LEND ME YOUR EAR: LET US NOT `OBSOLETE' THE BEAUTY OF OUR LANGUAGE

To refresh memories, we repeat that ever since English was established as a language, speakers and writers have been turning nouns into verbs to serve their individual needs. In the beginning, verbs doubled as nouns because they defined what people did for a living. A man who farmed became a Farmer by name. One who baked for his village took the name Baker. Singer and Sanger evolved as surnames, and a singer of German heritage who sang like a bird was likely to become a Vogel or Vogelsang, "vogel" being the German for "bird." Vogels and Vogelsangs of Cape Girardeau, take a bow!

No doubt we are carrying word-play too far to suggest that names such as these might have given Voice to verbs. But it's true that school children of my day learned that verbs have two Voices: active and passive. In the active voice, the subject did the acting; in the passive, the performer received the action.

For decades, authorities on language have maintained that the active voice is passe, but few writers or speakers have listened. For evidence, scour Time magazine, May 30 issue. Leaf through other publications or turn on the TV, and you will learn that World War veterans "are being (or were recently) praised by presidents and entertained by marching bands" the world over; that smoking "has been banned" in yet another federal building; that another world-famous painting "has been stolen" from a museum. Even writers of consequence continue to point out that high school and college graduates should not be permitted to graduate on their own. Students "are graduated" by their respective schools.

In general, whether to use active or resort to passive hinges chiefly on the emphasis desired. Sound helps clarify meaning, and occasionally, the passive continues to be active!

Reverting to the history of our language and how it burgeoned early on, new words poured forth faster than lexicographers and Doctor Johnson could catalog them, and it seems redundant to point out that the mushrooming is still alive and well. It matters not how many words we have to spare, there are never enough to satisfy our wants. More often than not, they fail to achieve dictionary status, but a goodly number prove irresistible. Anyone out there know when "gridlock" arrived, and who introduced it?

This handy helper did not show up in time for American Heritage, Second College Edition, 1982, but Webster's Ninth New, 1984, listed it as a noun. Perhaps it was inevitable that someone should verbalize so tempting a coinage.

In the April 1994 issue of National Geographic, we read that "millions of fleeing residents might gridlock roads to Orlando" and beyond. The reason eluded my notes, but the reason is not the issue. Gridlock is now a verb, at least to one courageous writer. Never mind that this verbalization still grates on my ear. Other ears may be delighted with the sound of another verb for "block."

From U.S. News and World Report, we learned that small companies are producing golf balls capable of flying so far they could "obsolete" many golf courses. My dictionaries allow the use of "obsolete" as a transitive verb, but as a non-golfer I move we obsolete this usage regardless of the fate awaiting addicts.

Some weeks ago, in a New Yorker story, a top-flight writer used "gluteal" purely in fun to refer to the human posterior. The Greek word for buttocks is "gloutos," and a dictionary reference to "gluteus maximus", the outer muscle of the three glutei in each of the human buttocks, reminded me of a euphemism my mother adopted for the back of the lap: "beauteous maximus." Dare I suggest to the English teachers who use the coarse abbreviation "butt" in the classroom that "beauteous maximus" would be less offensive, and might even evoke smiles from some of their charges?

Call me snooty if you like. James Kilpatrick has coined a more appealing term to describe both of us: "logomachists." There aren't many of us logomachists left, he lamented in a recent letter. A logomachist, I gather, is a penman who has the courage or presumption to pass judgment on word choice and usage.

Gentle readers, do not accuse us logomachists of trying to stem progress. Rather, give us credit for trying to help preserve what is left of decency and beauty in our language. This is what is expected of us, and what we are paid to do.