Remembrance of things very odd.

Note:  As will quickly become apparent, this column was written and sent to newspapers and subscribers last September.  Furthermore, as I discovered when I emerged from my burrow in early February, the election is long over.  I am duty bound to point out that you can avoid this sort of disconcerting delay in your breaking etymological news delivery by becoming a subscriber.

Dear Word Detective:  The newspapers are abuzz with Republican John McCain’s team of people who “vetted” or were “vetting” or were given the assignment to “vet” Sarah Palin, his prospective VP running mate.  What is the origin of the term “vet”?  When was it first used? — Tony McHugh.

Wait, don’t tell me.  You folks are having another presidential election, aren’t you?  I wouldn’t know, of course, because after the last one I lined my office in cork and nailed the door shut.  Now I spend my days sprawled on my chaise longue, reading my way through Evelyn Waugh for the umpteenth time and subsisting on Oreos dipped in gin.  Give my regards to Wolfie and the gang, and drop me a line when it’s over.  By the way, is that Palin person related to Michael Palin from Monty Python, the shopkeeper in the Dead Parrot sketch?  I wonder if that’s relevant.  Does Alaska have fjords?

I actually answered a question about “vet” during an election several years ago, but since our memories were all apparently wiped clean soon thereafter, we’ll give it another go.

There are several remarkable things about “vet” as it is being used in the media these days.  The first is its sheer ubiquity.  If one were to concoct a drinking game that consisted of watching cable TV news and taking a shot after every use of the word “vet,” one would likely be on the floor before the first commercial break.  Furthermore, the talking heads are apparently so deeply smitten by “vet” that they’re not even trying to come up with synonyms to break the “vet vet vet” monotony.  Hey, guys?  Try “investigate” or “check into her record.”  I know, too many syllables.

The second notable fact about “vet” is that if you were watching US election coverage back in the 1990s, you probably never heard the word.  Although “vet” in the current sense of “examine the background and history of a candidate for public office” has been used in Britain since the early years of the 20th century, it’s a relatively recent arrival here in the US.

Thirdly, the original figurative use of “vet” was simply “to examine thoroughly,” but in current political use it seems to be carrying the added sense of “approval.”  Strictly speaking, however, a candidate can be “thoroughly vetted,” found grievously wanting, and banished to the fjords, or the Aleutians, whatever.

But my favorite remarkable aspect of the current “vet” craze is the probability that ninety percent of the talking heads who pompously pronounce it every two seconds have no idea where the term came from.  Ready?  It’s just a shortening of “veterinarian,”  a doctor who cares for animals (from the Latin “veterinae,” cattle, which constituted the bulk of early veterinarians’ patients).  The original meaning of “vet” used as a verb was “to examine an animal (e.g., a racehorse before a race) thoroughly” (“Beau is shaky in his forelegs. I shall have him vetted before the races,” 1891).  The “check out the candidate’s past” sense first appeared in print in 1904.  Given the superficial “horse race” coverage of politics in much of our media, “vet” is the perfect word.

Go forth and befuddle.

Dear Word Detective:  This weekend I toured Angel Island in San Francisco bay, the West coast version of Ellis Island.  During the tour we stopped at a camp bakery at an old civil war era military site.  The guide told us that part of the pay, as demanded by the troops, was a loaf of bread.  She said that was the origin of the term “dough” when referring to salary or money.  I am wondering if that might be why soldiers were called “doughboys” in the distant past. — Gary Prideaux.

Golly.  You know, when I grow up or retire, whichever comes first, I wanna be a guide at a tourist attraction.  As far as I can tell, they have an official license to simply make stuff up, the weirder the better, without ever being publicly humiliated by Oprah Winfrey.  Furthermore, since most of the folks you’re talking about are long gone, you can solemnly declare, without fear of libel suits, that Abe Lincoln was secretly married to a hedgehog and Woodrow Wilson had webbed feet.  Folks will smile, nod, take pictures of you, and then go home and repeat your stories to their friends.

Speaking of the distant past, I knew I had delved into “doughboy” in this column before, but that turns out to have been ten years ago, so we’ll play it again at quick marching pace.  Although most of us know “doughboy” as World War I slang for an American soldier, the term actually dates back to at least 1847, before the Civil War.  In her memoirs, written in 1887, the widow of General George Armstrong Custer mentions that the small boiled dumplings served to sailors aboard early 19th century ships were known as “doughboys,” and that the term became slang for soldiers because the large brass buttons on their uniforms resembled the dumpling “doughboys.”

There are, not surprisingly, many other stories about the origins of “doughboy” (and probably new ones being invented every day by tour guides), but I tend to go with Mrs. Custer’s explanation because we know for a fact that such dumplings had been known as “doughboys” since about 1685.

“Dough” as slang for “money” is an American coinage dating back to the mid-19th century  (“He thinks he will pick his way out of the Society’s embarrassments, provided he can get sufficient dough,” 1851).  “Dough” in this sense appears to be based on “bread,” also intermittently popular slang for money since the 1930s.  Those of you paying attention may be wondering how “dough” can be drawn from “bread” when “bread” showed up roughly 80 years after “dough,” but there is a logical explanation.  The use of “bread” to mean “sustenance” in a more general non-money sense dates back to the early 1700s (“Poor miserable Fishers, who get their Bread out of the Water, to keep them from starving,” 1727), and “breadwinner” dates to 1818.  So “bread” as slang for money has a long pedigree, and the playful substitution of “dough” for bread makes perfect sense.  As a matter of fact, there may even be an old pun lurking in there, since the ancient Germanic root sense of “dough” is “something that is kneaded,” and, as we all know, money is definitely “something that is needed.”