A New Vocabulary Word
written by Paul Warnock
Often when reading a book, you will come across a new word
or a word used in a different way. I try to write these words
down if a dictionary is not nearby; today, this is the typical
situation since I do a lot of reading in bed while I’m trying to
get sleepy. Today, it is particularly easy to find these words
later on the Merriam-Webster [free] website. Another good
source of new words is political speeches or newspaper
articles. One place you don’t want to find a new word is on the
playground at school, and that’s what this essay is all about.
This is especially true if you attempt to use that word without
finding out its complete meaning.
I went the first two years at the old Grammar school in
Rockingham starting in the fall of 1948. For the third year, I
went to school in the Sunday school rooms of the First Baptist
Church. For the fourth year, I went to school in the Sunday
school rooms of the First Methodist Church. I was beginning
to feel abandoned by the Administration (Principal Ms. Bessie
Terry and associates) at the main Grammar school (on
Washington Street at the intersection with Lawrence Street),
where we at least went for lunch every day. Everybody really
loved “Ms. Bessie” as we affectionately referred to her; it
would have been nice to see her once in a while. Near the end
of the fourth grade, we all paraded to the brand new L. J. Bell
Elementary School. Then I felt like I was included again. That
was really a very nice school especially compared to the old
school and the make-do Sunday school rooms. Everything was
new including all the chairs, desks, the blackboards and the
tile flooring. We even had an intercom system where the
principal could speak to all the students and faculty without
loosing the time involved in an assembly. Of course it was
sometimes difficult to understand what they were saying, but
that didn’t deter them from using it with the least of reasons.
Starting in the fifth grade, Mr. Mulky became the new
principal. He was a fine Southern gentleman, but he really
scared me back then. We used to say “he ate nails for
breakfast” and that was why he was so tough (looking
anyhow). Some called him Coach Mulky as I think he was
formally at least an assistant coach at the High School or
maybe the Junior High.
Actually, it was my older brother (four years older than me)
who picked up this word; he was already in Junior High. Also,
there was a neighbor boy, Chuck (named changed), who was
older than me, but he was, I think, at least one year junior to
my brother. His father was in the Army at Fort Bragg, but his
family lived in Rockingham. Chuck often stayed with his
unmarried Aunts who lived just three or four houses down
from us, and that is how we knew him. There were four or five
of these sisters, but Chuck’s mother was the only one to ever
marry. Actually there were many military families living in
Rockingham at the time. The way I knew this was that my
mother used to work as a seamstress for Watt’s Cleaners down
on west Washington Street. She would change their patches
for them whenever they got promoted or changed units. I
usually received the old patches and chevrons, which I then
had my mother attach to my jacket sleeves. This was a fad with
the boys at school, and I had more and better ones than almost
anyone. World War II had ended about seven years before this
time, and all the military men (active as well as veterans) were
still heroes especially to young boys. In fact most of the boy’s
fathers had served during the war including my father and Mr.
Otto Withers (name changed) at church with whom I practiced
my new word.
My brother and Chuck were using the expression son of a “D.
B”. Now, of course, we had no idea what it meant, especially
what the “D.B.” meant. We kids made a game of trying to
guess what the “D.B.” represented. Well after a day or two of
this we finally asked our mother what it meant. Needless to
say, we got her attention. Whenever we would say a dirty word,
we had our mouths washed out with soap. We really did. I
found that Ivory soap was better tasting than Octagon soap. It
doesn’t take a nine or ten year old boy very long to conclude
that it was probably better to not say those words since with
the soap ordeal, it just wasn’t worth it. Anyhow she told us
that the “B” was another word for a mother dog; and that we
should never use that word again. The “D” of course was one
of those four letter words with which we were already
familiar. My older brother and Chuck were admonished, but I
don’t think they were physically punished. Well I liked dogs,
and I liked puppies; so maybe I should try this word
somewhere else other than around my mother. Poor Mr.
Withers was my victim. We were at church after the service
was completed, and he was mentioning something to me I didn’
t like; so as I departed I used that expression on him. Well as
on old Navy man, he sure knew what it meant. He told me that
it was bad, and that he was going to tell my father. He did. My
father was not happy with me to say the least.
Now that was not very smart of me. One thing, as a Navy
veteran, he was one of my heroes; and I had just insulted him.
Also he had two daughters about my age, both of whom were
quite attractive. Now, for a word to the wise: Any of you
young Romeos out there who might be interesting in
attracting the attention of a young lady and possible
sweetheart, it is not a good idea to begin this relationship by
calling her father an “S.O.B”.
My father explained the bad connotation of this expression.
Well, for one thing, if you were interested in a good fight, all
you had to do was go into any of the beer joints in and around
Rockingham and use this word on the clientele. As part of my
punishment, I was required to apologize to Mr. Withers. I
did. He was very receptive, accepted my apology and never
spoke of it again. He was an exceptionally fine Christian man.
In later life, he was not only a good friend of mine, but also of
our entire family. He visited us in Gastonia up to the time of
his death in the mid sixties.
Well I just never did get to first base with either of these young
ladies. When we moved to Gastonia in 1954, I never saw either
of them again until several years ago (2002) when some old
friends from the Church met with us at the Fellowship Hall.
The younger of the two ladies was there, and we had a good
conservation of the good old times.
written by Paul Warnock
Often when reading a book, you will come across a new word
or a word used in a different way. I try to write these words
down if a dictionary is not nearby; today, this is the typical
situation since I do a lot of reading in bed while I’m trying to
get sleepy. Today, it is particularly easy to find these words
later on the Merriam-Webster [free] website. Another good
source of new words is political speeches or newspaper
articles. One place you don’t want to find a new word is on the
playground at school, and that’s what this essay is all about.
This is especially true if you attempt to use that word without
finding out its complete meaning.
I went the first two years at the old Grammar school in
Rockingham starting in the fall of 1948. For the third year, I
went to school in the Sunday school rooms of the First Baptist
Church. For the fourth year, I went to school in the Sunday
school rooms of the First Methodist Church. I was beginning
to feel abandoned by the Administration (Principal Ms. Bessie
Terry and associates) at the main Grammar school (on
Washington Street at the intersection with Lawrence Street),
where we at least went for lunch every day. Everybody really
loved “Ms. Bessie” as we affectionately referred to her; it
would have been nice to see her once in a while. Near the end
of the fourth grade, we all paraded to the brand new L. J. Bell
Elementary School. Then I felt like I was included again. That
was really a very nice school especially compared to the old
school and the make-do Sunday school rooms. Everything was
new including all the chairs, desks, the blackboards and the
tile flooring. We even had an intercom system where the
principal could speak to all the students and faculty without
loosing the time involved in an assembly. Of course it was
sometimes difficult to understand what they were saying, but
that didn’t deter them from using it with the least of reasons.
Starting in the fifth grade, Mr. Mulky became the new
principal. He was a fine Southern gentleman, but he really
scared me back then. We used to say “he ate nails for
breakfast” and that was why he was so tough (looking
anyhow). Some called him Coach Mulky as I think he was
formally at least an assistant coach at the High School or
maybe the Junior High.
Actually, it was my older brother (four years older than me)
who picked up this word; he was already in Junior High. Also,
there was a neighbor boy, Chuck (named changed), who was
older than me, but he was, I think, at least one year junior to
my brother. His father was in the Army at Fort Bragg, but his
family lived in Rockingham. Chuck often stayed with his
unmarried Aunts who lived just three or four houses down
from us, and that is how we knew him. There were four or five
of these sisters, but Chuck’s mother was the only one to ever
marry. Actually there were many military families living in
Rockingham at the time. The way I knew this was that my
mother used to work as a seamstress for Watt’s Cleaners down
on west Washington Street. She would change their patches
for them whenever they got promoted or changed units. I
usually received the old patches and chevrons, which I then
had my mother attach to my jacket sleeves. This was a fad with
the boys at school, and I had more and better ones than almost
anyone. World War II had ended about seven years before this
time, and all the military men (active as well as veterans) were
still heroes especially to young boys. In fact most of the boy’s
fathers had served during the war including my father and Mr.
Otto Withers (name changed) at church with whom I practiced
my new word.
My brother and Chuck were using the expression son of a “D.
B”. Now, of course, we had no idea what it meant, especially
what the “D.B.” meant. We kids made a game of trying to
guess what the “D.B.” represented. Well after a day or two of
this we finally asked our mother what it meant. Needless to
say, we got her attention. Whenever we would say a dirty word,
we had our mouths washed out with soap. We really did. I
found that Ivory soap was better tasting than Octagon soap. It
doesn’t take a nine or ten year old boy very long to conclude
that it was probably better to not say those words since with
the soap ordeal, it just wasn’t worth it. Anyhow she told us
that the “B” was another word for a mother dog; and that we
should never use that word again. The “D” of course was one
of those four letter words with which we were already
familiar. My older brother and Chuck were admonished, but I
don’t think they were physically punished. Well I liked dogs,
and I liked puppies; so maybe I should try this word
somewhere else other than around my mother. Poor Mr.
Withers was my victim. We were at church after the service
was completed, and he was mentioning something to me I didn’
t like; so as I departed I used that expression on him. Well as
on old Navy man, he sure knew what it meant. He told me that
it was bad, and that he was going to tell my father. He did. My
father was not happy with me to say the least.
Now that was not very smart of me. One thing, as a Navy
veteran, he was one of my heroes; and I had just insulted him.
Also he had two daughters about my age, both of whom were
quite attractive. Now, for a word to the wise: Any of you
young Romeos out there who might be interesting in
attracting the attention of a young lady and possible
sweetheart, it is not a good idea to begin this relationship by
calling her father an “S.O.B”.
My father explained the bad connotation of this expression.
Well, for one thing, if you were interested in a good fight, all
you had to do was go into any of the beer joints in and around
Rockingham and use this word on the clientele. As part of my
punishment, I was required to apologize to Mr. Withers. I
did. He was very receptive, accepted my apology and never
spoke of it again. He was an exceptionally fine Christian man.
In later life, he was not only a good friend of mine, but also of
our entire family. He visited us in Gastonia up to the time of
his death in the mid sixties.
Well I just never did get to first base with either of these young
ladies. When we moved to Gastonia in 1954, I never saw either
of them again until several years ago (2002) when some old
friends from the Church met with us at the Fellowship Hall.
The younger of the two ladies was there, and we had a good
conservation of the good old times.
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