An Albuquerque weathercaster, Bill Eisenhood, used to include an “amazing fact? each evening. One such “fact? was a mnemonic device in which one could recall the names of all the planets. It made such an impression on me that I can’t remember any of it.
Just for kicks, I sent in a question: What is the longest word one can type using only (not necessarily all) the keys in the row above the home keys of a standard typewriter?
Eisenhood appeared to be so impressed with that factoid that he led off the weathercast with the question. The news anchors at the time simultaneously blurted out the answer, as if they’d actually figured it out. No way! Obviously, they’d heard the weatherman spill the answer before airtime. I’ve asked the same question to dozens. Nobody has yet to give me the correct answer.
Ever since I was a child I’ve been fascinated by words, scrambling them in my mind, rearranging them, trying to make smaller words out of bigger ones, bigger out of smaller.
A requirement is solving the daily Jumble in the newspaper without using a pencil. If I fail to unjumble the four or five words, which lead to a larger word or phrase, I simply skip work that day. And that might explain why I work part-time.
Once, in a primary grade at Immaculate Conception School, I felt like jettisoning two letters from my alphabet: “r��? and “l.��? They’re called glides, and almost always, they represent the speech sounds children master last, because they’re difficult.
That’s probably why many older siblings claim Junior has a New England accent because, as we all know, Yankees don’t pronounce the “r��? and say “potty��? for “party��? and “laud��? for “lord.��? In elementary school I tried to make it a game, eliding the dreaded sounds, and in class I answered by avoiding any word that contained those sounds, or if that was impossible, I simply skipped over them.
I thought it was clever when it was my turn to give the answer to a catechism question in Sister Maxima Lachrymosa’s homeroom. She asked me the words to a particular commandment, to which I answered, “Thou shot honna thy fatha and motha.��? Accordingly, I omitted each “r��? and for the word “shalt,��? “I got the ‘l’ out of there.��?
“We are not amused, Arthur,��? Sister said, nor were her half-dozen pets who made like they had barely managed to keep from gagging. Yet, if our teacher had complimented me on my insights into language, her little favorites would have applauded.
And besides, what’s wrong with a 7-year-old laying the groundwork for the way many people speak today? A day seldom passes without some homie asking, “What’s happenin’, brotha?��?
Word play as a tyke predictably led to stronger stuff. It led me to experiment with more elaborate linguistic matters. The addiction became strong, and soon I was asking, “What words in English contain all the vowels in order?��?
One word is “abstemious.��? Can someone name another?
• What seven-letter word reverses the vowels?
• “Strengths,��? with nine letters, is one of the longest words of one vowel and one syllable. Can someone name another?
• Salt Lake City is a capital that consists of four words when combined with its state. What is the other?
• Which two state capitals rhyme?
Just when I believed I’d cornered the market on strange things one can do with words, I received an e-mail from Dorothy Simpson, a former colleague, who included a number of curi-oddities about the language.
Among them:
• No words in English rhyme with “month,��? “orange,��? “silver��? or “purple.��?
• “Dreamt��? is the only English word that ends in the letters “mt.��?
• “Stewardesses��? is the longest word typed with only the left hand.
What’s the longest word you can type using only your right hand?
Dorothy’s e-mail emphasizes the difficulty in proving some of these typewriter-type questions without physically tapping out the letters in the air. I tried wrapping both hands and testing the answers in my head, but without dexterity in my index finger, it was pointless.
• • •
A number of people my age identify with those who grew up consuming Aceite Mexicano (literally, “Mexican oil��?) to cure upset tummies.
John Martinez, of Art and Stones, said his father would cure John’s stomach problems by putting a few drops of the compound into water, adding a bit of sugar and having the child drink it. It was not until John became an adult that he discovered Aceite Mexicano is for external use only.
And Angie Ramirez of Rociada also recalls consuming the aceite. She said I could find the remedy in the section of Dollar General where products are labeled in Spanish. I was unable to find a bottle of Aceite Mexicano but did come across McLean’s liniment, whose scent I recall clearly.
These bottles were not safety sealed the way most of today’s products are, so I thought, “What if I take a sniff of McLean’s, just to discover whether it smells the way I remember?��? Well, that opened the floodgates, and once again, many childhood memories emerged.
But that’s the subject for another column.