What are you, some kind of clown?

If so, what kind? There are three basic types—whiteface, auguste and character. 

A recognizable contemporary whiteface clown might be “Puddles,” a tall, imposing clown who sings weepy power ballads and does some physical comedy and mimed tragicomic drama. Puddles’ outfit—a loose, flowing tunic with big buttons and ruffled collar—recalls the Pierrot costume from the Italian commedia dell’arte traditions of the 16^th and 17^th century, widely accepted as the progenitor of modern clowning. His face is painted white with bold eyebrows, teardrops and red mouth accents—classic whiteface. 

Bozo the Clown is a readily recognizable auguste from my generation. An auguste often has flesh-tone skin with exaggerated features (big red nose, painted mouth and bushy blue eyebrows in Bozo’s case) rather than full whiteface. The auguste's clown suit augers more toward the playful than the elegant, and the mannerisms tend to be silly and bumbling, geared toward children’s humor rather than, for instance, the pathos of Puddles’ Pity Party.

Thirdly, we have the character clown. Character clowns are commonly recognizable archetypes like policemen, doctors, chefs or hobos. One of the best-known character clowns is Emmet Kelly, the sad and downtrodden “everyman.” He has shabby clothes, oversized shoes, a floppy hat and a painted-on, downturned mouth. There’s also a happy version of Kelly’s hobo/tramp character, most famously manifest in Red Skelton’s Freddy the Freeloader.

There are other clown types, of course, but most are derived in some way from these three basic categories. There is always of course, the “elected official” clown, an often malevolent actor for whom we have no one to blame but ourselves. 

Gerrymandering—a great word is born...

The word “gerrymander” has been in the news and as a result, its etymology has enjoyed some recent publicity. Here it is again. “Gerrymandering,” the process of redistricting a region for electoral purposes, is a portmanteau of early-19th-century Massachusetts governor Elbridge Gerry’s last name and the word “salamander,” whose sinuous form resembled the convoluted voting map for the state’s 1812 state senate elections. 

Gerry's starkly partisan redistricting plan was not merely proposed, it was enacted, and not merely enacted, it was successful. Democratic-Republicans won 29 out of 40 seats in Massachusetts’ state senate elections that year despite the Federalists receiving more overall votes across the state. While Gerry himself did not design the map (and reportedly disapproved of it), by signing it into law he would give birth to a pejorative that would become better known to history than he would. Gerry would lose the next gubernatorial election largely due to the injury his reputation sustained over the issue, but his political career ended at very near the top of the United States’ political process when he died in office as James Madison’s vice president.

The Boston Gazette published the cartoon (see illustration) that popularized the word, but the specific editorial writer who coined “Gerrymander” is not definitively known. It’s possible the original cartoonist—Elkanah Tisdale—created the conflation, but it’s more likely that it bubbled up organically within an editorial brainstorming session and was run unattributed (I like to think it was some kid from the mail room). I know, I know, it looks more like a dragon than a salamander, but perhaps in the estimation of the editorial board, “gerrydragon” lacked the implication of slipperiness inherent in “gerrymander.”

Why do you think they call it “dope”? Well, I’ll tell you…

The word “dope” derives from the Dutch word, “doop,” which means “sauce.” “Doop” is the noun form of the word, “doopen,” which means “to dip.” “Doop” was initially used in cooking contexts, but soon also came to refer to any thick, viscous fluid, such as paint, tar or beeswax. In 17^th century usage, “dope” owed more to dinner than it did to drugs. 

By the 1850s, “dope” came to reference medicinal preparations, including opium-based concoctions. Morphine and other narcotics fell under the “dope” umbrella at around this time, broadening its meaning to "a drug or narcotic substance."

By the early 1900s, “dope” became a slang term for any kind of illicit drug, but most often referenced heroin and marijuana, especially in jazz and beatnik circles. "Why do you think they call it dope?" emerged in the 1970s as an anti-drug message, playing on the double meaning of dope—both as a slang term for drugs and as an insult meaning a stupid person. 

The answer to the question, “Why do you think they call it ‘dope’?” is saucy indeed.