Ralph Keyes: Learn something every day.

During a Los Angeles radio show about retrotalk, a caller told me that someone had recently told him, ‘’Don’t gaslight me.’’ The host, Patt Morrison – more of a movie buff than me – said that this alludes to the 1944 film Gaslight in which a man played by Charles Boyer tries to drive his wife (played by Ingrid Bergman) insane by making the gaslight in their house go up and down, and then telling her she’s seeing things. “Gaslighting’’ someone, therefore, means trying to drive them crazy. It turns out that it’s used by some therapists as shorthand for psychologically abusive behavior.

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Ralph Keyes: Rather be Canada?

In our debate about health care, the clinching argument by opponents of significant reform is usually “Do you want a health care system like Canada’s?” Any time I’ve asked a relative or friend in Canada whether they want a health care system like that in the United States, the answer has always been “No way!”

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Ralph Keyes' Retroterm of the Day: Slipshod

Centuries ago, loose-fitting “slipshoes” were worn inside British homes. Some wore them outside as well. This was not considered good form. During the 16th century anyone who wore slipshoes in public risked being ridiculed as “slipshod.” That term was subsequently applied to those of sloppy appearance, then to anything at all-work performance especially-judged second-rate.

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Ralph Keyes Retroterm of the Day: Loose canon

Early warship cannons were mounted on wheels so they could be rolled into place for loading and firing. Those not then lashed securely to the deck were liable to careen about uncontrollably, especially in rough seas. During this extremely dangerous event sailors could be crushed by that unpredictably rolling piece of iron. This is why we call unpredictable human beings “loose cannons.”

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Ralph Keyes' Retroterm of the Day: Only when I laugh

In an old joke a survivor of a wagon train massacre lies on the ground with an arrow in his back. When asked by rescuers if it hurts, the man moans, “Only when I laugh.” Truman’s Secretary of State Dean Acheson relied on this line when asked whether the verbal arrows shot at him were painful. “Only when I laugh” provided the title for one novel, a song, and two movies.

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Ralph Keyes' Retroterm of the Day: Woodshed

When most homes were heated with burning logs, woodsheds were a common sight outside. Most of these ramshackle outbuildings were far from houses themselves, making them an ideal location for smoking corn silk and touching one’s privates, or someone else’s. It also was where parents beat their children. They were “taken to the woodshed.”

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Ralph Keyes' Retroterm of the Day: Iron curtain

“Iron curtain” was the name given fireproof metallic curtains that were first installed in theaters during the late eighteenth century. Since the early twentieth century iron curtain has been used by many a speaker or writer to refer to a country sealed off from its neighbors. Before Churchill used this term in 1946, Nazi propagandists had already warned that an iron curtain surrounded Russia.

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Expansion on Double Whammy

In response to a reader comment to his last Retroterm of the Day, local writer Ralph Keyes offers this expanded version of the subject, taken directly from his latest book, I Love It When You Talk Retro: Hoochie Coochie, Double Whammy, Drop a Dime, and the Forgotten Origins of American Speech:

When she was secretary of state, Madeleine Albright baffled China’s ambassador to the United States by asking him to treat her nicely because it was Sadie Hawkins Day. Any American of a certain age knew what Albright was referring to: an annual race run in Dogpatch, USA, where the comic strip Li’l Abner was set. Worried that his homely daughter Sadie might never get married, Dogpatch resident Hezebiah Hawkins or ganized an event to make sure this didn’t happen. On October 16, 1937, the mayor of Dogpatch proclaimed, “Whereas there be inside our town a passel of gals what ain’t married but craves something awful to be . . . we hereby proclaims and decrees... Saturday, November 4th Sadie Hawkins Day, whereon a foot race will be held, the unmarried gals to chase the unmarried men and if they ketch them, the men by law must marry the gals and no two ways about it.” This race, which became a recurring episode in Li’l Abner, inspired decades of Sadie Hawkins Day events in American schools, including dances to which girls invited boys.

At the peak of Li’l Abner’s popularity, the antics of buff, amiable, dimwitted Abner Yokum and his hillbilly pals in Dogpatch fascinated some sixty million readers of nearly nine hundred newspapers. From 1934 to 1977, the words and phrases Dogpatch residents liked to toss around—natcherly, druthers, and as any fool can plainly see—were picked up by readers. Nobel laureate John Steinbeck, who considered Capp himself worthy of a Nobel, said Li’l Abner’s creator “not only invented a language but . . . planted it in us so deeply that we can talk it ourselves.”

Capp’s real contribution to retrotalk was characters and settings so vivid that three decades since his death in 1979 we still refer to them. Stephen King characterized the hardscrabble Maine town where he grew up as “Dogpatch with no sense of humor.” Critic Rex Reed compared King himself to “an overweight Li’l Abner.” On NBC’s West Wing, U.S. president Jed Bartlett called his elderly secretary “Mammy Yokum.” This referred to Abner’s mother, a wizened little woman with a black bonnet and corncob pipe clamped in her teeth who dominated Pappy Yokum and everyone else in her vicinity. Mammy Yokum was the only Dogpatch resident able to thwart the dastardly Evil Eye Fleegle. This gnomish, scowling, zoot-suited hoodlum from Brooklyn could flatten any man or woman alive with “nature’s most stupefyin’equipment—THE UNLIMITLESS POWER OF THE HUMAN EYEBALL!” Fleegle harnessed this power by focusing one eye on his targets while pointing in their direction. That was a whammy. Capp then upped the ante by having Fleegle train both eyes on his victims and point at them with two fingers. This was a double whammy, powerful enough to topple the Empire State Building or melt a locomotive going full steam. In an era when swollen SUVs clog our highways and combo meals are routinely supersized, one seldom hears about single whammies any longer. References to double whammies, on the other hand—two strokes of misfortune endured at once—are commonplace. The lethal combination of drought and wildfires in southern California is a classic double whammy.

Some Dogpatchers worked at the Skonk Works brewing liquor from dead skunks, old shoes, and other debris. They called this concoction Kickapoo Joy Juice. That name remains synonymous with any strong drink, usually cheap, often homemade (and has become an actual brand of soda pop). The name of this drink’s brewery inspired Lockheed Martin’s research and development department to call itself “the Skunk Works.” Working in tents and big packing crates, 120 skunk workers needed just forty-three days to build the first World War II–era airplane that could fly faster than five hundred miles an hour. Skunk works was subsequently applied to any loosely knit group within a larger organization whose members engage in creative activity.

Not far from Dogpatch was the Valley of the Shmoon, home to a band of smiling creatures shaped like bowling pins who lived to make human beings happy, even when this meant rolling over and dying so their flesh could be consumed. Shmoo flesh tasted like whatever the consumer wanted it to taste like: chicken when fried, steak when broiled, oysters on the half shell when eaten raw. Their skin made sturdy lumber when cut thick, or fine leather if cut thin. Shmoo eyes made excellent buttons, their whiskers outstanding toothpicks. During the late 1940s and early 1950s Shmoos captivated Americans, even appearing on the cover of Time magazine. Decades later Time called an Alexander Calder sculpture “shmoo-like.”

One of Capp’s most endearing—and enduring—creations was a forlorn little man in rags who was followed about by a dark cloud raining down on his head. This cloud signified the misfortune that always accompanied the figure below: Joe Btfsplk. Since we all feel like Joe Btfsplk at times, “Btsflpk” remained part of the national conversation long after his creator had the ultimate misfortune of dying. Columnist Bob Ortman once reported that “during a Colorado vacation I discovered that I have that rare Joe Btfsplkian talent to turn on clouds. . . . All I had to do was walk outdoors.” Since Joe’s last name is hard to pronounce and harder to spell—“Joe Btfsplk,” he’d say, “pronounced B-t-f-s-p-l-k”—we sometimes content ourselves with referring to someone who, like him, lives under a dark cloud or a black cloud. “Union Carbide has been like the cartoon character with a black cloud over its head,” reported the New York Times.

Ralph Keyes' Retroterm of the Day: Double whammy

In the comic strip Li’l Abner, a gnomish, scowling hoodlum named Evil Eye Fleegle could flatten any man or woman alive by focusing one eye on his targets while pointing in their direction. That was a whammy. When Fleegle used both eyes and two fingers, this double whammy was powerful enough to topple a skyscraper or melt a locomotive going full steam.

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Publishers Weekly recently published Keyes' essay "Why I Write."

Ralph Keyes' Retroterm of the Day: Jump on the bandwagon

Ornately decorated vehicles wended through towns where circuses were about to appear. Musicians atop this “bandwagon” blasted their instruments. During the late 19th century politicians employed “band wagons” of their own before rallies. They said that those eager to join a campaign as it gained momentum resembled the young boys who tried to jump on their bandwagons.

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Ralph Keyes' Retroterm of the Day: Scoop

After the Civil War, reporters borrowed “scoop” from merchants who used that verb to mean going one up on competitors. Journalists still use scoop to mean being first out with a news story. That term has recently shape-shifted to refer to exclusive or inside information. (”Get the scoop on Britney.”)

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Ralph Keyes' Retroterm of the Day: Goldbrick

In the late nineteenth century goldbrick referred to a piece of cheaper metal that con men painted to look like gold. Eventually this term referred to all manner of swindles. By 1918 goldbrick was applied first to unqualified military officers, then to any soldier who didn’t do his job. In time this noun became a verb: to goldbrick, or goof off.

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Ralph Keyes' Retroterm of the Day: Pollyanna

In Eleanor Porter’s 1913 novel Pollyanna, eleven-year-old orphan Pollyanna Whittier lives in the dark attic of her dour aunt’s home. Through the power of irrepressible good will Pollyanna melts the frozen heart of her bitter aunt, and lifts the spirits of all she meets. This novel and its many sequels were phenomenal bestsellers. In time “Pollyanna” or “Pollyannish” came to suggest sunny naiveté.

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Ralph Keyes' Retroterm of the Day: Pyrrhic victory

In what is now northwestern Greece and southern Albania, King Pyrrhus who ruled a small country called Epirus, was notorious for tolerating enormous casualties among his troops. After suffering a hideous loss of soldiers and officers while vanquishing the Romans in a 279 BC battle, Pyrrhus observed that one more such victory would do him in. In his honor, any apparent success won at high cost is still known as a Pyrrhic victory.

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Ralph Keyes' Retroterm of the Day: The real McCoy

In mid-19th century Edinburgh, the G. Mackay distillery produced a well-regarded whiskey. When comparing this product to imitators, Scotsmen talked of “the real Mackay.” Scottish migrants brought this catchphrase to the United States and applied it to anything considered authentic. Over time its spelling was changed to “the real McCoy.”

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Ralph Keyes' Retroterm of the Day: On tenterhooks

Beginning in the Middle Ages washed wool fabric was stretched tightly on wooden frames called tenters.. The wet fabric was attached to L-shaped hooks along the tenter’s perimeter to keep it from shrinking. When in a strained state we still say we’re on tenterhooks.

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Ralph Keyes' Retroterm of the Day: Mr. Peepers

Robinson J. Peepers, the bespectacled junior high school science teacher played by Wally Cox on television from 1952 to 1955, left his name behind as shorthand for timid, spectacles-wearing men like him: Mr. Peepers.

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Ralph Keyes' Retroterm of the Day: Doofus

In 1958 a new character was introduced to the comic strip Popeye: a dimwitted nephew of the sailor man named “Dufus.” Over time the re-spelled term “doofus” became slang for clueless individuals.

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Ralph Keyes' Retroterm of the Day: Dance Card

At parties a century ago women hung small cards from their wrist on which they jotted down whom they’d be dancing with. That’s what we refer to when we say “My dance card’s full.”

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Ralph Keyes' Retroterm of the Day: Scuttlebutt

On nineteenth-century British ships, a wooden cask, or butt, held drinking water. Its lid had a dipping hole called a scuttle. The two pieces combined were called a scuttlebutt. As would later be true of office workers sipping water from water coolers, sailors commonly shared gossip beside these containers while quenching their thirst. In time scuttlebutt itself became synonymous with gossip, rumors, or inside information.

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