Back in 1912, William Howard Taft and Theodore Roosevelt were both vying for the nomination to be the Republican candidate in that year’s presidential election, and the dispute between the two former friends grew heated and personal. At one point, in a live debate in a Chicago convention hall, the increasing animosity between the two led both candidates to resort to gutter-level, no-class, gob-in-the- spittoon name-calling. Crossing the line from political discourse into personal attack, Roosevelt called Taft a “puzzlewit.” Taft responded by calling Roosevelt a “honeyfugler.” Shocking, isn’t it?
Although back in 1912, the crowd might have been a bit scandalized to hear such strong language hurled at their opponents in a public forum from two such highly respected politicians, I image now almost a hundred years later most of us would shrug and say, “What the heck’s a puzzlewit and a honeyfugler?” A puzzlewit is person who is puzzled by life, which is to say, a stupid person. A honeyfugler is basically a swindling liar who gets what he wants by duping people into believing his frauds. Despite the prestige and historical importance of both Taft and Roosevelt and the highly publicized notoriety of their trash talk during this presidential debate, neither invective has survived the past century. You won’t even find these two words today in the Merriam-Webster dictionary. It’s a shame, really. Both words are a little slice of awesome.
So to start off this blog about strange words, puzzlewit and honeyfugler are my gift to you, Dear Reader; perfectly suitable insults to hurl at people whom you want to call either “stupid” or “liar” without them knowing what it is exactly you are calling them. You’re welcome.
Language is in constant change. Words and phrases come and go and frequently change their meaning over time. This inescapable truth, by the way, is the bane to the Standardized Testing industry. In order for Standardized Tests in English to be authentic and valid, they need to rely upon a notion of language that is stagnant and fixed. But, of course, it is not. Standard English is a moving target; what may have been standard 20 years ago may be completely passé in contemporary usage. I, for one, am a big fan of the Oxford Comma (you know, that comma that goes in front of the “and” in the midst of a series of three: Larry, Moe, and Curly), but I wouldn’t suggest that a student who leaves one out is either stupid or unfit for admission to an Ivy League college. In fact, I might go as far as to say that people who believe in the validity of Standardized English tests are either puzzlewits or honeyfuglers, but then again, these terms are not necessarily mutually exclusive.
Reading Shakespeare often reminds us just how much language changes over time. There are a few words and expressions that Shakespeare used frequently that I really wish had made into contemporary usage. I really like, for instance, what “soft” meant four hundred years ago. Back in Shakespeare’s time, soft meant “hold up a second.” I like the economy of a single word that says, “Just wait a second there.” How cool would it be if in the middle of an argument with someone, you could says, “Soft, what you’re really saying is that I’m a puzzlewit. Well, by God, you’re a honeyfugler.” Or instead of “Give me a minute to get my stuff together and I’ll go with you,” we could say, “Soft, I’ll go with you.”
One of my favorite Shakespearean words that has changed over the past four hundred years was his interjection for “bring it on” or “let’s get to it” which was “ho.” Today when my students read Juliet’s father saying to her mother, “Bring me my long sword, ho” they think Capulet is talking to his wife like a pimp. And while I’ve never met Shakespeare, given his love for language and vulgar phrases, I like to image that he’d get quite a chuckle over that one.
Back when I was in high school in the mid 70’s, we had the term “zah” which was a response that meant “what you just said was so stupid I don’t even know how to respond to that.” The cool thing about “zah” is that it has a hand motion to go along with it; when we “zahhed” someone we would flick the end of our thumb with the end of our middle finger; quite often we would just use the hand motion and the other person would have to ask, “Did you just zah me?” Well, yeah. Zah.
Another word that has undergone a complete transformation since I was in high school is the word “geek.” Today a geek, of course, is someone who loves technology so much that the rest of us can count on them to help us resolve whatever issues we are having when our electronic gadgetry fails us. Forty years ago, however, a “geek” was a circus performer crazy enough to bite the heads off of live chickens or snakes. The first time I heard the term was when I was in junior high (and it sent me running for a dictionary) when I heard a friend of mine’s dad say to him at supper one night, “Chew with your mouth closed, you geek-child.” Brilliant. You seldom hear such an apt turn of phrase these days.
I’ll end here with another word that relates to the dinner table. If someone is not eating, but they are sitting there watching you eat, you can politely ask them not to “groak.” Groaking is the action of silently staring longingly at something, but while you’re trying to eat, it’s disconcerting. Don’t you think? Well, zah.
Olivia says:
I don't understand. Puzzlewit is not a commonly used word ...?
Zah, though, yeah I had no idea. Oh the things I learn from you, Dad. From whence did zah originate? Or at least where did you learn it?
I absolutely adore the usage of the word "soft." I like it not only because it's simpler than whole sentences of explanation, but because it's such an attention snag. Hearing the word "soft" to me is like a sudden gasp, or the sound of twigs snapping in the woods. It's sudden, and powerful. That's what I feel anyway.
Your picture is fantastic, by the way. And as far as the Oxford Comma goes, I'm indifferent. About as indifferent as Vampire Weekend is.
