The American Dish
Chowder is not an American dish.
But baseball is an American game.
You can find a famous popular song
in Nikolai's opera,
The Merry Wives of Windsor.
Can you imagine that?
I'm going to come back with you once more
to spread the good tidings that things are not what they seem.
Yes, friends, we're going to present a series of
odd facts and unusual news stories
in just a moment or two.
Here it is.
The American Dish
Well, here we are, and here's our first tidbit of ideology.
It's another of our origin of words. When you dig into a steaming bowl of Boston or
Coney Island clam chowder, you probably think that you're partaking of a genuine American
dish, or maybe that it might have come over on the Mayflower, but you're wrong, yes sir.
Chowder was originated by the fisherfolk of Brittany on the coast of France. All the villagers
used to bring their contributions for the common cauldron, to which of course various
kinds of fish and bivalves were added. The name of the cauldron itself gave the dish
its name, C-H-A-U-D-I-E-R-E, chow-jare. And when the early American settlers learned to
concoct this robust delicacy, they called it as best they could, chowder. Can you imagine
that? Well, how well do you know your Bible? Do you remember this passage?
For thus saith the high and lofty one that inhabiteth eternity, whose name is holy, I
dwell in the high and holy place, with him also that is of a contrite and humble spirit,
to receive the spirit of the humble, and to revive the heart of the contrite ones.
That is the fifteenth verse of the fifty-seventh chapter of the book of the prophet Isaiah.
And within that brief quotation the word eternity is used the only time in the entire Bible.
For thus saith the high and lofty one that inhabiteth eternity. Yes, the word eternity
is used only once in both the Old and New Testaments. Can you imagine that?
You know, every once in a while a sympathetic reporter will pick up a news yarn that is
bound to warm the hearts of those who read and run. Here's a quaint touch to the annals
of coincidence. It began in Cambridge, Ohio on September 6, 1938. Truck driver Edward
Rohr was preparing to make his daily run when his wife rushed to him from another part of
their room.
Ed, Ed!
What's the matter, dear?
Look, a note from Eugene. He's run away.
What? Let me see. Because I don't want to go to school.
Where could he have gone? Why did he go? Oh, my poor boy. Ed, what in the world will
he do? He's only sixteen years old.
Well, he'll come back soon, honey. Yeah, of course he will. He'll get tired.
He'll get tired pretty soon. He'll come on back home. Maybe tomorrow. Oh, don't cry,
honey. Gene will be all right. He'll come back.
But sixteen-year-old Eugene Rohr didn't come back. For four days and four nights, Edward
Rohr and his wife sat in dismal silence, waiting for some word from the boy who had left home
because he didn't want to go to school. But Ed Rohr couldn't lay off from his work. He
must still go on earning the family's income. So on the night of September 10th, as he headed
homeward on the dark highway, he thought sadly of his runaway son. On one lonely stretch
of the winding ribbon of the pavement, the headlights of his truck picked out the shabby
figure of a thumbing hitchhiker. Ed Rohr thought again of his son somewhere in America, probably
thumbing his way along some unknown highway, just as this lad was doing. Ed Rohr pulled
his truck up to an island stop. You going into Cambridge?
Yeah, sure. Hop in. Golly.
Gene. Hello, Pa.
Gene, what do you know about that? Say, where have you been? What was the idea of running
away like that? Don't you know you've had your mother and me worried to death for the
last four days? Don't ask me any questions, Pa. Just, well,
take me home, will you? Yeah, sure I will. Gosh, but your Ma will
be glad to see you. And Ed Rohr took his son back home. Maybe
the myriads of unexpressed prayers in that mother's heart had nothing to do with the
father picking up his own boy on that lonely black highway that night. Maybe it was just
a coincidence. But on the other hand, maybe not. Who knows?
Play ball! Play ball, the watchword of the great American
game, baseball. But is it the great American game? Well, let's see. When the early settlers
in America came to the New World, they brought with them two ancient English games, cricket
and rounders. From these games, young boys developed a sort of embryonic forerunner of
baseball in which the teams composed of a catcher and a pitcher took turns at hitting
the ball. The team hitting the ball the greater number of times in a specified number of tries
at bat was declared the winner. In 1839, a group of young men in Cooperstown, New York,
assembled for a session of this rather crudely organized sport. Among them was a young fellow
named Abner Doubleday. Wait, boys, I have an idea.
Yeah, what is it? We've been playing this rather silly game
for some time. Silly? Why, Abner, I thought you enjoyed it.
Well, I do, Alex. Or rather, I did enjoy it, but I think I found a better game.
Yeah, what do you tell us? Well, here's the way it goes. Look, I fetched
this flat slab of stone with me. Well, what's that for?
Well, my idea is to place this stone about 50 feet away from where we stand to hit the
ball. And after we make a hit, we'll run for the stone. And then the pitcher or catcher
can try to touch the runner or throw the ball at him and try to hit him with the ball. And
if the runner is touched by the pitcher or catcher or hit by the ball, his team is out
and the other team tries the same procedure. Well, what do you think of it?
Well, what do we call this stone? It doesn't sound right to call it just a stone or a slab.
Oh, I've thought of that too. Let's call it a base.
And so this 20-year-old lad can be credited with the origin of the great American game.
Originally, the game was called One Old Cat. Then when two bases were included, it was
called Two Old Cat. Finally, when a friend of Abner Doubleday, Alexander Cartwright, a
student of draftsmanship, became dissatisfied with the haphazard placing of the bases, he
laid out what he called a baseball square, placing all bases 90 feet apart. And to this
day, that is the exact measurement of the official baseball diamond.
I think you'll find it interesting too that Abner Doubleday can be credited with two firsts
in history. Not only did he create the game of baseball, but as a graduate of West Point,
he found himself second in command of Fort Sumter at the outset of the American Civil
War and distinguished himself as the man who fired the first shot in its defense in 1861.
Today the plot of ground where Abner Doubleday and his teammates first played baseball in
Cooperstown, New York is called Doubleday Field. So I imagine it's still proper to call
baseball a great American game. Say, do you have any idea what the word kangaroo, K-A-N-G-A-R-O-O
means?
That's silly, Lindsay. It's the name of an animal.
Well, quite right. It is now, but do you know what it means?
I don't understand.
And that's right. The little girl is correct. And your old Professor Quizzlepuss awards
her the handsome first prize of a last week's Map of the World.
Say, what is this? Come on, Lindsay, what's this all about?
Well, all right. I'll break down and tell you. You were absolutely right when you said
the meaning of the word kangaroo is I don't understand. It was in 1770 when Captain James
Cook, the noted explorer, was traveling through Australia that he first saw one of the peculiar
native animals, the female of which carries her young around in a pouch. He turned to
one of the native men in his party and asked him what the name of the animal was. The native
replied, kangaroo, which actually means I don't understand. Poor Captain Cook thought
it was the name of the animal and it has remained the name of the animal as far as we're concerned
ever since. Can you imagine that?
Well now, I guess it's about time for our musical auditing for this session. You know,
it often happens that the composer of a modern popular song will inadvertently set down a
melody that is quite reminiscent of an older piece of music, often from the classics. I
want you to listen as the orchestra plays just a few bars from Otto Nicolai's famous
opera, The Merry Wives of Windsor.
I wonder whether or not you picked out from that little melody the foundation for one
of our best beloved popular ballads of a few years back. You want another try? Okay, listen
again.
Not yet? Well, all right then, listen to this.
Marquita, Marquita, I still hear you calling me back to your arms once again. I still feel
the spell of your last kiss upon me. Since then life has been all in vain.
You'd better without you, Marquita,
It's daytime to lonely and bored.
My poor heart is broken,
I want you, Marquita,
I need you, Marquita, I do.
Marquita, Marquita,
I still hear you calling me back
To your arms once again.
I still feel the spell of your last kiss upon me,
Since then life has been all in vain.
All has been sadness without you, Marquita,
It's daytime to lonely and bored.
My poor heart is broken,
I want you, Marquita,
I need you, Marquita, I do.
Yes, that was Marquita composed by that able veteran of motion pictures Victor Schertzinger
and the melodic pattern of that breezy little passage from The Merry Wives of Windsor
and the first part of the melody of Marquita are identical.
Can you imagine that?
Well, it's time to close our book of oddities again,
but we'll be back soon once more on this same station with another edition of Can You Imagine That?
Until then, this is Lindsay McHenry saying goodbye now.
Thank you for watching!