4. OTHER PROPER NAMES
“Such a locality as at the corner of Avenue H and Twenty-third street.” says W. W. Crane, “is about as distinctly American as Algonkian and Iroquois names like Mississippi and Saratoga.”175 Rud-yard Kipling, in his “American Notes,”176 gave testimony to the strangeness with which the number-names, the phrase the corner of, the word block, and the custom of omitting street fell upon the ear of a Britisher of a generation or more ago. He quotes with amazement certain directions given to him on his arrival in San Francisco from India: “Go six blocks north to [the] corner of Geary and Markey [Market?]; then walk around till you strike [the] corner of Sutter and Sixteenth.”177 The English almost always add the word street (or road or place or avenue) when speaking of a thoroughfare: such a phrase as Oxford and New Bond would strike them as incongruous.178 The American custom of numbering and lettering streets is usually ascribed by English writers to sheer poverty of invention, but of late some of them have borne witness to its convenience. One such is C. K. Ogden, who says in “Basic English”:179
[By] anyone who has driven around the suburbs [looking for] The Laurels, 13a, Aspidistra Court Gardens, peering from a taxi through the darkness at No. 8, at Catspaw Mansions, at The Chestnuts, at No. 41, and at a variety of indiscernibles, before finally turning the corner of an unsuspecting mews, also known locally as Smith’s Passage, the advantages of living in No. 123 West 456th street will hardly be disputed.
Another is E. Stewart Fay, author of a learned work on London street-names.180 He says:
It is a great pity that the Marquis of Westminster and Thomas Cubitt developed Belgravia before the new system had become general in America.… However much the present residents of Eaton place may protest at the idea of their street being called Sixth avenue or E street, it is certain that long before now London would have been accustomed to street-naming sanity and would value an address in E street as highly as one in Eaton place.… I have no wish to see the Strand rechristened First avenue. But I do claim that the jerry-builders of Middlesex, Essex, Kent and Surrey would be very much better advised to plan their names upon some useful basis than to go on senselessly perpetrating meaningless Romeo streets and futile Snowdrop crescents.
The English often give one street more than one name. Thus, Oxford street, in London, becomes the Bayswater road, High street, Holland Park avenue, Goldhawk road and finally the Oxford road to the westward, and High Holborn, Holborn viaduct, Newgate street, Cheapside, the Poultry, Cornhill and Leadenhall street to the eastward. The Strand, in the same way, becomes Fleet street, Ludgate hill and Cannon street. But the American system of numbering and lettering streets shows some signs of increasing acceptance. There is a First avenue in Queen’s Park, London, and parallel to it are Second, Third, Fourth, Fifth and Sixth avenues — all small streets leading northward from the Harrow road, just east of Kensal Green cemetery. Mr. Fay reports a set of three numbered avenues at East Acton, and one or two at Mortlake. “At Plaistow,” he says, “someone has endeavored to see the light, but unfortunately without bringing much intelligence to the task, for his three numbered avenues are arranged in the shape of a triangle!” There is also a First street in Chelsea — a very modest thoroughfare near Lennox gardens and not far from the Brompton Oratory.181 The English custom of giving grandiloquent names to small houses in the suburbs has never taken root in the United States, but Summer-camps are usually named, and not infrequently their titles show a gay and saucy spirit, e.g., Kamp Takitezy, U Kan Kom In, Hatetoleaveit, Viol-Inn, The Cat’s Meeow and Iszatso.182 Tourist-camps often bear names of the same sort. There was a time when all American apartment-houses were elegantly labeled, but of late many of them have been given only street-numbers. There are even hotels without names — six of them in Manhattan. The names of American suburbs often engage the national wits. Those in -hurst are so numerous that they have produced a satirical type, Lonesomehurst. The garden city movement, launched by an Englishman, Sir Ebenezer Howard, in 1898, was quickly imitated in this country, and with it came a new popularity for names suggesting feudal estates, e.g., Cecil Manor, Bryn Jenkins and Smithdale. The developers of suburbs in low, marshy places have a great liking for adding heights to their names.
The numbering and lettering of streets was apparently invented by Major Pierre-Charles L’Enfant in 1791, when he laid out the plan of Washington. In the older American cities the downtown streets still usually have names surviving from colonial days, and some of them were borrowed originally from London, e.g., Cheap-side, Cornhill and Broadway.183 In the United States such pretentious designations as avenue, boulevard, drive and speedway are used much more freely than in England. Boulevard, in some American cities, has of late taken on the meaning of a highway for through traffic, on entering which all vehicles must first halt. In England such a highway is commonly called an arterial road. Every American town of any airs has a Great White Way; in the Middle West, in the Era of Optimism, rows of fine shade-trees were cut down to make room for them. Avenue is used in England, but according to Horwill, it is “usually reserved for a road bordered by trees.” Professor Weekley says that the first avenue in London was St. Bride’s, opened in 1825. In America the word was formerly used to designate a thoroughfare in the suburbs, not built up like a street, but laid out for future building, and hence not a road. In the Baltimore of my youth Charles street became Charles street avenue at the old city boundary, and the Charles street avenue road a bit farther out. At Towanda, Pa., there is a Plank road street. Many American towns now have plazas, which are quite unknown in England, and nearly all have City Hall parks, squares or places. The principal street of a small town, in the United States, used to be Main street, but since the appearance of Sinclair Lewis’s novel of that name, in 1920, the designation has taken on a derogatory implication, and is going out. In England, Main street is usually the High street, not forgetting the article; but in Scotland there are many Main streets. The newer suburbs of American towns are full of lanes, roads and ways, but the English circus, crescent, terrace, walk, passage and garden are seldom encountered. Alley survives in a few of the older cities, but row, court and yard are virtually extinct. These English names for thoroughfares, like the American boulevard and avenue, have lost most of their original significance. “À Londres,” complains André Maurois (quoted by Professor Weekley), “Cromwell place est une rue, Cromwell gardens n’est un jardin, et Hyde Park terrace n’est pas une terrasse.”
The pronunciation of street-names in the United States shows the same freedom that marks the pronunciation of place-names. The old Dutch names of New York City are sadly mangled by the present inhabitants of the town, e.g., Desbrosses, which was de Broose in Dutch, is now Des-brossez. Spanish names are often corrupted in the same way in the Southwest, and French names in the Great Lakes region and in Louisiana and thereabout. In New Orleans Bourbon has become Bur-bun or Boi-bun, Dauphine is Daw-fin, Foucher is Foosh’r, Enghien is En-gine, Chartres is Charters, and Felicity (originally Félicité) is Fill-a-city. The French, in their far-off day, bestowed the names of the Muses upon certain of the city streets. They are now pronounced Cal-y-ope or Cal-yop, You-terp or You-toip, Mel-po-mean, Terp-si-core, Drieds, and so on. Bons Enfants, apparently too difficult for the present inhabitants, has been translated into Good Children, and the rue Royale into Royal street. In Montgomery, Ala., the local Darktown, Boguehomme by name, is called Boag-a-home-a.184
As everyone knows, the right of Americans to be so called is frequently challenged, especially in Latin-America, but so far no plausible substitute has been devised, though many have been proposed, e.g., Unisians, Unitedstatesians, Columbards, etc. On October 28, 1928, the Paris Figaro opened a discussion of the subject, in which M. Dumont-Wilden, editor of the Revue Bleue, Gabriel Louis-Jaray, of the Comité France-Amérique, André Siegfried, author of “America Comes of Age,” and various other ingenious Frenchmen participated, but nothing came of it. There are also frequent debates over the designation to be app
lied to the inhabitants of various States and cities. The people of Alabama commonly call themselves Alabamians, and those of Indiana call themselves Indianians, but in both States there are minorities which object to the redundant i.185 In Oklahoma Oklahoman has the weight of enlightened opinion behind it, but Oklahomian is often heard outside the State. In Idaho the English faculty of the State university favors Idahovan, but Idahoan is heard much more often. In Atlanta some of the people call themselves Atlantans and others prefer Atlantians: the Atlanta Constitution uses the former and the Journal the latter. In New Orleans Orleanian, with the accent on the an, is preferred by the elegant, but the vast majority of citizens say Orleenian, with the accent on the leen.186 Larousse’s Grand Dictionnaire Universal prints (under noms) a list of the designations of persons living in all the principal towns of France, but so far as I know, no such compilation has ever been attempted for the United States. Nevertheless, George R. Stewart, Jr., of the University of California, has attempted to determine the principles underlying their formation. His conclusions may be roughly summarized as follows:
1. If the name of the town ends in -ia, the name of the citizen is formed by adding n, e.g., Philadelphian.
2. If it ends in -on, -ian is added, e.g., Bostonian, Tucsonian.
3. If it ends in -i, -an is added, e.g., Miamian.
4. If it ends in -y, the y is changed to i and an is added, e.g., Albanian, Kansas Citian.
5. If it ends in -o, -an is added, e.g., Chicagoan, Elpasoan.
6. If it ends in a sounded -e, or in -ie or -ee, -an is added, e.g., Muskogeean, Albuquerquean, Guthrian, Poughkeepsian.
7. If it ends in -a, not preceded by i, the common rule is to add -n, e.g., Topekan, Tacoman.
8. If it ends in -olis, the change is to -olitan, e.g., Annapolitan.
9. If it ends with a consonant or with a silent -e, -ite or -er is added, e.g., Brooklynite, Boiseite, Wheelingite; New Yorker, Pittsburgher, Davenporter.187
But there are frequent exceptions to these rules. In California the Spanish names ending in o do not take an, but change the o to a and add n, e.g., San Franciscan, San Diegan, Sacramentan, Palo Altan, San Matean and Los Gatan. Even those not ending in o tend to take an, e.g., Santa Cruzan, Salinan, San Josean and Montereyan. A Buffalo man is not a Buffaloan, but a Buffalonian, and by the same token a Toronto man is a Torontonian. A Quincy, Ill., man is not a Quin-cian, but a Quincyan. The hideous suffix -ite seems to be gaining on all others. A citizen of Akron, O., used to be an Akronian, but after the town began to boom he became an Akronite. For many years an Episcopal clergyman, Dr. Ringwalt, who wrote editorials for the Camden, N. J., Post-Telegram, tried to make his readers accept Camdenian, but they preferred Camdenite, and Camdenite it is today. In Moscow, Idaho, the intelligentsia of the State University prefer Moscovite, with Moscovian as second choice, but the Moscow Star-Mirror prefers Moscowite, and so do the people of the town.188 A citizen of Raleigh, N. C. (pronounced Roily), should be a Raleighan by Mr. Stewart’s rule, but he is actually a Raleighite, though a citizen of Berkeley, Calif., remains a Berkeleyan, not a Berkeleyite. There is apparently a strong tendency for -ite to follow d, f, g, l, m, n, r and s, as in Englewoodite, St. Josephite, Wheelingite, Seattleite, Durhamite, Brooklynite, Fall Riverite and Yonkersite,189 but there are some exceptions, e.g., Richmonder,190 Winnipegger, Montrealer, Lynner, Rochesterian, Memphian. The names ending in k and t usually take er, e.g., Yorker, Quebecer, Davenporter, Rocky Mounter, but in Passaic, N. J., Passaicite is preferred, and in Frederick, Md., the proper form is not Fredericker but Fredericktonian. In the few American towns whose names end with the French g, an is added, e.g., Baton Rougean. Those in -ville drop the final e and add -ian, e.g., Louisvillian. In Los Angeles the correct form is Angeleño (pro. An-juh-lee-no), but it is not yet in universal use, and in print it always loses its tilde. The average denizen of Los Angeles, asked what he is, still responds that he is an Iowan, a Kansan, a Texan, or what not. In Taos, N. Mex., Taoseño is used, with Taoseña for a female, and the tilde is carefully preserved. I am told by Mr. Spud Johnson, editor of the Taos Valley News, that Taosian and Taosite are sometimes used by tourists and the indigenous vulgar, but “partly because there is a well-known woman’s club called Las Taoseñas, which has made the name familiar, and partly because it is graceful and easy and the alternatives are somewhat clumsy, the Spanish form is used even by the Lions and the Chamber of Commerce.”191 The people of Cambridge, Mass., borrowing from those of the English university town, call themselves Cantabrigians, and those of Saugus, Mass., call themselves Saugonians. Those of Providence, R. I., remembering proudly that they live in what is officially the State of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations, simply call themselves Rhode Islanders. A citizen of Schenectady, N. Y., is ordinarily a Schenectadian, but often says that he is a Dorpian, from the ancient Dutch designation of the town — the Dorp, or the Old Dorp. Similarly, a citizen of Reading, Pa., uses Berks County Dutchman in preference to Readingite. A citizen of Poughkeepsie, N. Y., is ordinarily a Poughkeepsian, but sometimes he calls himself an Apokeepsian, and some years ago the local Rotarians tried to make Apokeepsian official. It is supposed to be more nearly in accord with the original Indian name of the town. A citizen of Cape Girardeau, Mo., is a Girardean, omitting the Cape. A man of Greensboro, N. C., may be either a Greensburger or a Greensboroite, according to his private taste. A man of Lancaster, Pa., is a Lancastrian. A man of Hagerstown, Md., is not a Hagerstownite but a Hagerstowner or (occasionally) Hagerstonian. A Montrealer, if French, is un Mon-tréalais, and if female une Montréalaise. A Quebecer, if French, is a Québecois.192 In the towns bearing classical or pseudo-classical names the inhabitants wear extremely majestic labels, e.g., Trojan, Car-thagenian (Carthage, Mo.), Phoenician (Phoenix, Ariz.), Florentine (Florence, Ala.), Roman, Athenian, Spartan, but a citizen of Columbus, O., is a Columbusite not a Columbian.193 The names of certain American towns are so refractory that no special designations for their citizens have ever arisen. Examples are La Crosse, Wis., Osh-kosh, Wis.,194 Little Rock, Ark., Independence, Mo., Rutland, Vt.,195 and the New Jersey Oranges. Some of the States are in the same position, e.g., Massachusetts and Connecticut. A resident of the District of Columbia always calls himself a Washingtonian. A citizen of Arkansas is an Arkansawyer, following the local pronunciation of the State name. A citizen of Michigan is a Michigander. A citizen of New Jersey is a Jerseyman.196 A rough popular humor often supplies opprobrious forms. Thus the people of Chicago (or at least some of them) have been called Chicagorillas, those of Baltimore Balti-morons,197 those of Omaha Omahogs, those of Louisville Louisvillains, those of Swampscott, Mass., Swampskeeters, and those of Cedar Rapids, Iowa, Bunnies (See der rabbits). All the States have nicknames, and some have more than one. A number of these are almost as well known as the actual State names, e.g., Hoosier (Indiana), Keystone (Pennsylvania), Empire (New York), Buckeye (Ohio), Old Dominion (Virginia), Show Me (Missouri), Palmetto (South Carolina), Lone Star (Texas), Tarheel (North Carolina), and Bay (Massachusetts).198 In some cases the inhabitants are known by the nicknames of their States, e.g., Hoosiers, Tarheels, Buckeyes, Crackers (Georgia). In other cases separate nicknames have arisen, e.g., Jayhawks (Kansas), Colonels (Kentucky), Blue Hen’s Chickens (Delaware). In the early days most of the designations in vogue were ribald, e.g., Lizards (Alabama), Buzzards (Georgia), Pukes (Missouri), Web-feet (Oregon), Whelps (Tennessee), Beetheads (Texas), Leatherheads (Pennsylvania), Foxes (Maine), Toothpicks (Arkansas), Bug-eaters (Nebraska), Weasels (South Carolina), Tadpoles (Mississippi), Muskrats (Delaware), Clam-catchers (New Jersey), Crawthumpers (Maryland). In his “Slang in America” (part of “November Boughs,” 1888) Walt Whitman printed a list largely identical with the foregoing: apparently he borrowed it from an anonymous newspaper article reprinted in the Broadway Journal for May 3, 1845.199 The etymology of the State nicknames has engaged a large number of amateur philologians, but with inconclusive results. The origin of Hoosier, for example, remains uncertain.200 Many cit
ies also have generally recognized nicknames, e.g., the Hub (Boston), the Windy City (Chicago), the Monumental City (Baltimore), and the Quaker City (Philadelphia), and nearly every small place of any pretensions has tried to launch one for itself, usually embodying Queen or Wonder.
American Language Page 74