The State of the Language, 1978

By Stefan Kanfer

In the right hands, English is a precision instrument. And, like all such devices, it is alternately blunted and sharpened by its users. In 1978, many nicks and abrasions came from Washington. Ernest Boyer, U.S. Commissioner of Education, admitted that he had been faking it: he actually pretended to understand memos. The confession was prompted by logorrhea in his own department: "This office's activities during the year were primarily continuing their primary functions of education of the people to acquaint them of their needs, problems and alternate problem solutions, in order that they can make wise decisions in planning and implementing a total program that will best meet the needs of the people, now and in the future." Declares Boyer, "In a million years you would never say that on the phone. The other person would say, 'He's gone mad.' "

Lunacy, a long-term resident of the capital, also attended the Civil Aeronautics Board. When Alfred Kahn was chairman (before he moved on to enforce Carter's anti-inflation policies), he ordered his staff to write in straightforward quasi-conventional prose. But by his own reckoning he achieved only "41.3% success." As evidence Kahn offered a departmental rejection slip: "The involved document, though clothed in diplomatic costume, is no more than a transmittal note and is, thus, of no decisional significance." "There was nothing I could do but cry," Kahn lamented. "I felt so lonely and futile."

There was plenty of rheum at the top. During the coal strike, White House Press Secretary Jody Powell discussed hardships in the "ECAR region." When reporters asked about the acronym, Powell blurted, "That is a little bureaucratic jargon I picked up. I don't know what it means." He and others learned that the acronym stands for East Central Reliability Council, a group of utility companies. They were to learn more from Representative Gerry Studds of Massachusetts, who wrote his constituents: "Air Force to do EIS on PAVE PAWS." Translation: there was to be an environmental impact statement about a type of radar: Precision Acquisition of Vehicle Entry--Phased Array Warning System.

Still, in the solecism sweepstakes, Washington took second place to Northern California. Verbatim, the lively quarterly that eavesdrops on American conversation, quoted the San Francisco police department's program for "carrying out crime and punishment" and Bay Area talk shows that spoke of "wheel chairs and other types of illnesses," of suicide that was "self-inflicted" and of a remark that "really irated" the speaker.

Such transformations of nouns into verbs became epidemic in 1978. "How does this impact on the Middle East?" reporters wanted to know. "Has branded merchandise Peter Principled?" asked a chain-store magazine. Governments prioritized, runners marathoned, technocrats moduled their problems, diplomats liased with their colleagues, vans slept six. It was that sort of verbiage that once prompted James Thurber to inquire about a restaurant meal, "How many does it eat?"

In 1978, devaluation was linguistic as well as monetary. Airline passengers continued to be ordered to extinguish smoking materials, TV meteorologists no longer recognized rain: it was shower activity. The reliable Howard Cosell lamented a victory that "was not to be eventuated," Bernard Kalb spoke of "self-autonomy" for the Palestinians, Betty Furness continued to say "ir-regardless," and Tom Brokaw found many ideas "a little unique." "The media" continued to be incorrectly used, and "hopefully" seems to have set down roots. Hopefully, the media has this on its conscience. (If you cannot find three errors in that sentence see your local grammarian.) Given such examples, it would be easy to agree with Anthony Burgess's despairing essay-novel 1985, which sees the future managed by a department of linguistic CHAOS -- Consortium for the Hastening of the Annihilation of Organized Society.

In fact, there are plenty of reasons to see HOPE: Harbingers of Productive English. At Glassboro State College in New Jersey, for example, Professor Richard Mitchell publishes The Underground Grammarian, a journal criticizing the jargon of colleagues, particularly those who use "advisement in public [and] input and interface as well as thrust . . . these words might be appropriate in private between consenting adults." According to TV Pundit Edwin Newman (A Civil Tongue), 1978 saw a growing group of people deriding "gassy, boneless language in government, academia and business." Wordsmith Rudolph Flesch (Why Johnny Can't Read), consultant to the Federal Trade Commission, found some new regulations comparable in difficulty to the Harvard Business Review. His current demands sacrifice style for simplicity: what Flesch wants is an "equivalent to the Reader's Digest.

Some of the year's new words actually communicate: regentrification, for example, sounds like a jawbreaker, but there is no shorter term for the return of upper and middle classes to urban life. Some words convey far more than whole pages: "kneecapping" for terrorist sniping at a victim's legs. Other phrases have fought their way into the American mainstream: the 1979 World Book Encyclopedia will include seven pages of new English phrases, including "double nickel," the colorful CB term for a 55 m.p.h. speed limit; "rip off" for theft and thieving and "off the wall" for unconventional. Still other phrases are here only on a short-term visa: "nano-nano," an alien greeting from Mark and Mindy, will last, happily, only as long as the Nielsens permit. Many neologisms are al ready tiptoeing to the exit. Among them, according to U.S.C. Linguistics Professor Edward Finegan: "uptight," "together," "far out," and the preposition "into," as in "I am into better English." With good reason. English has become the world's second language, the tongue that Esperanto aspired to be. The speech of Americans is the currency of the Middle East, aviation, international business. It was so pervasive in 1978 that the editor of the youth daily Komsomolskaya Pravda complained of two American invasions: comrades wore Western-style "dzhinsy" and drank "viski." Today English is spoken by 400 million people, more than any tongue except Mandarin Chinese.

Given the new realities, those statistics could change without notice. The People's Republic may soon be complaining of U.S. neologisms, coinages, and other abuses. Like Americans, the Chinese can take comfort in H.L. Mencken's editorial, as valid today as it was 40 years ago: "As English spreads over the world, will it be able to maintain its present form? Probably not. But why should it? ... Stability in language is synonymous with rigormortis." In 1978, American prose continued to alter, irritate and entertain. To the purist, those characteristics may be evidence of deterioration. Certainly our language has been besieged by vulgarities. But it has also been enriched by vigorous phrases and terms. To those who speak and write with care, those words are the unmistakable beats of life.

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