What in the World Am I Reading?
The Lovey-Dovey, the Gloaming, and the October Quail
Every so often, old newspapers hand you an article that makes you stop researching whatever you were researching and say:
What in the world am I reading?
This is one of those articles.
In July 1896, The Salt Lake Herald reported on the case of Mrs. Vaughn and John Waterman, under the wonderfully understated headline:
“WAS VERY NEAR IT.”
Apparently Waterman had been paying Mrs. Vaughn enough attention that the matter eventually landed in court.
And that is where the vocabulary begins.
Mrs. Vaughn was described as:
“plump as an October quail.”
Why October?
Are September quail noticeably thinner?
Do quail spend October saying, You know what, winter is coming. I’m not counting calories anymore?
I have questions.
Waterman, meanwhile, was reportedly “somewhat gone on her shape.”
What does that even mean?
Actually, never mind. I think I know exactly what it means, and I would like us to go back to not knowing.
According to the testimony, Waterman asked Mrs. Vaughn if she would be his “little lovey-dovey,” meet him “in the gloaming,” and he would buy her “a whole lot of tutti-frutti.”
There is so much happening in that sentence.
First, lovey-dovey.
Second, the gloaming.
Third, apparently tutti-frutti was part of the seduction package.
I don't know what quantity constitutes a whole lot of tutti-frutti, but evidently Waterman was prepared to make an investment.
And then the article takes a turn.
Because Mrs. Vaughn apparently threatened that somebody would:
“wallow his measly carcass in the dusty soil and carve ‘Hic Jacet’ over his remains.”
From tutti-frutti to homicide?
Wow.
For anyone wondering, Hic Jacet basically means “Here lies.”
Nothing says romantic misunderstanding like threatening to turn somebody into a Latin-inscribed grave marker.
At another point, the testimony apparently wandered into discussion of someone's “liver and other internal apparatus.”
Liver kicking?
Was that a thing?
Victorian-era anatomy apparently had considerably more involvement in everyday arguments than I realized.
And then came one of my favorite courtroom instructions:
“Skip the tra-la-lee.”
Yes.
Let's bring that back.
Someone starts wandering off topic in a meeting?
Skip the tra-la-lee, Gary.
Someone tells a story and takes seventeen minutes to reach the part where they bought milk?
Skip the tra-la-lee.
We have lost something as a society.
But Judge Laney was not finished.
During the proceedings, he began wondering why women apparently smiled at men so much.
The newspaper reported that he did not understand why women smiled on so many people because:
“They never smiled on him.”
Sir.
I think we may have accidentally identified the problem.
The discussion then moved to women elevating their eyebrows and making coquettish expressions.
Really?
Her eyebrows?!
Apparently even eyebrows were capable of creating legal complications in 1896.
Judge Laney essentially concluded that if women did less smiling, eyebrow raising and general coy behavior toward men, there would be less trouble in the world.
And on this particular issue, after careful consideration of the evidence, I have reached my ruling:
I concur with Judge Laney.
Women should smile on men and stop all this coyness.
I'm kidding.
Mostly because I enjoy living in a century where raising an eyebrow is not entered into evidence.
Waterman was ultimately found guilty and fined $5 and costs.
And after reading an entire newspaper story involving an October quail, a lovey-dovey, the gloaming, tutti-frutti, dusty carcasses, Latin grave inscriptions, internal organs, pompadours, flirtatious eyebrows and a judge disappointed that women never smiled at him, I have reached a separate verdict.
The women are acquitted.
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