HANNIBAL, MO. — “Tom! No answer. Tom! No answer. What’s gone with that boy, I wonder?” Is there a person in America who can’t place that partial exchange?

It comes from the opening lines of “Tom Sawyer,” a classic of American Literature, whose author everybody remembers as Mark Twain, The Mark Twain, the one-of-a-kind storyteller, humorist, observer of American life along the Mississippi.

Twain, who lived between 1835 and 1910, was prolific, having written, among other works, “Innocents Abroad,” “Roughing It,” “The Prince and the Pauper,” “Adventures of Huckleberry Finn” and “A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court.” Continue reading →

Remember those looping, joined-up letters that for centuries have stood as signs of education and sophistication? We used to call that bit of artistry penmanship, or, so as not to offend anyone, let’s call it “penpersonship.”

It seems that handwriting, particularly the act or connecting letters, called cursive writing, was emphasized more in parochial schools than in the public sector. When I assisted in a summer journalism workshop at Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff, in the ‘80s and ‘90s, my director, Ray Newton, and I used to bet on which hand-written essays came from junior and senior applicants who attended parochial schools.

Penmanship constituted an important part of the curriculum at Immaculate Conception School, where all my family attended; a number of students received certificates for performing extra well. Of course, there were a few notable exceptions. Continue reading →

At what point will the term “turn of the century” refer to this century instead of last? To me the expression corresponds to the era when my dad, born in 1903, came around.

But we’ve been into the 21st century for 11 years, and technically, the few years past ought to be the real turn of the century.

In addition, for years I’ve heard people say things like, “Back in oh-2, when I was a kid …” It’s usually an exaggeration, one I used in class a number of times.

Jessie Farrington, a reader of this column, posed an interesting issue as she wrote, “I have said many times that ‘I retired from the Vet School in oh-1’ and that ‘my dog Jebediah died in oh-4 and Nelson (another pet) died in oh-5.’ Continue reading →

Last week, just for antiquity’s sake, I put my paws on something I hadn’t touched in years.

Ah, the nostalgia! It was fulfilling to experience the freedom, the honest-to-goodness tactile sensation of letting my fingers go where they pleased.

But lest this seem like the opening scene of a racy novel, let me explain I’m referring to typewriters, nothing more. Coincidentally, the day after I actually typed an address on an envelope (probably the only use for a typewriter nowadays), I read an article in the Sunday Journal about many people who still use the things.

One of our regular Optic correspondents obviously has opted not to join the word-processor generation; another frequent letter-to-the-editor sender handwrites her submissions. Continue reading →

As a continuing unrepentant language cop, I really had thought of laying off criticizing those electronic message boards that greet visitors.

Yes, since it’s summer, when most of the schools are in recess, there hasn’t been much to report. But if there is a bit of criticism, I aim it at the fact that a number of the signs appear to have gone on summer break, along with teachers and students.

Several months back, I faulted Sierra Vista Elementary School staff for carrying stale information. I won’t really say the info was old, but Moses reportedly was seen on Legion Drive, carrying a couple of tablets with 10 instructions, some misspelled. The day after I brought the dated information to the attention of Optic readers, the sign went off. And it hasn’t been on since.

The sign in front of Tony Serna Elementary is off, as is the one on Mills near Robertson High School. Continue reading →

One of the things some of us did on our own, without getting paid, was individual tutoring. During my term on the faculty at Highlands University, some dedicated students, usually Asians, wishing to “rap,” often visited me.

As members of the humanities faculty, we were often approached, the English language being our bit of expertise. Typically, those seeking tutoring weren’t even my regular students. And they didn’t come to me for a specific task; rather, as one put it, “We just want to ‘rap.’” “Rap,” the operative word, in vogue during the ‘80s and ‘90s, I was happy to do. Two chemistry students from China approached me with “Our English is terrible. Can you help us?”

The ground rules were that we’d, well, rap: no written assignments, no homework, just rapping, with twice-weekly visits following no particular agenda.

But one thing puzzling for any student hoping to master English is the plethora of idiomatic expressions peppering our language. During the first meeting, I realized I’d used a couple of expressions that they said once made no sense to them, terms we English speakers take for granted. Continue reading →

“You guys keep printing the same news, and you even copy from each other.” There isn’t a newsperson alive who hasn’t needed to refute these charges.

Most of us have experienced that this-sounds-familiar phenomenon either when reading the paper or listening to the news: the same word order, the same chronology.

A modicum of truth appears in both accusations. As for running the same news, well that depends. A skit in one of the ‘50s-era live variety programs, The Ed Sullivan Show, used the same line when a man in a diner read an article about Liz Taylor having taken a spouse.

“Ooh, that’s old news; they never print anything new,” he remarked. But was it really? Was the press guilty of simply recycling an item that appeared a few months earlier? Well, in Liz’s case, perhaps. That was when she was into her third or fourth marriage, well on her way to becoming Elizabeth Taylor Hilton Wilding Todd Fisher Burton Burton (again) Warner Fortensky and possibly Winters (she wouldn’t say). Continue reading →

They came to play. Well, what else would they have come for, to show off their needlepoint collection? To exchange recipes?

My addiction to professional sports is limited to watching the Boston Celtics in basketball, the Oakland Raiders in football and whoever is playing in the world series.

During the time I’ve fed this addiction, I’ve acquired quite an arsenal of sports clichés, metaphors that describe things that are not.

But first, a mini-English lesson:

A metaphor, as my English teacher used to say, “is an impossible comparison.” Calling a man a tiger or a woman a cougar is using a metaphor. If you say they merely act like tigers and cougars, well, you’re using a simile. But that’s a topic for another column.

Unfortunately, too many people think of sports as real life, and the clichés that sportscasters and sportswriters conjure up make the creators seem as if sports were all that mattered. And to some it is.

In an old episode of “Alice,” a sit-com starring Polly Holiday as Flo and Linda Lavin as Alice, their boss, diner-owner Mel, asked an orchestra leader if he would play, “Dropkick me, Jesus, through the goalpost of life.” Continue reading →

Going to the plant south of town, on my first trip for a water haul, I counted 18 vehicles, going for or having gotten, a load of effluent water.

My grandson and namesake, thrilled over his brand-new learner’s permit, took the wheel, while my wife, Bonnie, and I went along for the ride. Arthur’s father recently purchased a 275-gallon container, which surprisingly took only about a minute to fill. We saw pickups the size of ours, some with trailers, as well as huge tankers.

The water-distribution enterprise appears to have caught on, and one session of soaking our own used-to-be lawn convinces me it’s hard work. We drained the tank by gravity — no fancy pump to help out. Regardless, our patch of God’s Little Acre belched and uttered a dry, wry “Thank you.”

Being in the water-hauling business is expensive. A round trip to the treatment plant consumes gas and time, and people I’ve talked to mention having to rush just to make four deliveries a day. Unless someone’s willing to pay big bucks for a load of water, it seems highly unlikely anyone’s making a lot of money by delivering it. Continue reading →

Even a close member of my family struggles with the potable/pottable issue. Which is it?

You’ve perhaps read about the almost-give-away prices of effluent water in the city. If you’re among the purchasers of recycled water, you’ve seen and been a part of a small army of vehicles that line up at the treatment plant south of town to buy 1,000 gallons of used water for $1.25.

Sounds like a great deal, but one wonders whether anyone but a tanker owner could ever load up on the full amount that a buck-twenty-five buys. Likely, some of the people driving pickups, ask the providers, “Do you mind if I come back for the rest of the water later?” The current bargain-basement water rate translates to a quarter for 200 gallons, a nickel for 40 gallons and a penny for eight gallons. Continue reading →