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10 Wacky Whoppers About the Origins of Popular 18th Century Phrases

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The history hoaxers are at it again. On the heels of “Life in the 1500s”—the viral email filled with phony phrase etymologies (which we debunked here and here)—comes another popular email loaded with even bigger whoppers. This time it’s called “Little History Lesson” and it purports to trace common sayings back to 18th century customs. Here are the tall tales and the facts.

1. Cost an arm and a leg

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The Tall Tale: In George Washington's days, there were no cameras. One's image was either sculpted or painted. Some paintings of Washington showed him standing behind a desk with one arm behind his back while others showed both legs and both arms. Prices charged by painters were not based on how many people were to be painted, but by how many limbs were to be painted. Arms and legs are limbs, therefore painting them would cost the buyer more. Hence the expression, "Okay, but it'll cost you an arm and a leg.”

The Facts: Usually, the more people depicted, the bigger the painting, thus the heftier the price—but there never was a limb-tally system of pricing for artworks. The expression “to cost an arm and a leg” is a metaphor about precious body parts. The similar line “I’d give my right arm…” dates from the early 1600s. The phrase “an arm and a leg” rattled off the tongue easily before it was used to signify an exorbitant price. After the American Civil War, Congress enacted a special pension for soldiers who had lost both an arm and a leg. The phrase “cost an arm and a leg” begins to crop up in newspaper archives in 1901, referring to accidents and war injuries. In 1949, it shows up in the figurative sense. The Long Beach Independent reported, "Food editor Beulah Karney has … ideas for the homemaker who wants to say 'Merry Christmas' and not have it cost an arm and a leg."

2. Big wig

The Tall Tale: As incredible as it sounds, we are informed that men and women took baths only twice a year, in May and October. Women always kept their hair covered while men shaved their heads (because of lice and bugs) and wore wigs. Wealthy men could afford good wigs. The wigs couldn't be washed so to clean them, they would carve out a loaf of bread, put the wig in the shell and bake it for 30 minutes. The heat would make the wig big and fluffy, hence the term "big wig." Today we often use the term "here comes Mr. Big Wig" because someone appears to be or is powerful and wealthy.

The Facts: Of all the half-baked ideas! Four-and-twenty blackbirds baked in a pie, sure, but a wig in a bread shell? Not unless you want perruque flambée. On the other hand, the English of the 18th century bathed even less than twice a year. Those who could afford to take the cure at a mineral spa or seaside retreat might have a full-body bath once a year. But folks kept clean with sponge baths. Most men kept their hair close cropped to fit under their wigs, which came in a range of prices and could be (carefully) washed. And yes, the big shots had the big, fancy wigs and were known by the snarky term “big-wigs” since at least 1703. Their egos might have been inflated, but their wigs were not puffed up in the oven.

3. Chairman of the board

The Tall Tale: In the late 1700s, many houses consisted of a large room with only one chair. Commonly, a long wide board was folded down from the wall and used for dining. The "head of the household" always sat in the chair while everyone else ate sitting on the floor. Once in a while an invited guest—who was almost always a man—would be offered to sit in this chair during a meal. To sit in the chair meant you were important and in charge. While sitting in the chair, one was called the "chair man of the board." Today in business we use the expression/title "Chairman of the Board."

The Facts: Um, no. The tables didn’t fold down from the wall and a table the right height for someone seated in a chair would leave the underlings on the floor blindly groping over their heads for food. Even humble cottages had tables and chairs. “Board” has meant a table used for meals since the 1200s. By the 1500s it also meant a table at which a council is held—and hence, the group of people who meet at a council table, and by extension, those charged with supervising a particular business. Since the 1600s, “chairman” has meant one who occupies a chair of authority, specifically the person chosen to preside over a meeting.

4. Mind your own beeswax

The Tall Tale: Needless to say, personal hygiene back in those days left much room for improvement. As a result, many women and men had developed acne scars by adulthood. The women would spread beeswax over their facial skin to smooth out their complexions. When they were speaking to each other, if a woman began to stare at another woman's face she was told "mind your own beeswax." Should the woman smile, the wax would crack, hence the term "crack a smile." Also, when they sat too close to the fire, the wax would melt and therefore the expression "losing face."

The Facts: From the ancient Romans to the San people of the Kalahari, folks have slathered their faces with everything from sheep sweat to pulverized pearls or nightingale poop in hopes of achieving smooth, radiant skin. The Greek physician Galen is said to have developed the first cold cream in the second century AD. Although it contained beeswax, it was a creamy, rose-scented mixture of water and olive oil, not the hot, hardening, hair-stripping wax treatment we know and fear today. The 18th century English did use painful plasters to remove hair, but they had no cure for the pockmarks caused by acne, smallpox or syphilis ("The Pox"). Instead of camouflaging the pockmarks, they turned them into fashion statements, covering them with boldly colored silk or leather “patches” cut into stars, dots and other shapes.

If you think "Mind your own beeswax" sounds like more like a gum-snapping bottle-blond chorus girl of the 1930s than a bewigged 18th century lady, you're right. “Beeswax” is an intentional mispronunciation of “business,” probably meant to sound cute and soften the blow of telling someone to buzz off. Google Books first documents it in 1939. A related expression, “That’s none of your beeswax,” shows up in a 1929 children’s book.

5. Crack a smile

The Facts: There’s nothing mysterious about “Crack a smile.” It’s just a figure of speech meaning to suddenly break or burst into a grin.

6. Lose face

The Facts: “To lose face” is a translation of a Chinese expression, meaning to lose one’s good name or reputation—the face one presents to the world. English traders of the early 19th century picked up the metaphor from their dealings with the Chinese.

7. Straight laced

The Tall Tale: Ladies wore corsets which would lace up in the front. A tightly tied lace was worn by a proper and dignified lady as in "straight laced."

The Facts: This expression does have to do with corsets, but not because the lacing made someone’s posture straight and upright. Although “straight laced” is now considered an acceptable spelling, the phrase was originally “strait laced,” meaning constricted or narrow. And yes, that other expression is (redundantly) “the strait and narrow,” the restricted path proper people were expected to follow. “Strait,” “strict,” and “restrict” are just a few of the words derived from Latin stringere, to strain. Explore more here.

8. Playing with a full deck

The Tall Tale: Common entertainment in the 1700s included playing cards. However, there was a tax levied when purchasing playing cards—but it was only applicable to the "ace of spades." To avoid paying the tax, people would purchase 51 cards instead. Yet, since most games require 52 cards, these people were thought to be stupid or dumb because they weren't "playing with a full deck."

The Facts: "Not playing with a full deck" has nothing to do with loopy people looking for tax loopholes. Like "missing a few marbles," it's a smart-aleck description for someone lacking smarts. The metaphor has spawned a plethora of variations like "His dipstick doesn't quite touch the oil," “batteries not included,” and "one taco short of a combo platter."

9. Gossip

The Tall Tale: Early politicians required feedback from the public to determine what was considered important to the people. Since there were no telephones, TVs, or radios, the politicians sent their assistants to local taverns, pubs, and bars to "go sip some ale" and listen to people's conversations and political concerns. Many assistants were dispatched at different times: "you go sip here" and "you go sip there." The two words "go sip" were eventually combined when referring to the local opinion, and thus, we have the term "gossip."

The Facts: Exactly 1000 years ago, in 1014, godsibb, the ancestor of the word “gossip,” meant a sponsor at a baptism—a godmother or godfather, from god + sib, a relative. It came to mean a friend or chum, a person to chat with, and eventually, someone (yes, a woman, usually) who delights in idle talk. By the early 19th century, it meant the idle talk or groundless rumors themselves.

10. Minding your P’s and Q’s

The Tall Tale: At local taverns, pubs, and bars, people drank from pint and quart sized containers. A bar maid's job was to keep an eye on the customers and keep the drinks coming. She had to pay close attention and remember who was drinking in pints and who was drinking in quarts. Hence the term "minding your P's and Q's."

The Facts: The origin of “minding one’s P’s and Q’s” has stumped even the redoubtable etymologists at the Oxford English Dictionary (OED). They are not ready to confirm or deny that the expression arose from the tracking of pints and quarts, but they have amassed a slew of citations that offer several other possibilities. In the earliest from 1602—“Now thou art in thy Pee and Kue, thou hast such a villanous broad backe”—Pee and Kue seems to be some kind of apparel. Some have suggested the phrase springs from admonishing sailors not to stain their pea coats with their tarry pigtails, but that doesn’t fit the context of the 1602 quotation.

The OED dismisses the idea that the saying sprung from parents reminding their children (in baby talk) to remember their “pleases and thank-yous,” since those words were not a set phrase before the 20th century. Another suggestion is that phrase originally had to do with a beginning reader learning to distinguish the lower case letters p and q. Although the OED editors protest that interpretation conflicts with the meaning in the 1602 “Pee and Kue” quotation, it’s possible that “Pee and Kue” is unrelated to “P’s and Q’s." There is a quotation from Charles Churchill, dating from 1763, that conforms to the sense of knowing one’s alphabet and, by extension, proper behavior: “On all occasions next the chair He stands for service of the Mayor, And to instruct him how to use His A's and B's, and P's and Q's.” That fits to a T.

Sources: Access Newspaper Archive; Artificial Face; "Cosmetics," "Health and Medicine in England: 17th and 18th Centuries," "Male Clothing in England: 17th and 18th Centuries," "Skin Care Practices," Daily Life through History; Google Books Ngram Viewer; "History of Make-up," Oxford English Dictionary Online; Slang: The Topical Dictionary of Americanisms.

All images courtesy of Getty Images.

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History
The Day Notre Dame Students Pummeled the Ku Klux Klan
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At first glance, there was nothing unusual about the men who stepped off the train in South Bend, Indiana on the morning of May 17, 1924. Dapper and mannered, they drifted from the station to the downtown area. Some headed for a nearby office that sported a red cross made out of light bulbs stationed in the window. Others roamed around looking for Island Park, the site of a planned social gathering.

A closer look at these visitors revealed one common trait: Many were carrying a folded white robe under their arm. Those who had arrived earlier were fully clothed in their uniform and hood, directing automobile traffic to the park.

The Ku Klux Klan had arrived in town.

Fresh off a controversial leadership election in Indianapolis, Indiana, there was no reason for Klansmen to have any apprehension about holding a morale booster in South Bend. Indiana was Klan territory, with an estimated one in three native born white men sworn members within state lines. Just a few months later, Klansman Ed Jackson would be elected governor.

It was only when Klansmen found themselves guided into alleys and surrounded by an irate gang of Catholic students from nearby Notre Dame University that they realized mobilizing in South Bend may have been a very bad idea.

The Klan wanted a rally. What they got was a full-scale riot.

Photo of KKK Indiana Grand Dragon D.C. Stephenson
Indiana Grand Dragon D.C. Stephenson
By IndyStar, Decemeber 12, 1922 issue, Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons

Politically-endorsed prejudice was the order of the day in the early part of the 20th century, when the Klan—first created in 1866 to oppose Republican Reconstruction with violent racial enmity and then revived in 1915—expanded its tentacles to reach law enforcement and civil service. No longer targeting people of color exclusively, the KKK took issue with Catholics, the Jewish faith, and immigrants. An estimated 4 million Americans belonged to the Klan in the 1920s, all echoing the group’s philosophy that only white, God-fearing citizens were worthy of respect.

Under the guidance of Indiana's Grand Dragon D.C. Stephenson, the group had attempted to shift public perception from the lynch mobs of the past to an orderly and articulate assembly. Rallies were held in KKK-friendly areas; propaganda material was becoming an effective weapon for their cause. Acceptance of the Klan’s ideology seeped into political office; Stephenson was a prominent Indiana politician.

To help continue that indoctrination, the Klan made plans for a parade in South Bend to be held on May 17, 1924. That it would be in close proximity to the Notre Dame campus was no mistake: At the time, 75 percent of the school's nearly 2000 students were Catholic, a religion the Klan found abhorrent. By pledging allegiance to the Vatican, their reasoning went, Catholics were acknowledging a foreign power. In the fall of 1923, they had persisted in setting crosses on fire near the University of Dayton in Dayton, Ohio, a predominantly Catholic college, and were frequently chased off by angered football players. That December, the Klan set off firebombs in Dayton during Christmas break. While no one was seriously injured, the intent was to send a message—one they wanted to spread to Indiana.

In the weeks and months leading up to the parade, both students and faculty began to get a taste of that perspective. Copies of the Fiery Cross, the official Klan newspaper, circulated on campus; one Klansman showed up at an auditorium to broadcast that Catholics were not good Americans. He exited the stage when attendees began throwing potatoes at him.

If that public response was foreshadowing, the Klan either ignored or failed to heed the warning. Members began arriving the Friday evening prior to the rally and were met at the train station by irritated students, who scuffled with the early arrivals by ripping their robes. By Saturday morning, when more Klansmen arrived, hundreds of students were in town, a loosely organized anti-Klan task force.

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Klan members were used to breezing into towns without incident. Here, they were immediately confronted by young, ornery college kids proud of their Catholicism. Klansmen were led into alleys and tossed into walls; students who played for the school’s legendary football squad formed wedges, the offensive line-ups found on the field, and plowed into groups of Klan members like they were challenging for a state title.

The violence, swift and sudden, prompted the Klan to retreat to their headquarters in South Bend. The students followed, their blood pumping hot at the sight of the red cross lit in the office window. Below it stood a grocery store with barrels of fresh potatoes. The students lobbed them at the glass, smashing the bulbs inside.

The conflict had been uninterrupted by law enforcement, but not for lack of trying. Deputy Sheriff John Cully, himself a Klansman, tried to enlist the National Guard but was shot down by officials. Notre Dame president Matthew Walsh had already implored students not to go into town, but his words went unheeded.

Unencumbered by authority, the 100 or so students idling near the Klan’s office decided they wanted to seize the hideout. Dozens began running up the stairs but were greeted by a Klan member who produced a gun. Unarmed, the students backed off. Four seniors went back and came to an impromptu truce: The student body would disperse if the Klan agreed to hold their rally without weapons or their robes.

The agreement seemed to placate both sides until Stephenson finally arrived in town before the parade’s scheduled 6:30 p.m. start. Assessing the roughed-up Klansmen and their skittish behavior, he complained to the police, who posted officers on horseback around their assembly at Island Park.

But there would be no rally: A heavy downpour prompted Stephenson to call it off, although the potential for further violence likely weighed on his mind. Lingering students who still hadn’t returned to campus met departing Klansmen as they attempted to drive out of town, smashing windows and even tipping over one car.

By Sunday, things seemed to have settled down. Walsh cringed at newspaper reports of the incidents, fearing it would portray the students as thugs.

Unfortunately, neither side was done protesting. And when they met a second time, the robed men would be backed up by lawman Cully and a squad of 30 deputized Klansmen.

Denver News - The Library of Congress (American Memory Collection), Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons

Students back on campus Monday had taken to hanging up seized Klan robes and hoods on their walls like trophies. It had been a rout, with the Klan barely putting up a fight.

Now, word was spreading through the halls that the Klan had captured or perhaps had even killed a Notre Dame student. Roughly 500 students jogged the two miles back into South Bend, eager for another confrontation.

When they arrived at the Klan’s headquarters, the light bulb cross had been rebuilt. It was an act of defiance, and the students moved forward. But the Klan was prepared: Many had been deputized, and uniformed officers joined the melee. Axe handles and bottles were brandished, and blood began to stain the street. It was a clash, with parties on both sides laid out.

When he got word of the conflict, Walsh rushed to the site and climbed on top of a cannon that was part of a monument. Shouting to be heard, he implored students to return to campus. His voice cut through the sounds of breaking glass, snapping the students out of their reverie. They returned to the school.

Absent any opposition, the Klan did the same. Stragglers from out of town returned home. With bombastic prose, writers for the Fiery Cross later recapped the event by accusing Notre Dame students of “beating women and children.” Later that summer, they declared they’d be returning to South Bend in greater number.

It never happened. Although the Klan maintained an aura of strength for several more years, the conviction of Stephenson for raping and murdering a woman in November 1925 extinguished one of their most enthusiastic leaders; the Depression dampened the ability of new recruits to pay dues. By 1930, the Klan was down to an estimated 45,000 members.

While Walsh never condoned the vigilante justice exacted that weekend, he never disciplined a single student for it.

Additional Sources:
Notre Dame vs. the Klan, by Todd Tucker (Loyola Press, 2004)
"Hearing the Silence: The University of Dayton, the Ku Klux Klan, and Catholic Universities and Colleges in the 1920s" [PDF], by William Vance Trollinger

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Why the Berlin Wall Rose and Fell
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One of history's most notorious barriers broke ground early in the morning on August 13, 1961, when East German construction workers, guarded by soldiers and police, began tearing up the Berlin streets.

As European history professor Konrad H. Jarausch explains in this video from Ted-Ed, the roots of the Berlin Wall can be found in the period of instability that followed World War II. When the Allies couldn't decide how to govern Germany, they decided to split up the country between the Federal Republic of Germany in the West and the German Democratic Republic in the East. Eventually, citizens (especially young professionals) began fleeing the GDR for the greater freedoms—and higher salaries—of the West. The wall helped stem the tide, and stabilized the East German economy, but came at great cost to the East's reputation. In the end, the wall lasted less than three decades, as citizen pressures against it mounted.

You can learn more about exactly why the wall went up, and how it came down, in the video below.

[h/t The Kid Should See This]

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