynesian “quoits” were on public display in Washington DC, and the inventor of bean-bag toss majored in Natural History at Harvard; so it is possible, I suppose, that Polynesian Quoits could have had some influence on the game; but a direct connection seems tenuous.  

There are two other games, however, that may have had a more immediate influence.  When Heyliger Adams de Windt invented his version of “Parlor Quoits” in 1882, ring-toss-like “Parlor Quoits” were barely ten years old, and “Bean Bags” were less than two decades old and still very popular.


Late Pre-History – Parlor Quoits

Since both quoits and horseshoes are played with heavy iron implements, it was difficult to take the game indoors in cold or wet weather; “Parlor Quoits” to the rescue, with softer, less destructive materials suitable for indoor use. 

This advertisement, from 1872, uses the term, “parlor quoits,” without explanation (the image shows the game of Le Cercle, apparently a too-complicated variation of croquet):

The Boston Almanac and Business Directory 1872
In 1873, Friend W. Smith invented a portable, cushioned game board suitable for indoor or outdoor quoits, which may provide some sense of what “Parlor Quoits” looked like in 1872:



Several other indoor quoits patents followed, and rubber quoits were available by the early 1880s.

Harrisburg Telegraph (Pennsylvania), August 24, 1882, page 4.
 
Cincinnati Enquirer,October 17, 1882, page 8.

One patent from the 1870s signals two advances that anticipate, without necessarily predicting, elements of the bean-bag toss game.  In 1875, Charles Brown of Brooklyn, New York patented an indoor quoits game with soft, sand-filled leather quoits; not quite a bean bag – but getting closer.  The leather quoit, however, was in the form of a ring.  The game had pegs, over which to throw the quoit, but also had holes in which the quoit could land.  The board lay flat on the ground, and the holes were only as deep as the board was thick, so landing a single quoit in the hole block any other quoits:




Late Pre-History – Bean-Bags

Imagine a world without bean-bags.  It seems unbelievable.  But as simple as they seem, someone had to make the effort extend their use to recreation.  Although beans had long been sold in bags, and laborers no doubt threw those bags around every day, purpose-built bean-bags for recreational use are a relatively recent advancement. 

A mid-19thCentury fitness guru named Dio Lewis claimed to have invented them in about 1856, after becoming dissatisfied with the difficulties of using inflated rubber balls in the gym.  In 1862, he wrote:

The use of small bags filled with beans, for gymnastic exercise, was suggested to my mind six years since, while attempting to devise a series of games with large rubber balls . . .  but was constantly annoyed at the irregularities resulting from the difficulty in catching them.  When the balls were but partially inflated, it was observed the hand could better seize them. This at length suggested the bean bags. 

Dio Lewis, A.M., M. D., The New Gymnastics for Men, Woimen, and Children, Boston, Ticknor and Fields, 1862.


Dio Lewis (from, Fred E. Leonard, Pioneers of Modern Physical Training,
New York, Physical Directors’ Society of the YMCA, 1910, page 44.)
A few years later, in the tenth edition of his groundbreaking work, Lewis added more details to the story; answering the burning question of which came first – bean bags or corn bags.  Short answer – corn bags were first; but bean bags were better:

At first they were made very large and filled with corn.  Then wheat was thought to be an improvement.  In a town where neither corn nor wheat could be conveniently procured, the dealer asked if I could not use beans.  These were found to be just the thing.

Dio Lewis, A.M., M. D., The New Gymnastics for Men, Woimen, and Children, Boston, Ticknor and Fields, Tenth Edition, 1868.

Through Dio Lewis’ influence, or otherwise, bean-bags exercises became a widespread, common practice.

But not everyone liked the gymnastics craze.  At least one observer preferred outdoor games to ritual gymnastic routines:

The Evening Telegraph (Philadelphia), October 14, 1870, Page 2.

Lewis’ book lists dozens of exercises – not games.  Most of them are just different methods of throwing, using different postures, different angles and different muscles.  Some of the games involve throwing bags between players, or passing bags from player to player:


 


Lewis’ book did not describe any bean-bag target throwing exercises, as such, but he suggested that all of the bag throwing exercises would be enhanced by throwing the bags through hoops suspended between the players and above their heads:


                                                               
One of exercises described in the book became a popular game played at church socials, parties, and picnics.   The game involved partners, or lines of partners, throwing bags at each other simultaneously; catching and switching hands before throwing the bag back to their partner - rapid-fire - until one or both of them drop their bags.  Hilarity ensues:



The New York Times even recommended the game in 1872:

[I]n a country house, on a wet day, or with nothing else to do, to take a bean-bag in each hand, stand opposite your antagonist – the young and fair – at about ten paces’ distance, prepared for action, is a moment worth living for.  Your enemy commences by throwing the bag held in her right hand at you, which you are to catch in your left, at the same time throwing your right-hand bag at her; then you must quickly pass the one caught from left to right, and throw it.  The game thus proceeds; and as each player is in the possession of two bags, a keen look out for squalls is necessary.  I need hardly say that, after about three minutes’ serious play, the whole thing ends in a regular romp;’ the fair one, having perhaps failed to catch a bag, sends them all at your head anyhow. . . .

“You had much better come back and play bean-bags.”

The New York Times, April 7, 1872, page 4.

The game was still being played years later when members of the Staten Island Ladies Club for Outdoor Sports:

Were . . . ready to join a side for “bean bags,” and the air was soon filled with laughter and shouts of pretty merriment as the nervous fingers clutched the elusive bean bags.

St. Louis Post Dispatch, June 11, 1880, page 2. 

Lake County Star (Chase, Michigan), January 29, 1880, page 3.

President Cleveland watched a game of “Bean-Bags” 1885.  But since there was a new game on the block, by the same name, it is unclear which version he enjoyed.  A new game had just recently been invented.


Bean-Bags, Parlor Quoits, Faba Baga
                                                      

In September of 1883, the United States Patent Office issued a patent number 285,396 to Heyliger Adams de Windt for, “Game Apparatus for Playing Parlor-Quoits.”  The broadest patent claim describes the mdern game in its simplest form::

1. A game-board having means for supporting the same in an inclined position, and having an opening through which an object may be tossed, substantially as described.
. . .
5. The game apparatus comprising a series of bags filled with beans or equivalent material, and a game-board having an opening through which said bags may be tossed, substantially as described.



Apart from the bell and the square, centrally placed hole, the only difference between the original patent and the modern game is the box below the board.  The bell and its support were optional, and provided additional interesting scoring features.  Under de Windt’s proposed scoring system, a bag passing under the support would subtract five points from the thrower’s total; ringing bell – ten points.

Three months later, the growing fad was widely reported in newspapers across the country.  Within the year, similar articles and other descriptions of the game would appear in dozens more publications – and these are just the ones that are available in digital archives now; presumably, the same or similar articles appeared in hundreds of publications that are not yet available online.  Most of the country would have had the opportunity to learn of the game before 1885.  The game’s popularity continued to grow and it remained a fad for several years.

The game may have become even more accessible through the work of the Morton E. Converse company of Winchedon, Massachusetts (the first large-scale toy manufacturer in the United States), who manufactured the game and sold it under the trade-name, “Faba Baga.” 
John D. Champlin, The Young Folks’ Cyclopaedia of Games and Sports, New York, H. Holt and Company, page 1890, page 75.
 
It is unclear when Coverse started manufacturing the game and/or using the name “Faba Baga.”  The earliest advertisements for the game that I have seen in print, date to early 1888.  But a comment in an article hyping toys for the Christmas season of 1888 use the name, as though it had been around for awhile:

But the old games, Faba baga, ring toss, parlor quoits, and others, come in finer forms, with better finish and appointments, and are not more costly than in former years.

The New York Sun, December 16, 1888, page 8.

And, by 1891, Morton E. Converse & Co. was known for producing the game:


They are also the manufacturers of the celebrated bean bag game of Faba Baga, made under special patent owned by this firm.

Inland Massachusetts Illustrated, Worcester, Massachusetts, Elstner Publishing Company, 1891, page 148.

It is unclear whether Converse’s patent refers to a license or assignment from de Windt or some other patent of their own.  I have not been able to find any such patents issued to Morton E. Converse or his company, and have not been able to locate or identify any other similar patents issued between 1884 and 1888.  And, Morton E. Converse & Co. is known to have manufactured toys under license to or by assignment of the patents of others.[iv]  It is certainly possible. 

Although Heyliger de Windt was born and raised in New York, he had plenty of Massachusetts connections.  He went to high school and college in Massachusetts, married a woman from New Bedford, Massachusetts, and was a member of the Adams Family, the old Boston family that spawned two Presidents John Adams (his great-great grandfather) and John Quincy Adams (his great-great uncle).


One feature of the earliest accounts of the game that is missing now, is the “Jumbo” bag – a larger bag, to be thrown last, and which counted double in the scoring.  “Faba Baga” introduced another scoring wrinkle; instead of one larger bag that counted double – it provided a second, smaller hole, that counted for more points. 

 In the form sold at the toy-stores, the Faba Baga board is supported in an inclined position by a frame at the back, which folds up when not in use and forms a rack to hold the bean bags.

In another game of Bean Bags, resembling Faba Baga, the board, which is long and narrow, is laid flat on the floor.  There are no holes in it, but it is divided by cross lines into spaces which are given different values, and the Bean Bags score according to the space on which they rest when thrown.

John D. Champlin, The Young Folks’ Cyclopaedia of Games and Sports, New York, H. Holt and Company, page 1890, page 75.

But before it disappeared, the name was commonly used in descriptions of the game:

The young ladies of the Baptist Church will give a “Faba-baga Party” at the residence of Mr. J. R. Vandiver on tomorrow (Friday) evening, at 8 o’clock.  This will be a very unique entertainment, and all who go will be pleasantly entertained.

The Anderson Intelligencer (Anderson Court House, South Carolina), January 30, 1890, page 3.

Children’s Parties

When planning to be social this month, don’t forget the young folks.  If you have a Sunday School class of boys or girls, invite them to spend an evening in your home.  It is well to proved a variety of games, among which “Faba Baga” is a good standby as it is a favorite with both boys and girls.  Handsome boards are for sale in the shops, but one may easily be made at home.

Orchard and Garden (Little Silver, New Jersey), Volume 12, March, 1890, page 59.

The amusement room at the National Women’s Christian Temperance Union Headquarters in Evanston, Illinois was well stocked, with:

. . . numerous games of skill, such as chess, checkers, crokinole, faba baga, base ball, croquet, authors, etc.  The large variety of games will provide for a number of members at a time.

John Josephg Flinn, Chicago, the Marvelous City of the West, 1892, page 1989. 

The “Faba Baga” game was successful enough that it became a generic word for the bean-bag toss game, before disappearing from the language in the early-1900s.  The latest examples of “Faba Baga” in print that I could find date from 1935 (Asbury Park, New Jersey), 1921 (Pittsburgh) and 1907 (Kentucky).

But the game lived on.

Carolyn Sherwin, The Childrens Book of Games and Parties, Chicago, M. A. Donohue, 1913, page 19.



Heyliger Adams de Windt


Heyliger Adams de Windt, the apparent inventor of the bean-bag toss game, came from a long line of old Knickerbockers (the Dutchmen – not the basketball players) and Boston Blue-Bloods (not Celtics).  His great-grandfather, Colonel William Stephens Smith, was promoted to Lieutenant Colonel for gallantry at the Battle of Trenton, where Washington crossed the Delaware.  He also served on the personal staffs of the Marquis de Lafayette and George Washington during the Revolutionary War.  He was one of five officers selected to accompany George Washington at his inauguration.

The Colonel’s wife, De Windt’s great-grandmother, was Abigail Adams; the youngest daughter of President John Adams and his wife Abigail.  The Colonel and the younger Abigail’s daughter, Caroline Amelia married, John Peter de Windt of Fishkill, New York; the son of John Peter de Windt of New York, who had made his fortune as a sugar planter in the Dutch West Indies.

The Ottawa Free Trader (Ottawa, Illinois), July 7, 1888, page 7.

The Pokeepsie Evening Enterprise (Poughkeepsie, New York), May 8, 1903, page 4.

Through his Dutch West Indies background, Heyliger de Windt had a slightly more attenuated connection to another major Revolutionary War event; the so-called, “First Salute.”


Barbara Tuchman, The First Salute: A View of the American Revolution, New York, Knopf/Random House, 1988.


On November 16, of 1776, the brig, Andrew Doria, flying the Continental Colors of the American colonies that had declared independence barely four months earlier, sailed into port on the Island of St. Eustatius.  Upon arrival, the Andrew Doria fired a 13-gun salute.  The governor of the island responded with an eleven gun salute from Fort Oranje – the first time a foreign power officially acknowledged the independence of the United States.  

The Governor who ordered the salute, Johannes de Graaff was married to the daughter of former governor, Abraham Heyliger.  The previous three governors of the island had been named, Johannes Heyliger, Jan de Windt and Abraham Heyliger.  Although the “First Salute” was fired from Fort Oranje, a second gun battery, located on a smaller, south-facing bay, is known as Fort de Windt.

It is unclear whether Heyliger A. de Windt was a direct descendent of any one of those characters, but St. Eustatius (and other Caribbean islands including what is now St. Croix in the American Virgin Islands) was an intermingling nest of numerous Heyliger and de Windt families that were all connected to each other in one way or another.

And they may all be connected – ultimately – to the game of “Cornhole” – who knew?

For his part, Heyliger Adams de Windt made a name for himself out West.  Shortly after graduation from Harvard in 1881, he moved to Chicago, Illinois, where he got his start as an unpaid intern, sweeping floors and dusting shoe boxes for the C. H. Fargo wholesale shoe company.  In January 1882 he became a salesman for the company, covering the territory of Minnesota and the pre-statehood Dakota Territory; a position he held for one year, before being promoted to head the company’s rubber department.[v] 

He joined the Harvard Club of Chicago shortly after arrival, the Union Club a year or so later, and in 1887, became a charter member of the University Club of Chicago.[vi]  It is possible, I suppose, that he may have helped entertain Theodore Roosevelt in 1884, when he had his political coming-out party at the Republican National Convention of 1884, which was held in Chicago; and was the moment in time when the idiom, “jump on the bandwagon” came into national use”.  De Windt (class of 1881) and Roosevelt (class of 1880) had both been members of the Hasty Pudding Club at Harvard.[vii]

His Presidential connections did not end there.  Heyliger de Windt named one of his sons, “Delano”; reportedly after close family friend Frederick Delano, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s uncle.  When Delano de Windt was married in 1916, the best man at the wedding was James A. Garfield, President James A. Garfield’s grandson.[viii]  And, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s personal papers include a letter to, or from, Heyliger de Windt (Sr. or Jr. not specified)[ix]


Bean-Bags and Football

During the early years of bean-bag toss, it was reported regularly as a pastime at society parties. Within a few years, it was often reported at church socials and country parties.  Over the years, it became a staple children’s game.  Today, it is closely associated with football game tailgating.  Many of the bean-bag board manufacturers make custom board with your favorite team’s logo and colors.  In 2006, Cincinnati Bengal’s quarterback Carson Palmer even held a “Cornhole Classic” charity event, in lieu of the standard NFL charity softball game.

Although there are no documented reports of the game being played at football games in the 1880s, it is not impossible to imagine.  Heyliger A. de Windt, the inventor of “Cornhole” was a fan of the game.  He played freshman football at Harvard[x]- and he was good!



He also refereed high school football games while in college.  His son, Heyliger A. de Windt Jr. was even the manager for Harvard’s unbeaten (with one tie) championship football team in 1910.[xi]

1910 Harvard undefeated football team – a scoreless tie against Yale kept them from a perfect season.  The guy in the high, cellulose collar in the upper left corner may be their manager, Heyliger de Windt Jr. (Photo from GoCrimson.com).

 The apple (the son and the game) did not fall far from the tree.

May your bags always fall in the hole.




[i]The Oxford English Dictionary dates this sense of the word to the 1920s.
[ii]In addition to New York and Michigan, nearly identical versions of the article appeared in newspapers in at least Pennsylvania, Missouri, Kansas and Louisiana within weeks of its initial publication.
[iv]“This enterprise was started in 1878, in Waterville, with twelve employees and very limited room, under the firm name of Mason & Converse, Mr. Converse superintending and manufacturing from his own designs and patents.” Alfred Free, Winchendon: A Retrospect of One Hundred and Fifty Years, Winchendon, 1914.
[v]Second Report of the Secretary of the Class of 1881 of Harvard College, Cambridge, Massachusetts, W. H. Wheeler, 1884.
[vi]University Club Chicago Yearbook for 1898.
[vii]Catalogue of the Officers and Members of the Hasty Pudding Club in Harvard University, Cambridge, W. H. Wheeler, 1884.
[viii]The New York Tribune, June 18, 1916, page 3, column 3.
[ix] Franklin Delano Roosevelt Digital Collection, maintained by Marist University, Franklin D. Roosevelt, Papers as President: The President's Personal File, Part 8: PPF 3501-4000, 1933-1945 | Franklin D. Roosevelt Presidential Library & Museum, Series 1: President’s Personal File 2501-4000, PPF 35584 – De Windt, Heyliger..
[x]The Harvard Crimson, January 25, 1898, page 55.
[xi]Walter Camp, Spalding’s Official Foot Ball Guide for 1910.
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