Folly of the Faithful Canine

You may have heard this story: In the 18th century,
James Cook and Joseph Banks became the first White men to see
A macropod and asked a nearby local for its name.
The local answered, “Kangaroo,” which rather is a shame,
Because the phrase meant “I don’t know” or “I don’t understand,”
But Cooks and Banks assumed it was the label in the land.
In element’ry school, I read the legend as a fact.
It turned out just a fib I wished the teller would retract.
We haven’t traced the start; it must have had an early date,
For Walter Roth corrected it in 1898,
But only in the ‘70s did anyone confirm
The Guugu Yimithirr used gangurru, a native term
Specific to the eastern grey variety of roo.
The origin of “Yucatán” has such a legend too.
These myths sure are tenacious, and I think that I know why:
They serve as an analogy that’s useful to apply
To other situations where communication fails.
They’re also kind of funny, but I hope the truth prevails.

My erstwhile employer had meetings repeatedly
Telling us not to use insults like “lame”
Or “stupid” or “crazy,” which used to be clinical
Terms till they took connotations of shame.

I knew that more recently downgraded terms
Like “retarded” were apt to offend a whole lot,
But few can remember when “moron” turned up
In a shrink’s diagnosis, or so I’d have thought.

It bugged me to realize that less problematic
Such words aren’t among what we commonly say.
I seldom hear “nitwit” or “loon” in our parlance.
There’s even resurgence of slurs like “so gay.”

Of course, in an office, I’d call it a moot point:
All insults are most unprofessional there.
Our culture’s grown coarse, so let’s bring back some manners
And treat every insult the same as a swear.

Medieval friar John Duns Scotus (yes, he was a Scot)
Was highly influential in the realm of Catholic thought
And even for the secular philosophers of old,
Tho of his life outside his work, quite little has been told.

One doctrine he set forth: the univocity of being.
It means that words applied to God and men must be agreeing
In definition; thus, if we describe a man as “good,”
It means he has a property Jehovah also would.

Disciples of Duns Scotus called what makes a thing distinct
“Haecceity” (like “thisness”). In some lexicons, it’s linked
To “quiddity” or “essence,” but it’s really the reverse
Of common traits to which the essence properly refers.

I won’t go into each Duns Scotus tenet in my rhymes.
My point is how his reputation suffered with the times.
Within the next few centuries, the English Reformation
Was bent against Franciscans, so he faced excoriation.

Some called the Scotists “dunses,” which at first implied pedantic,
Sophistic traits, but then it underwent a change semantic.
A “dunce” was just a fool, and conic hats the Scotists wore
Became a form of punishment a failing student bore.

But Catholic Europeans still acclaimed Duns Scotus’ work,
And by the 1960s, few would see him as a jerk.
For my part, I’m unsure he got a lot of concepts right,
But he’s too smart to have his name be treated as a slight.

The tap code, or knock code, goes letter by letter
To tap out a message. In some ways, it’s better
Than Morse code: It’s easy to learn on the spot,
And using percussion is usually not
A good way to note when a signal is long
Or short, so the listener might get it wrong.

The tap code involves a Polybius square,
A five-by-five grid with all letters in there,
Except for the K, which the C can replace.
(Alas, that means “fake” would be turned into “face.”
If I were designing, I’d take out the Q.
I’m sure that would spell less confusion; don’t you?)

You first tap the number of times for the row
And then tap the one for the column to show
Which letter you mean. For example, the C
Is signaled by one tap, a pause, and then three.

My sources don’t say how far back the code goes.
It’s likely a secret that nobody knows.
But nihilist Russians imprisoned by czars
Reportedly used a grid different from ours.
The Anglosphere used it in World War II.
The Vietnam War’s when it really came through,
As four POWs held in Hanoi
Discovered the tap code was best to employ
To keep up morale and the chain of command.
If next to each other while talking was banned,
They’d tap someone’s thigh or could sneeze, sniff, or cough,
Until the guards noticed and cut them all off
With more isolation and thicker cell walls.
They still found a few ways when walking the halls.

The tap code turns up in some video games,
Books, films, and TV shows (I won’t say their names).
If I’m ever locked up or silenced by force,
I’ll favor the tap code. Apologies, Morse.

In olden days, the strongest swears available pertained
To taking Yahweh’s name in vain, but then religion waned.
As people got more privacy, they felt a lot more shame
For designated private parts and functions of the same,
Which thus became the basis of a second kind of curse.
Today, the most offensive words are demographic slurs.
Perhaps there’ll be a fourth wave, but it’s hard to think of how
The people of the future will take more offense than now.

“Conspiracy” now is quite often misused.
It’s not short for “conspiracy theory,”
At least not according to Merriam-Webster
And such, tho it is worth a query.

The word can refer to a secret agreement
To do something bad or illicit,
Or else it’s the act that’s agreed to or even
The group of all people complicit.

What’s more, many speakers would have you believe
All conspiracy theories are rot.
I find that absurd: You think Julius Caesar’s
Assassins did not have a plot?

I know of a bunch of implausible theories,
But those needn’t tarnish the rest.
Perhaps their whole point is to make us dismiss
All the true ones (that’s only a guess).

Most state names in the USA have meanings we can trace,
But “Idaho” was probably a gag; it’s out of place.
Some folks suggest the Plains Apache ídaahę́, or “foe,”
Referring to Comanches, but on that, my vote is no.
More likely, George M. Willing, then a delegate called “Doc,”
Made up the name and then devised its meaning (what a crock).
He claimed that it was “gemstone of the mountains” in Shoshoni.
He later would confess that he was being quite the phony.
Perhaps it wasn’t his idea, but records haven’t shown
Its use before an 1860 meeting that we’ve known.
Supposedly, he coined it when he’d met a little girl
Named Ida, but at any rate, he gave the name a whirl
And made it his suggestion for a territory name.
It won the vote at first, but Congress quickly felt some shame
And switched to “Colorado.” Nonetheless, the first name stuck
To one town there, and that was not the end of Willing’s luck.
In Washington, a county took the name a few months later.
In 1863, at last, the silly word’s creator
Would get his wish with yet another territory’s label.
The borders changed by statehood, but the name of it was stable.
Did people still believe the lie or simply like the sound?
Regardless, it’s a pain to change, and thus it sticks around.

A slang phrase, tho American and certainly far from new,
Is the name of a post-punk British band: It’s 23 Skidoo.
I’m not sure who still uses the phrase for having to exit fast,
But the early 1900s had it become a big part of our past.
At first it was two words separately, with meanings much alike.
In 1906, many ads would give the joint expression a spike.
The “skidoo” part’s pretty simple as a variant of “skedaddle,”
But where’d the “23” come from? Explanations leave me addled.
One theory notes the Flatiron Building on New York’s 23rd Street.
Its shape yields swirling winds, which might make exits extra fleet.
The trouble is that the building was finished only in 1902,
Three years too late for “23” and one too late for “skidoo”
(Altho What Happened on Twenty-third Street, a short from 1901,
Depicts a Seven Year Itch-style upskirt draft for racy fun).
In Charles Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities, a man to be beheaded
Is called by his number, 23—how bland for a fate so dreaded!
A jockey claimed that a track was only 22 horses wide.
A 23rd horse would start behind, with a need for speed implied.
It might be a telegraph shorthand code to mean “Away with you,”
But Western Union has it for “All stations copy”; that won’t do.
Perhaps Skidoo, California, stood some 23 miles away
From a water source on Telescope Peak; the town is gone today.
Another Death Valley town, perhaps, had 23 saloons.
A man might visit them all to have the greatest time in moons.
This isn’t an exhaustive list of the theories behind the term.
Just know there are a lot of them, and none are yet confirmed.

I’ve written of foods that are secretly fruits.
Now I’d like to move on to the berry.
It too has a certain botanical meaning
That differs from one culinary.

We tend to apply the term “berry” to fruits
That are edible, pulpy, and small.
But strawberries, raspberries, blackberries—these
Are not actual berries at all.

For starters, a berry is simple and fleshy,
With seeds but without a hard pit.
It comes from one flower containing one ov’ry
And lacks special lines for a split.

Thus, berries include avocados, bananas,
Tomatoes, persimmons, grapes, currants,
And various melons, along with the fruit
Of the nightshade, which has its deterrents.

While wrestling matches aren’t my scenes,
I’ve come to know what “kayfabe” means:
Pretending to believe it’s real
Instead of scripted for appeal.

It also sometimes has referred
To acts involved. This newish word
Was written first in ’88
But surely didn’t start so late.

So where’s it from? Some sources make
It out to be an altered “fake,”
Perhaps as used in carny-speak,
But that idea’s a little weak.

It might be from the Latin slang
Cavēre, keeping watch, but dang,
Who knew that folks who love a fight
Could ever be so erudite?

That said, it seems East London Jews
From World War I to World War II
Would say “keep cavey,” based upon
The Latin term, which wasn’t gone.

Of course, it also could turn out
We’re justified in all our doubt.
The coinage might have been opaque
On purpose, as befits a fake.