No Stinkin' Grammar
An Essay on Learning English: An Exceptional LanguageBy Joseph M. NixonAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2011 Joseph M. Nixon
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4634-0195-5 Contents
Dedication..........................................................ixAcknowledgements....................................................xiPrologue............................................................xiiiI MANO a MANO con INGLÉS.......................................1II THE PARTS OF SPEECH: Nouns & Pronouns............................21III THE PARTS OF SPEECH: Verbs......................................32IV THE PARTS OF SPEECH: Adverbs & Adjectives........................50V FUN WITH WORDS....................................................56VI WHO NEEDS GRAMMAR ANYHOW?........................................78VII USER ALERT: DISK SPACE FULL.....................................107VIII THE ETHICAL EDITOR.............................................125IX LOOKING BACKWARD: Spelling Written in Stone......................132X LOOKING FORWARD: Constantly Changing Language.....................137XI ONTOGENY & PYHLOGENY: A Recapitulation...........................143XII Epilogue........................................................149XIII References Cited & Internet Addresses..........................157Index...............................................................161
Chapter One
MANO a MANO con INGLÉS
Ontogeny Recapitulates Phylogeny
Beginning in the early 1800s, intellectuals observed and recorded wonders of the natural world around them. The previous blind adherence to canon that allowed no questioning came into question itself. This new wave of scholars measured, compared, evaluated, and recorded observations firsthand and produced many great thinkers, some of whom history celebrates and others it proved wrong.
The idea that 'Ontogeny Recapitulates Phylogeny' came from that era. Big words? Yes, even bigger to a farm kid who spent virtually all his time in the woods. But as a boy the phrase rang well with me. I did not understand or appreciate its meaning, the words just appealed to my ear. I did not know then, but I think I do now, that the charm resided in the repetition of the syllable group, '-ogeny.' Therein lay the resonance, the alliteration, the peculiar phraseology, that might make a Roman poet pause. That's what caught my attention and stuck in my mind like an annoying jingle.
But the phrase held more than just charm, it held the promise of science and the wealth of possibilities that scientific inquiry entailed. It beckoned to something slowly awakening that would be satisfied only with a laboratory, a few reagents, and some good, hard, experimentation. It opened a door beyond which a myriad of new doors appeared labeled Physics, Chemistry, Biology, Astronomy, Geology, Paleontology, and other disciplines, all of which, under the general rubric of science, I just discovered, including the works of Herr Professor Haeckel.
Ernst Heinrich Philipp August Haeckel (1834-1919, a German) first proposed the idea 'Ontogeny Recapitulates Phylogeny' around 1874 (Figure 1). By ontogeny he meant the "development of an individual from a fertilized ovum to maturity" (Anonymous 2008). Webster defines ontogeny as a noun, originating in 1872, that refers to the "... development or course of development especially of an individual organism" (Merriam-Webster 2009). The development of the individual is at the root of the concept (and word) by either definition.
Caption: Figure 1. Ernst Heinrich Phillip August Haeckel (Wikipedia 2010).
Its antonym—referring to a group and not an individual—is 'phylogeny.' According to Haeckel, phylogeny focuses on "... the development over time of a species, genus, or group ..." Webster (2009) adds that phylogeny is a noun coined around 1872, which has three meanings,
the evolutionary history of a kind of organism the evolution of a genetically related group of organisms as distinguished from the development of the individual organism the history or course of the development of something (as a word or custom).
Ontogeny, then, refers to the development of an individual whereas phylogeny denotes similar actions experienced by a group, specifically a phylum. The distinction between the two concepts is one of number: the former refers to an individual; the latter refers to a group.
So what happens when 'ontogeny' undertakes to recapitulate 'phylogeny?' Webster (Merriam-Webster, 2009) states recapitulate means "... to restate by heads, sum up, from Latin re —+ capitulum ... [the] division[s] of a book." The authors date this transitive verb to 1556 offering three definitions,
to restate briefly or to summarize to give new form or expression to to repeat the principal stages or phases of.
The first definition embodies the literary use of recapitulate focused on 're' or 'again' and capitulum ('caput' or 'chapter'). Translated this might read 'to do again chapters' or 'to summarize the focus (head) of each chapter.' A recapitulation by this definition might be a summary assembled piece by piece. Ironically, in their explanation of the word, the authors illustrate the concept by referring the reader to the familiar, and therefore explanatory, usage, 'Ontogeny Recapitulates Phylogeny.'
The second definition expands the meaning slightly to include the notion of creating or giving a new form to something older, to use what is given and create something different. The final definition moves the idea of restatement or summarizing to a broader purview, suggesting that recapitulation can be the repetition or restatement of the "principal stages" of something. It does not imply doing anything with these restated highlights, but limits the definition to the mere reiteration of what came before.
Haeckel postulated were ontogeny to recapitulate phylogeny in the biological world, the conception and generation of an individual would restate the process of evolution of the species. That is, a human embryo would pass through a series of developmental stages that repeat, reiterate, recreate—the evolution of its species.
Haeckel further argued this development passed through stages when the human embryo resembled that of other species. Wikipedia (2010) recreates some of the illustrations from Haeckel's 1874 publication, Anthropogenie, showing "very early, somewhat later and still later stages of embryos of fish ... salamander ... turtle ... chick ... pig ... cow ... rabbit ... and human." Haeckel contended this sequence, echoed in the womb, is typical of development from the lower species to what he considered the pinnacle of evolution. His biological application of the ontogeny/phylogeny idea we now believe is not true, at least given our current understanding of science.
Haeckel's thoughts implied a duality of number: the individual versus the species. This I understood as a boy. Perhaps partially the result of recurring nightmares about diagramming sentences, my young mind imagined a corresponding duality between word and language. Perhaps unconsciously, I wondered whether there might be a step or stage connection between words and languages like the one Haeckel postulated spanning the various represented species in the developing human. I had not yet looked at Webster's thoughts on the phylogeny of "word or custom" or I might have abandoned science in favor of linguistics.
Although stated in terms written long after the subconscious cognitive Wandering of youth, my boyhood mind speculated about the possibility that the ontogeny of a word—called its etymology—might reflect the origin of language. Could the word/individual, I contemplated, contain elements that reflect the development of the language/phylum of which it is a part?
In retrospect, Haeckel's ideas received a grim verdict from History—parallel to that I reach herein concerning English. Even today, though, these boyhood musings still rattle like an annoying jingle—'You asked for it, you got it.'
My Teachers, My English
Little of this philosophical wondering about languages, development of the individual, or the origins of phyla, occurred to a boy trying to learn a language he already spoke, trying to make sense of a persistent barrage of English classes so very entrenched in the curriculum of many (all?) elementary schools. To my thinking, these classes really did not help a youngster who when asked, 'Why do you speak the way you do?' would respond in nascent philosophic terms only, 'Because.' No, sentence diagrams, parts of speech, punctuation marks, did not inhabit space in the same universe of attention that occupied this young mind, more focused on the practicalities of the woods. I rated English Class among those unfortunate things you simply must endure.
My early days in school almost pre-dated template driven teaching, almost. Advancing through the grades, Teachers still had personalities that shone through in their classroom demeanor. Some like Beth made constant demands; everyone dreaded her from day one. Others like Elizabeth, you anticipated because she provided patience and understanding. In their reputations, selection of topics, delivery, interest, enthusiasm, and even their hickory sticks, each marked your advancement through the grades.
Jumping ahead a bit, I attended a consolidated high school. A large, low, functional, building which when seen from the street reached two and half stories. From inside, particularly from the partially submerged 'Old Gym,' it truly reached three stories, maybe four if you plumbed the boiler rooms buried somewhere within it. An older east wing joined a more recent west one. Near the juncture, on the second floor and rising to the third, stood a high ceilinged, menacing, study hall. The long axis of this echo chamber struck east to west with entrances on ether end, the west to the new wing—the High School—and the east to the Junior High. On the south wall of this cavern sat the library (in the center) and two classrooms (one on either end). Protruding from the center of the otherwise bare north wall, a pedestal or a small stage rose to about four feet. Atop that, a solitary oak desk rose another three or four feet and behind that towered an even taller chair on which the study hall Proctor roosted. From that perch the flightless bird assigned to study hall duty surveyed a panoptical view.
Once stripped of all books, pencils, papers, and other belongings, periodically all members of one grade or another would gather in this room, planted in numbered and coded seats. From the perch, the flightless bird would announce all students must place all articles (what's left?) under their chairs and look straight ahead. Once the commotion dimmed, further announcements preceded the distribution of apparently blank papers (printed side turned downward) to each student by monitors stationed along the front of each row. Next, these monitors authoritatively snapped the rubber bands from around a clutch of No. 2 pencils issuing the instruction, "Take one and pass the remainder back." Bookend monitors at the back of the rows snatched up any extra pencils. From atop the perch, various instructions emanated and when complete, the Proctor squawked, "BEGIN!" Simultaneously a sub proctor assigned to watch stopped stop watches, pressed the start button and we took the prepared test, filling in little lines with our No. 2 pencils to indicate our answers to some futuristic grading machine. 'Twenty minutes to go' broke the silence, followed by, 'Five minutes to go' then 'STOP!'
We as students never knew how we did on those tests other than occasional rumors that as a group we were ahead (or behind) the national average. Little did we understand the ramifications of those tests meant far more to the Principal and Teachers than they did us, for—as they surely knew—they were the ones ultimately judged by the results of standardized tests, not us. How much or how little they realized that these exercises would guide their careers, we as students, did not know or even wonder.
School Principals of the time, perhaps anticipating unwanted and uninvited federal homogenization, tailored the curriculum to meet these foreseen requirements. They encouraged Teachers to design and implement lesson plans to increase our performance—and their evaluations—on these exercises. The old focus on bringing personality to the classroom merged with these new requirements and prompted a subclinical schizophrenia among Teachers. On the one hand, they were to project their personalities into the classroom. On the other, they were to prepare us for the canned feedback behaviors that they knew, and let us know, would inevitably come. These occasional evaluatory interruptions in an otherwise sedate high school schedule spread only slight ripples across our educational pond. Little did we—or the Teachers—know that these standardized tests foreshadowed a tsunami just beyond the horizon.
The focus centered on creating a bunch of good, all American, test taking kids. For God and Country we would outstrip all other nations with our kids' ability to take tests. And when test taking becomes an Olympic event, we'll sure show 'em. All burners on the education stove cranked on high and stewing up mandated tests, the kettle cooking old fashioned education in the letter and spirit of the English language was not even on the stove—unless it would be on a test later (bon dieu mes enseignants).
Ironically, and unsuspected by me at an early age, the work I do now is almost totally dependent on my ability to understand, analyze, utilize, and even at times convince others of my thoughts, in writing, using English, which I should have learned in an American (US) elementary school. It was not in these early years that I learned how to manipulate words, syntax, and structure, to reflect my thoughts. No, I recognized these early experiences with language for what they were—mandated curricula. I endured the lack of personal input from my teachers and focused on the preconceptions and fixations that earned good test scores. I divorced myself from much of the confusing rhetoric implanted within me (sorry rhetoriticians? rhetoricians? rhetorites?) and learned this thing called language on my own for what they were telling me made no sense whatsoever, unless you were on your way to take the test.
So I chronicle here my experiences on this roller coaster of language, recalling some of the pitfalls, mistakes, blunders, ill adapted quotes, unfit metaphors, etc., that constitute my learning English. Having embraced caution long ago, it is with strong reservation that I proffer this as the final summary of my understanding of grammar, syntax, and oft broken rules. I am not yet finished with English. This is but a moment along my learning evolution in which to pause, recount the pillage to date, and with a modicum of good fortune, resume anew learning English. Oh, by the way, there will be a nationally mandated quiz later. It's now called an election.
Elementary School: Through the Eyes of a Child
As a boy in the first years of school, it seemed to me that Teachers, in whatever training capacity they suffered, were stuffed with grammar until they could hold no more; no room remained to buy consonant or vowel. For their own reasons, they chose to bear this cumber of grammar and charact all their lives and specifically chose teaching to dump their linguistic burden onto someone else, namely me. I believed they were the unwitting carriers of this infliction called—in nice words—English Class.
I imagined the Teachers huddled at the second story office window overlooking the sidewalk leaving the front doors of the schoolhouse. How relieved, how gratified, how smug, they must have felt to see me stumbling homeward at the end of the day dazed, my mind trying to wrap itself around a gerund, leaving this madness with a head full of the detritus placed there by this vindictive host of Torquemadas who called themselves 'English Teachers.'
We spelled. We diagrammed. We recited the parts of speech. We made sentences. We chained sentences together into paragraphs. We outlined. We took turns at the board. Is this a definite or an indefinite article? Does this subject require a singular or a plural verb? No, that's wrong, it's a collective subject. A WHAT? And, they repeatedly assured me, it is English.
Why, I wondered, must we spend so much time learning a language we already spoke? And why divide up all the words into nouns, verbs, adjectives, adverbs, pronouns, infinitives? If you really need to break English into little parts, then surely there must be a more interesting way than this.
It is slight personal solace that both Cheech and Chong were boys then, too, that is, when we were growing up. Probably wrestling with the same syntactic problems. Looking back I can only imagine how their lives might have changed if that famous line of theirs were rendered a little differently, 'Grammar! We don't need no stinkin' grammar.' And if they were anything like me, I'm sure they thought it, ¡O, pero en español!
High School: A Grown Child's Eyes See No More Clearly
Finishing the sixth grade, I became the involuntary guinea pig of a social experiment: busing. The drive to the consolidated school covered only twelve miles. But given the stops and starts for pickups, the irascibility of Carl the driver sans morning coffee, the inherent restlessness and unruliness of children, and the ploddingly slow vehicle, the ride took an hour, each way.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from No Stinkin' Grammarby Joseph M. Nixon Copyright © 2011 by Joseph M. Nixon. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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