Words. They are just so unruly. You expect them to behave in a nice orderly fashion. But in English, or especially in moving from one language to another, they slouch and morph and take on the appearance of some of their shifty friends. You just imagine Mnemosyne-Greek Goddess of memory and inventress of language-shaking her head in frustration.
Take for instance the word renegade.
Officially it comes from the Medieval Latin word renegate, which means to deny. Specifically it was to deny one's faith, leading to the Spanish word renegado, a term used for a Christian who converted to Islam.
But there is a similar word, runagate to consider. It is said to be an alliteration of renagate mixing along the way with the concept of being a runaway. In Old English a road, or a gate crossing a road, were both referred to with the term gate. And running a gate would imply some form of trespass.
There is a poem by Robert Haydon called Runagate, Runagate that remembers the era of runaway slaves and the Underground Railroad.
I also wonder if there is not some accidental connection with the abbreviated and rather modern term renege, which means to go back on a deal. I suppose it comes both from renegate and from a condensing down of the term re-negotiate, with its overtones of extortion. Negotiate, by the way, comes to us not from mere Medieval Latin, but from the Old Days of the Roman Republic. In toga times a negotiatore was a businessman, usually someone who would loan money or trade in commodities. The business dealings that then and now arise from such activities are of course negotiations.
Friday, September 14, 2012
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Barbaric Words
I like to make my medical notes interesting enough to be worthwhile to the reader. Or maybe I just want to make the creation of such notes interesting to myself after three decades or so. I go for readability.
So the other day when doing a pre-operative physical I commented that the patient had been very reluctant to undergo a much needed procedure because she “suspected the medical system of avarice.”
Other folks at the clinic appreciated the touch-which was clinically relevant in this case-and declared it The Word for the Day.
It got me thinking…..
I had assumed that “avarice” derived from Avar, that being a designation for a bunch of ill behaved Central Asian nomads who charged about stealing things in the early Middle Ages.
They had after all stomped about in Central Europe not long after other barbarian assemblages that have come down to us over time.
Like the Vandals, whose similar behavior has somewhat unfairly given us the term “vandalism” for mindless breakage. As it turns out the Vandals settled down into their own kingdoms without too much pillage and rapine of the decadent Roman Empire .
Consider also the Goths, both Ostra and Visa types in their East and West franchises. True, they give us Goth in the sense of sullen, pierced and tattooed marginalized youth. But they also give us Gothic architecture which is civilized if a bit overdone.
Another somewhat later bunch of barbarians come off the best of all. The Franks were not much better or worse than the Goths and Vandals, but in our parlance to “speak frankly” is to be a teller of the truth. The term probably originates in the Old German word “frankon” which was a type of spear. The Franks once established as the ruling class by liberal use of the frankon then considered themselves “free men”, so that to speak frankly and to speak freely mean the same thing…nobody is going to argue with you.
Alas for my theory about the Avars.
The Avar language is of obscure origins, with the word “awar” , meaning "opponent" or "obstacle" perhaps being the source of their tribal name. They first turn up in historical records circa 463 AD in the writings of Priscus, a Byzantine historian. He wrote in Greek, so any connection to the Latin word “avarus” for greedy, is just an etymological coincidence.
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Other barbarian tribes of Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages have mostly done OK by themselves. Both the Huns and the Bulgars have countries recalling their names. The Bulgars probably get a breakfast cereal too. The Burgundians get some great wine. The Tartars have to settle for raw steak.
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Other barbarian tribes of Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages have mostly done OK by themselves. Both the Huns and the Bulgars have countries recalling their names. The Bulgars probably get a breakfast cereal too. The Burgundians get some great wine. The Tartars have to settle for raw steak.
Monday, September 10, 2012
The Legacy of C.C. Sniteman
A picture from our road trip:
This is the C.C. Sniteman Pharmacy in the quiet little town of Neillsville, Wisconsin. The business has been there a while:
I wanted to stop by and pay my respects, because I knew a bit about Sniteman. He was one of those 19th century pharmacists that made his own patent medicines, and they have survived in remarkable abundance. A few years back you would find these in many antique shops:
And inside the box:
Sniteman's Xray Liniment. An early 20th century patent medicine mostly for horses and cows, but the label mentions that it would be good for people as well. Like many medicines of the era it had the name blown into the glass bottle:
Way back in 1990 I made a few inquiries about Sniteman with the historical society in his town. I received a delightful letter back from a Mrs Ruth Ebert.
She mentions perusing old newspapers and even venturing into the unheated basement of their museum ferreting out information for me.
As it turns out Sniteman got off a train in Neillsville in 1879, checked into a room at the O'Neill Hotel and stayed there for 30 years. He was initially a partner with two other pharmacists later buying them out to be sole proprietor of an establishment variously known as "The Deutche Apothek" or the "Mammoth Silver Front Store". As noted above, he built a new store in 1885 that still stands tall and proud on the main street of Neillsville.
Sniteman was one of those unusual businessmen who really did put his community first. He "invested in every enterprise that ever was instigated in Neillsville-sometimes losing every penny of it."
He lived to be 91 years old, dying with the riches of community esteem but few of the earthly kind. My correspondent in fact knew him, poignantly observing that "When we were younger we thought him to be a strange little old man-his wife likewise. As kids we saw everything to be funny."
When I made my inquiries I was of the impression that the large volume of Sniteman material turning up indicated that there had been an auction held. Not so. "There never was an auction there-a housecleaning yes-and that was the late owner LeRoy John. He threw everything out-tore out all that beautiful mahogany shelving and glass cases-it landed in the City landfill."
So just how a large number of near mint Sniteman patent medicine bottles survived is still a mystery. Did somebody rummage through the dumpsters after LeRoy cleaned house? Or was Sniteman such a pack rat that there were still hoards of stuff that went unnoticed?
Sniteman's Xray Liniment. An early 20th century patent medicine mostly for horses and cows, but the label mentions that it would be good for people as well. Like many medicines of the era it had the name blown into the glass bottle:
Way back in 1990 I made a few inquiries about Sniteman with the historical society in his town. I received a delightful letter back from a Mrs Ruth Ebert.
She mentions perusing old newspapers and even venturing into the unheated basement of their museum ferreting out information for me.
As it turns out Sniteman got off a train in Neillsville in 1879, checked into a room at the O'Neill Hotel and stayed there for 30 years. He was initially a partner with two other pharmacists later buying them out to be sole proprietor of an establishment variously known as "The Deutche Apothek" or the "Mammoth Silver Front Store". As noted above, he built a new store in 1885 that still stands tall and proud on the main street of Neillsville.
Sniteman was one of those unusual businessmen who really did put his community first. He "invested in every enterprise that ever was instigated in Neillsville-sometimes losing every penny of it."
He lived to be 91 years old, dying with the riches of community esteem but few of the earthly kind. My correspondent in fact knew him, poignantly observing that "When we were younger we thought him to be a strange little old man-his wife likewise. As kids we saw everything to be funny."
When I made my inquiries I was of the impression that the large volume of Sniteman material turning up indicated that there had been an auction held. Not so. "There never was an auction there-a housecleaning yes-and that was the late owner LeRoy John. He threw everything out-tore out all that beautiful mahogany shelving and glass cases-it landed in the City landfill."
So just how a large number of near mint Sniteman patent medicine bottles survived is still a mystery. Did somebody rummage through the dumpsters after LeRoy cleaned house? Or was Sniteman such a pack rat that there were still hoards of stuff that went unnoticed?
Friday, September 7, 2012
Cave of the Mad Poetess-Part 2
The cave in which Maude Phillips and her bohemian tribe lived in 1917/18 is described in some detail in a contemporary newspaper account.
We shall have to imagine a flag pole with Old Glory out front, but the fallen tree makes a nice remembrance.
The furnishings are all gone. That little pile of twigs in the center is a fire pit from recent visitors, but probably occupies the same spot and serves the same purpose as a "boiler" that Maude put there to create smoke and repel mosquitoes. Note the dark notch along the left wall. The newspaper article describes this as being packed with books. I was a little surprised to see no real trace of any gate system. It is a bad idea to leave kegs of beer unsecured. It is a really bad idea to leave dynamite accessable!
Artistic types still seem to find solace and inspiration at this spot. Here are some interesting gargoyle faces. Maude would have liked 'em.
If you go way to the back you can find traces of the cave's earlier use. Remember E.R. Hantzsch, the guy who ran beer down a pipe to store it here? Well, here is where the pipe used to run.
Various bricks and such suggest that there was some sort of man hole at one point. But I also see the small pipe sized opening in the top still there after 142 years!
The fill pipe of course was at the back of the cave. It seems to have been cut into a small extension of the natural cave, so there was a ledge and a little space that I could not see up into. But, I could lift my camera and take a flash photo. Ever get that weird sense that there just has to be something hidden somewhere? Well, sure enough:
A stashed key! I wonder what it opens?
The cave is in a tranquil spot. A heron fishes in the water below. No city noise rises above the rippling sounds of a small rapids. While scampering up and down the river bank I saw nobody other than a woman who seemed to be picking up broken bits of tile and brick. I am pretty sure she is one of the local artistic community. Whether she is the re-incarnated spirit of Maude Phillips is less certain.
The fill pipe of course was at the back of the cave. It seems to have been cut into a small extension of the natural cave, so there was a ledge and a little space that I could not see up into. But, I could lift my camera and take a flash photo. Ever get that weird sense that there just has to be something hidden somewhere? Well, sure enough:
The cave is in a tranquil spot. A heron fishes in the water below. No city noise rises above the rippling sounds of a small rapids. While scampering up and down the river bank I saw nobody other than a woman who seemed to be picking up broken bits of tile and brick. I am pretty sure she is one of the local artistic community. Whether she is the re-incarnated spirit of Maude Phillips is less certain.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
The Cave of the Mad Poetess
I'm going to be a little vague on the location of this "forgotten brewery cave". It is in Eau Claire, Wisconsin, but in a location that is just a bit challenging to get to. More on this in a bit.
This cave was created, or more likely expanded, by a certain E.R. Hantzsch. A native of Germany, Hantzch turned up in Eau Claire in 1858. He built a saloon "At the Sign of the Two Barrels" in that town full of thirsty lumberjacks.
Business was good, and he began to diversify. By 1870 he was advertising as a manufacturer of XXX Cream Ale and of Pop Beer. Of course a cave was needed to age the beer, so one was excavated into a hillside. The entrance to the cave being then and now inconvenient, there was a pipe running down from above that allowed him to fill kegs from the back of a wagon. Personally I think this is a rather foolish way to do things. Unless you sanitized a rather long section of pipe you were running the risk of bacterial contamination and "skunk beer".
Maybe that's what happened, as Hantzsch went out of business and moved away.
The next use of the cave was by a hardware company that stored dynamite in it! It would have been quite the detonation had it gone off. Still later it was used as a changing room for swimmers when the section of river below was dammed up creating a pool.
But the most unusual use of the cave came in the winter of 1917-1918.
A certain Mrs. Maude Phillips-also known by her a pen name of Violet Leigh-was a colorful resident of Eau Claire at that time. She was a poet, a non conformist, and a suffragette. She was married to a music teacher named Wilbur, a long suffering sort who seems to have tolerated her frequent affairs, public letter writing feuds and occasional stays in the State Asylum in Mendota. Through a variety of circumstances which you can read about here, the family was evicted in the summer of 1917.
A newspaper account of their lodgings appeared in August of that year describes the improvements Maude had made. A flagpole out front with "Old Glory". Carpeting, chairs, beds, an oil stove and a curtain dividing the space into two rooms. In prominent place was a table heaped with books, a dictionary occupying a prime spot. Presumably she continued to write as she lived "homeless" with Wilbur, their children and her mother.
But when winter set in the local authorities began to worry about the extended Phillips family, and at a sanity hearing she was a little too frank for the attitudes of that time. She glibly spoke about having affairs with several prominent citizens and indicated that "It is a woman's birthright to love. If she cannot love her husband, she must love some other man".
That did not go over well in court, she was judged insane and committed again to the state institution in Mendota. The family later relocated to Madison where Maude continued to occasionally publish poetry in the local newspapers until her death in 1930. She seems to have stayed out of further legal trouble...perhaps even then the mores of "Mad City" were a bit more flexible!
The cave where Maude lived and wrote is still extant. It seems to be one of those places that "does not want to be found"; it took me several hours to pin it down despite having been there once 18 years ago. After clambering up and down some treacherous river bank slopes I finally ran across a debris field of old Mason jars, bricks and broken china. Peering up I spotted the entrance to the cave. Of course, once you have finally found an elusive site it becomes easy. I had been looking for the road by which E.R. Hantzsch transported his beer. But the road in the interval had become this:
A gentle path through a riverbank wood, a few foundations covered by brush on either side. Really a rather obvious path once you know where to look. But on my initial reconnaissance trip I did not see it. Why? Because it runs through the back yard of the new County Social Services building. Maybe they are keeping a close eye to make sure Maude and her tribe do not sneak back in. For a later story of a cave inhabitant much in need of Social Services see my post on Mrs. Julius Anklum!
Photos of the Cave of the Mad Poetess tomorrow!
This cave was created, or more likely expanded, by a certain E.R. Hantzsch. A native of Germany, Hantzch turned up in Eau Claire in 1858. He built a saloon "At the Sign of the Two Barrels" in that town full of thirsty lumberjacks.
Business was good, and he began to diversify. By 1870 he was advertising as a manufacturer of XXX Cream Ale and of Pop Beer. Of course a cave was needed to age the beer, so one was excavated into a hillside. The entrance to the cave being then and now inconvenient, there was a pipe running down from above that allowed him to fill kegs from the back of a wagon. Personally I think this is a rather foolish way to do things. Unless you sanitized a rather long section of pipe you were running the risk of bacterial contamination and "skunk beer".
Maybe that's what happened, as Hantzsch went out of business and moved away.
The next use of the cave was by a hardware company that stored dynamite in it! It would have been quite the detonation had it gone off. Still later it was used as a changing room for swimmers when the section of river below was dammed up creating a pool.
But the most unusual use of the cave came in the winter of 1917-1918.
A certain Mrs. Maude Phillips-also known by her a pen name of Violet Leigh-was a colorful resident of Eau Claire at that time. She was a poet, a non conformist, and a suffragette. She was married to a music teacher named Wilbur, a long suffering sort who seems to have tolerated her frequent affairs, public letter writing feuds and occasional stays in the State Asylum in Mendota. Through a variety of circumstances which you can read about here, the family was evicted in the summer of 1917.
A newspaper account of their lodgings appeared in August of that year describes the improvements Maude had made. A flagpole out front with "Old Glory". Carpeting, chairs, beds, an oil stove and a curtain dividing the space into two rooms. In prominent place was a table heaped with books, a dictionary occupying a prime spot. Presumably she continued to write as she lived "homeless" with Wilbur, their children and her mother.
But when winter set in the local authorities began to worry about the extended Phillips family, and at a sanity hearing she was a little too frank for the attitudes of that time. She glibly spoke about having affairs with several prominent citizens and indicated that "It is a woman's birthright to love. If she cannot love her husband, she must love some other man".
That did not go over well in court, she was judged insane and committed again to the state institution in Mendota. The family later relocated to Madison where Maude continued to occasionally publish poetry in the local newspapers until her death in 1930. She seems to have stayed out of further legal trouble...perhaps even then the mores of "Mad City" were a bit more flexible!
The cave where Maude lived and wrote is still extant. It seems to be one of those places that "does not want to be found"; it took me several hours to pin it down despite having been there once 18 years ago. After clambering up and down some treacherous river bank slopes I finally ran across a debris field of old Mason jars, bricks and broken china. Peering up I spotted the entrance to the cave. Of course, once you have finally found an elusive site it becomes easy. I had been looking for the road by which E.R. Hantzsch transported his beer. But the road in the interval had become this:
Photos of the Cave of the Mad Poetess tomorrow!
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Unclear on the Archeological Context
I was out for a walk the other day. As I have mentioned in the past, my "archeology eyes" work full time, so when there is something even slightly out of the ordinary on the ground I notice it.
To my surprise, sitting by the curb in our rather modern street I saw this:
This is an artifact that will be instantly recognizable to approximately 0.001% of the population. But I am among that group. This, you see, is a small part of one of these:
Warner's Safe Cure was a 19th century patent medicine. The proprietor of same was a certain Hulbert Harrington Warner, who made his first fortune selling fireproof safes. He carried the distinctive trade mark over into his second career, and made a very successful brand of a variety of "Safe Cures". It is quite a tale, and to my surprise there is actually an entire blog devoted to the man and his products. If you're interested, here ya go.
But I am less interested in collecting this sort of thing than I was in times past. Also this is far from a rare artifact, millions of bottles were manufactured between roughly 1880 and 1910. No, I am simply curious as to how this shard ended up where it did.
It was just sitting there. No nearby construction site, no recent work on the roadway or boulevards. I wondered if the recycling truck had dropped it. I mean there is no reason to doubt that a homeowner finding this would toss it in the recycling tub....but it was all by itself, and what are the odds that a bit of circa 1890 glass-which must be a minuscule to non existent component of local recycling-would be the only thing to fall off the truck?
Perhaps a kid found it on a nearby hillside, this sort of thing does turn up there. I guess he could have carried it around a while, walked a few blocks and set it down.
It points out the bigger challenge of archeology. Things are not always where they should be. Floods, later construction, movement by critters and cold weather (these last two are delightfully called bioturbation and cryoturbation!), it just makes it difficult to be sure about dating things. Finding it where I did would seem approximatly as probable as getting a denarius back in change at the Vindolanda cafeteria!
I think we can exclude local time-space distortion, but I will keep my eyes open for mysterious glowing lights from now on.
To my surprise, sitting by the curb in our rather modern street I saw this:
But I am less interested in collecting this sort of thing than I was in times past. Also this is far from a rare artifact, millions of bottles were manufactured between roughly 1880 and 1910. No, I am simply curious as to how this shard ended up where it did.
It was just sitting there. No nearby construction site, no recent work on the roadway or boulevards. I wondered if the recycling truck had dropped it. I mean there is no reason to doubt that a homeowner finding this would toss it in the recycling tub....but it was all by itself, and what are the odds that a bit of circa 1890 glass-which must be a minuscule to non existent component of local recycling-would be the only thing to fall off the truck?
Perhaps a kid found it on a nearby hillside, this sort of thing does turn up there. I guess he could have carried it around a while, walked a few blocks and set it down.
It points out the bigger challenge of archeology. Things are not always where they should be. Floods, later construction, movement by critters and cold weather (these last two are delightfully called bioturbation and cryoturbation!), it just makes it difficult to be sure about dating things. Finding it where I did would seem approximatly as probable as getting a denarius back in change at the Vindolanda cafeteria!
I think we can exclude local time-space distortion, but I will keep my eyes open for mysterious glowing lights from now on.
Monday, September 3, 2012
Igor the Giant Mouse
A while back I posted on our local Giant Mouse, Murray. Or as I prefer to call him Big Dee K6. I had initially been of the impression that he was named Ivan, apparently based on my recollection of another Giant Mouse I had run across in prior travels.
Well, I found him on our recent road trip. Not Ivan, but Igor. Close enough that I am pretty sure this is the guy I was remembering.
Igor is stationed outside of Carr Valley Cheese House on the south side of Fennimore, Wisconsin. He has been there since 1971. He is named for Russian composer Igor Stravinsky, for the simple reason that Stravinsky died on the very day Igor the Mouse was delivered.
Igor the Mouse actually has a rather rat like tail, and remarkably large eyes. But he is yet another product of the prolific FAST Industries of Sparta, Wisconsin.
A road trip moment with my pal Igor.
Well, I found him on our recent road trip. Not Ivan, but Igor. Close enough that I am pretty sure this is the guy I was remembering.
Igor the Mouse actually has a rather rat like tail, and remarkably large eyes. But he is yet another product of the prolific FAST Industries of Sparta, Wisconsin.
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