Why would anyone want to be Maine’s next gubernator? Or, even gubernatrix?
After all, our gubernaculum is facing an $800 million deficit and and voters are plenty angry.
And angry people, as we all know, are hard to guberno.
Yes, they are all actual words, words which did not survive the transition from Latin to English.
All we are left with is the equally awkward and even goofier sounding gubernatorial, as in the ubiquitous “gubernatorial debate.”
Unless you took Latin in high school, you probably wondered where we got such an ungainly word and, more importantly, why we keep using it.
The Boston Globe’s language blogger, Jan Freeman, addressed the issue last week, explaining that “govern” comes from Old French, explaining the more dignified “governance” and “government.”
But, somehow, about 300 years ago, English reached over to Latin and snatched up “gubernatorial,” and people have been complaining, and smirking, ever since.
Since America had states and states had governors, Americans really needed the word, and that was good enough reason for the British to drop it, which they promptly did.
Freeman dissects exactly why critics have been complaining for several centuries that the word is stiff, stilted and pompous.
But only toward the end of her piece does Freeman begin to really unravel why we feel so funny saying this word.
Guber sounds a lot like goober.
Over the past week, we have been running a 12-part series about issues in this year’s race for governor. The inside-the-newsroom shorthand for the series quickly became, like the Christmas song, “The 12 days of guber.”
Ha.
But why is that funny?
Goober, according to Wikipedia, is a Southern word with African roots (nguba), for peanut. A poor white farmer in some states became known as a “goober grabber,” which quickly morphed into a synonym for “bumpkin, yokel, simpleton.”
But, again according to Freeman, the word “didn’t go national until the mid-20th century, when ‘The Andy Griffith Show’ brought us the genial dimwit Goober Pyle.”
Freeman doesn’t mention it, but some of us became familiar with the word long before when forced in music class to sing the Civil War folk song, “Picking Goober Peas.”
Peas, peas, peas, peas
Eating goober peas
Goodness, how delicious,
Eating goober peas.
And, yes, it made us feel like simpletons just singing it.
We certainly didn’t aspire to be Goober Pyle, to live in Mayberry or to go around wearing a turned-up beanie hat.
Freeman also points out that “goo” of any type is, well, “gooey.” Think googly, goofball, goofus, gooney bird.
It’s hard to think of a dignified “goo” word, other than “Google,” which started out seeming pretty silly but, at $600 per share, is now pretty serious.
All of which explains why we would have trouble calling Paul LePage “gubernator” (at least to his face) or Libby Mitchell our gubernatrix (at least not without thinking dominatrix).
And why we have such trouble saying “gubernatorial” with a straight face.
One reader e-mailed Freeman with a good suggestion — simply switch to the more dignified “governatorial.”
Indeed, why not?
We are governed. We have a government. We will elect a governor. Why should we not enjoy the privilege of watching a “governatorial” debate?
Freeman doubts it will catch on.
We hope it does. Nobody wants a guber for a governor.
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