Pylon

Pylon (pronounced pahy-lon)

(1) A marking post or tower for guiding aviators, much used in air-racing to mark turning points in a a prescribed course of flight.

(2) A relatively tall structure at the side of a gate, bridge, or avenue, marking an entrance or approach.

(3) A monumental tower forming the entrance to an ancient Egyptian temple, consisting either of a pair of tall quadrilateral masonry masses with sloping sides and a doorway between them or of one such mass pierced with a doorway.

(4) In electricity transmission, a steel tower or mast carrying high-tension lines, telephone wires, or other cables and lines (usually as power-pylon, electricity pylon or transmission tower).

(5) In architecture (1) a tall, tower-like structure (usually of steel or concrete) from which cables are strung to support other structures and (2) a lighting mast; a freestanding support for floodlights.

(6) In aeronautics, a streamlined, finlike structure used to attach engines, auxiliary fuel tanks, bombs, etc to an aircraft wing or fuselage.

(7) In modeling, as “pylon shot”, a pose in which a model stands with arms raised or extended outwards, resembling an electricity pylon.

(8) An alternative name for an obelisk.

(9) In aviation, a starting derrick for an aircraft (obsolete) and a tethering point for an dirigible (airship).

(10) In American football (gridiron), an orange marker designating one of the four corners of the field’s end zones.

(11) In the slang of artificial limb makers (1) a temporary artificial leg and (2) a rigid prosthesis for the lower leg.

(12) In literature, as "Pylon Poet" (usually in the plural as “the Pylons”), a group of British poets who during the 1930s included in their work many references to new & newish mechanical devices and other technological developments.

(13) In slang, a traffic cone.

1823: A learned borrowing from Ancient Greek πυλών (pulṓn; pylṓn) (gateway; gate tower), from pylē (gate, wing of a pair of double gates; an entrance, entrance into a country; mountain pass; narrow strait of water) of unknown origin but etymologists suspect it may be a technical term (from architecture or construction) from another language.  The first use was in archaeology to describe a “gateway to an Egyptian temple”, a direct adaptation of the original Greek.  In Western architecture, it’s believed the first “modern” pylons were the tall, upright structures installed at aerodromes to guide aviators and it was the appearance of these things which inspired the later use as “power pylon” (steel tower for high-tension wires over distance, use noted since 1923) and the word spread to any number of similar looking devices (even those on a small scale such as traffic cones).  Until then, in engineering and architecture, tall structures used to carry cables or in some way provide support (or even be mere decorative) were described as a “tower” or “obelisk” (such use continuing).  Pylon is a noun and pylonless, pylonlike, pylonesque & pylonish are adjectives; the noun plural is pylons.  Despite the fondness in engineering for such forms to emerge, the verbs pyloned & pyloning seem never to have been coined.

The Ancient Greek πυλών (pulṓn; pylṓn) was used of the grand architecture seen in the entrances to temples and the usual word for doors (and gates) rather more modest was θύρα (thýra).  It was a feminine noun and appears in various forms depending on the grammatical case (θύρα (nominative singular; a door), θύρας (genitive singular; of a door) & θύραι (nominative plural; doors).  Etymologists believe θύρα may have undergone phonological changes, adapting to Greek morphology and pronunciation patterns, while retaining its fundamental meaning tied to entryways or openings.  The word was from the primitive Indo-European dhur or dhwer (door; gateway) which was the source also of the Latin foris (door, entrance), the Sanskrit dvā́r (door, gate), the Old English duru (door) and the Old Norse dyrr (door).  Because of their functional role and symbolism as thresholds (ie transition, entry, protection), the door played a prominent part in linguistic as well as architectural evolution.

Temple of Isis, first pylon, north-eastern view.

The Ancient Greek πυλών (pulṓn; pylṓn) was the classical term for an Egyptian ceremonial gateway (bekhenet) used in temples from at least the Middle Kingdom to the Roman period (circa 2040 BC–AD 395) and anthropologists have concluded the intent was to symbolize the horizon.  The basic structure of a pylon consisted of two massive towers of rubble-filled masonry tapering upwards, surmounted by a cornice and linked in the centre by an elaborate doorway.  Ancient depictions of pylons show that the deep vertical recesses visible along the facades of surviving examples were intended for the mounting of flag staffs.

An “anchor pylon” is the one which forms the endpoint of a high-voltage and differs from other pylons in that it uses horizontal insulators, necessary when interfacing with other modes of power transmission and (owing to the inflexibility of the conductors), when significantly altering the direction of the pylon chain.  In large-scale display advertizing, a “pylon sign” is a tall sign supported by one or more poles and in the original industry jargon was something in what would now be called “portrait mode”; a sign in “landscape mode” being a “billboard”.  Not surprisingly, there are a number of mountains known as “Pylon Peak”.  The task of naming such geological features is part of the field of toponymy (in semantics the lexicological study of place names(a branch of onomastics)) and a specialist in such things is known as a toponymist.  The term toponomy was later borrowed by medicine where it was used of the nomenclature of anatomical regions. In aviation, the “pylon turn” is a flight maneuver in which an aircraft banks into a circular turn around a fixed point on the ground.

The Ancient Greek πυλών (pulṓn; pylṓn) was used of the grand architecture seen in the entrances to temples and the usual word for doors (and gates) rather more modest was θύρα (thýra).  It was a feminine noun and appears in various forms depending on the grammatical case (θύρα (nominative singular; a door), θύρας (genitive singular; of a door) & θύραι (nominative plural; doors).  Etymologists believe θύρα may have undergone phonological changes, adapting to Greek morphology and pronunciation patterns, while retaining its fundamental meaning tied to entryways or openings.  The word was from the primitive Indo-European dhur or dhwer (door; gateway) which was the source also of the Latin foris (door, entrance), the Sanskrit dvā́r (door, gate), the Old English duru (door) and the Old Norse dyrr (door).  Because of their functional role and symbolism as thresholds (ie transition, entry, protection), the door played a prominent part in linguistic as well as architectural evolution.

The plyon pose: Lindsay Lohan demonstrates some variations.

In modeling, the “pylon shot” is used to describe the pose in which a model stands with arms raised or extended outwards, resembling (at least vaguely) an electricity pylon, the appearance of which is anthropomorphic.  There are practical benefits for designers in that raising the arms permits a photographer to include more of a garment in the frame and this can be significant if there’s detailing which are at least partially concealed with the arms in their usual position.  Topless models also adopt variations of the pose because the anatomical affect of raising the arms also lifts and to some extent re-shapes the breasts, lending them temporarily a higher, a more pleasing aspect.

The Pylons

The so-called “pylon poets” (referred to usually as “the Pylons”) were a group who dominated British poetry during the 1930s, a time when the form assumed a greater cultural and intellectual significance than today.  The best known (and certainly among the most prolific) of the Pylons were Louis MacNeice (1907–1963), Stephen Spender (1909–1995), WH Auden (1907-1973) and Cecil Day-Lewis (1904–1972), their names sometimes conflated as “MacSpaunday”.  It was Spender’s poem The Pylons which inspired the nickname and it referenced the frequent references to the images of “industrial modernity”, drawn from new(ish) technology and the machinery of factories.  The intrusion of novel machinery and technology into a variety of fields is not unusual; in the age of steam the devices were used as similes when speculating about the operation of the human brain, just as the terminology of computers came to be used when the lexicon entered the public imagination.  Their method underlying the output of the pylons was influenced by the metaphysical poetry of John Donne (circa 1571-1631) whose use of “scientific” imagery was much admired by TS Eliot (1888–1965), the work of whom was acknowledged as influential by both Auden and Spender.  However, the 1930s were the years of the Great Depression and probably their most fertile source was Marxist materialism although, of the Pylons, historians tend to regard only Day-Lewis as one of the “useful idiots”.

The Pylons (1933) by Stephen Spender.

The secret of these hills was stone, and cottages
Of that stone made,
And crumbling roads
That turned on sudden hidden villages
 
Now over these small hills, they have built the concrete
That trails black wire
Pylons, those pillars
Bare like nude giant girls that have no secret.
 
The valley with its gilt and evening look
And the green chestnut
Of customary root,
Are mocked dry like the parched bed of a brook.
 
But far above and far as sight endures
Like whips of anger
With lightning's danger
There runs the quick perspective of the future.
 
This dwarfs our emerald country by its trek
So tall with prophecy
Dreaming of cities
Where often clouds shall lean their swan-white neck.

The term “useful idiot” is from political science and so associated with Lenin (Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov (1870–1924; first leader of Soviet Russia 1917-1922 & USSR 1922-1924) that it's attributed to him but there's no evidence he ever spoke or wrote the words.  It became popular during the Cold War to describe pro-communist intellectuals and apologists in the West, the (probably retrospective) association with Lenin probably because had the useful idiots actually assisted achieving a communist revolution there, their usefulness outlived, he'd likely have had at least some of them shot as "trouble-makers".  Although it took many Western intellectuals decades to recant (some never quite managed) their support for the Soviet Union, the watershed was probably Comrade Khrushchev's (1894–1971; Soviet leader 1953-1964)  so called "Secret Speech" (On the Cult of Personality and Its Consequences) to the 20th Congress of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union on 25 February 1956 in which he provided a detailed critique of the rule of comrade Stalin (1878-1953; Soviet leader 1924-1953), especially the bloody purges of the late 1930s.

Some had however already refused to deny what had become obvious to all but avid denialists, and in 1949 a contribution by Spender appeared in The God that Failed, a collection of six essays in which the writers lay bare their sense of betrayal and disillusionment with communism because of the totalitarian state forged by comrade Stalin which was in so many ways just another form of fascism.  Spender was associated with the intellectual wing of left-wing politics during the 1930s and was briefly a member of the Communist Party but his attraction seems to have been motivated mostly by the Soviet Union’s promises of equality and its anti-fascist stance.  He quickly became disillusioned with the Soviet state, unable to reconcile its authoritarianism with his personal beliefs in freedom and individual rights, a critical stance differentiated him from figures like George Bernard Shaw (GBS; 1856-1950) and Sidney (1859–1947) & Beatrice Webb (1858–1943), the latter couple for some time definitely useful idiots.

The sort of sights which would have inspired Spender’s line “Bare like nude giant girls that have no secret”.

Louis MacNeice, was politically engaged during the 1930s but that was hardly something unusual among writers & intellectuals during that troubled decade.  Among the pylons he seems to have been the most sceptical about the tenets of communism and the nature of comrade Stalin’s state and no historians seem every to have listed him among the useful idiots, his views of the left as critical and nuanced as they were of the right.  What he most objected to was the tendency among idealistic & politically committed intellectuals to engage in a kind of reductionism which allowed them to present simplistic solutions to complex problems in a form which was little more than propaganda, a critique he explored in his poem Autumn Journal (1939) captures his doubts about political certainty and his disillusionment with simplistic solutions to complex problems.  Auden certainly wasn’t a “useful idiot” and while politically engaged and associated with several leftist intellectual circles during the 1930s, his sympathy for Marxism and anti-fascist causes were really not far removed from those share by even some mainstream figures and a capacity for self-reflection never deserted him.  Much was made of the time he spent in Spain during the Spanish Civil War (1936-1940) but he went as an observer and a propagandist rather than a combatant and what he saw made his disillusioned with the ideological rigidity and in-fighting among leftist factions and he made no secret of his distaste for Stalinist communists.  By the early 1940s, he was distancing himself from Marxism, the process much accelerated by his re-embrace of Christianity where, at least debatably, he discharged another form of useful idiocy, his disapproval of collectivist ideologies apparently not extending to the Church of England.

Profiles of some electricity pylons.  There a literally dozens of variations, the designs dictated by factors such as the ground environment, proximity to people, voltage requirements, weight to be carried, economics, expected climatic conditions and a myriad of other specifics.

Of the Pylons, Cecil Day-Lewis (who served as Poet Laureate of the UK 1968-1972) had the most active period engagement with communism and Marxist ideals and he was for a time politically aligned with the Soviet Union; it was a genuine ideological commitment.  During the 1930s, the true nature of the Soviet Union wasn’t generally known (or accepted) in the West and Day-Lewis admired the Soviet Union as an experiment in social and economic equality which he championed and it wasn’t until late in the decade he realized the ideals he had embraced had been betrayed; it was Great Purge and the Moscow Show-Trials which triggered his final disillusionment.  Day-Lewis later acknowledged the naivety and moral compromises of his earlier stance and came to argue poetry and art should not be subordinated to political ideology, a view formed by his understanding of the implications of propagandistic pieces of his younger years being exactly that.

Ornamentalism

Ornamentalism (pronounced awr-nuh-men-tl-iz-uhm)

(1) The desire or tendency to feature (usually what’s judged an excess of) ornamentation in design or execution (buildings, interiors, furnishings, cars, artwork etc).

(2) Any artistic or architectural style characterised by ornamentation.

(3) In the pre-revolutionary Russian literary tradition, an intricate, mannered and ostentatious prose style most prevalent in the early twentieth century.

(4) In politics, something implemented to lend the appearance of being something substantive while in reality changing little (synonymous usually with “window dressing”).

1860s: The construct was ornament + -al + -ism.  Ornament (an element of decoration; that which embellishes or adorns) was from the Old French ornement, from the Latin ornamentum (equipment, apparatus, furniture, trappings, adornment, embellishment), from ornāre, the present active infinitive of ornō (I equip, adorn). The verb was derived from the noun.  The -al suffix was from the Middle English -al, from the Latin adjectival suffix -ālis, ((the third-declension two-termination suffix (neuter -āle) used to form adjectives of relationship from nouns or numerals) or the French, Middle French and Old French –el & -al.  It was use to denote the sense "of or pertaining to", an adjectival suffix appended (most often to nouns) originally most frequently to words of Latin origin, but since used variously and also was used to form nouns, especially of verbal action.  The alternative form in English remains -ual (-all being obsolete).  The –ism suffix was from the Ancient Greek ισμός (ismós) & -isma noun suffixes, often directly, sometimes through the Latin –ismus & isma (from where English picked up ize) and sometimes through the French –isme or the German –ismus, all ultimately from the Ancient Greek (where it tended more specifically to express a finished act or thing done).  It appeared in loanwords from Greek, where it was used to form abstract nouns of action, state, condition or doctrine from verbs and on this model, was used as a productive suffix in the formation of nouns denoting action or practice, state or condition, principles, doctrines, a usage or characteristic, devotion or adherence (criticism; barbarism; Darwinism; despotism; plagiarism; realism; witticism etc).  Ornamentalism & ornamentalist are nouns; the noun plural is ornamentalisms.

Lindsay Lohan mug-shot Christmas tree ornament.  Even the blurb: “…handmade photo-fresco Ornament made with a hybrid Gypsum based polymer that has the crystaline structure of ceramics…” has about it the whiff of ornamentalism.  In some places, this ornament may be thought blasphemous.

The sense of the noun & adjective ornamental (the comparative “more ornamental”, the superlative “most ornamental”) differ from those of ornamentalism in that the former is almost always either positive or neutral.  In the narrow technical sense something ornamental has “no purpose beyond the decorative” although many “ornamental devices” often either can or do fulfill some function, thus the nuanced phrase “merely ornamental” to distinguish the pure forms.  As a noun, “ornamentals” are plants, fish and such bred or maintained for no purpose other than their aesthetic value (although obviously they also often a commercial product).

The same positive or neutral senses tend to be enjoyed by the noun & verb “ornament” which means usually “a decorative element or embellishment” (such as a ceramic piece displayed but never used for its nominal purpose).  In music it means specifically “a musical flourish not needed by the melodic or harmonic line, but which serves to decorate that line” while in the rituals of Christianity, ornaments (in this context always in the plural) are objects (crosses, altar candles, incense and such) used in church services.  So in musical and liturgical use, ornaments enjoy a duality in that they are both decorative and fulfill some function.  That is reflected in biology when the word is used to describe a characteristic that has a decorative function (typically in order to attract a mate) such as the peacock’s marvelously extravagant tail feathers.

Ornamentalisn is best known in architecture and design and can been seen in styles ranging from the rococo ((Würzburg Residenz, Würzburg Bavaria, Germany; left), to the McMansion (Wildwood New Jersey, USA; right))

In literary theory, ornamentalism is used to describe a style of writing in the pre-revolutionary Russian literary tradition in which prose was constructed in an intricate, mannered and ostentatious way.  It’s most associated with the early twentieth century and the great exponents of the art were the now sadly neglected Andrei Bely (1880-1934), the symbolist Fyodor Sologub (1863–1927) and the monumentally bizarre Alexei Remizov (1877-1957); it was one of the many stylistic trends briefly to flourish within the Russian avant-garde early in the twentieth century.  It came to be of some interest to later deconstructionists and post-modernists (the latter debatably among the greatest (or worst, depending on one’s view) ornamentalists) because the writers focused not on the capacity of the text to convey narrative or ideological content but the aesthetic and formal qualities of language itself; they treated language as an autonomous artistic medium, focusing on its rhythm, sound, texture and visual patterns.  Even at the time, there was criticism that the style was one of self-indulgence and intended for an audience of fellow writers and those who followed developments in the avant-garde; what comrade Stalin (1878-1953; Soviet leader 1924-1953) would later condemn as “formalism”.

What the ornamentalists did was elevate the elements of language (words, sentences, paragraphs etc) to be artistic objects to be assembled and arranged, their interplay as important (some critics suggested more so) than any implied or discernible meaning, thus the fragmented, non-linear prose which was a complete rejection of traditional realism: the ornamentalists called their work “associative structures”, suggesting they really were the proto postmodernists.  In that sense, it wasn’t the textual devices (repetition, alliteration, assonance) or the unusual syntactic structures which was most striking but the often chaotic mixture of prose and poetry and the interpolation of visual and performative elements into the text.  Needless to say, there was much symbolism, presumably thought an adequate substitute for coherence.  Vladimir Nabokov (1899–1977) was a noted critic of some of the more wilfully obscure ornamentalists but in his early Russian works and later English novels, their influence is detectable in his sensitivity to language's aesthetic possibilities.  While ornamentalism never really became a formal “school” of literature, it did exert a pull on Russian modernism and the possibility of elements like language operating as autonomous artistic objects.

In the US car industry peak ornamentalism happened between 1957-1962: 1960 Chrysler 300F (left), 1958 Buick Limited (centre) and 1959 Cadillac Eldorado Biarritz (right).

An earlier Russian literary tradition which was later sometimes a part of ornamentalism was skaz (from the sleazat (to tell)), a genre of folk tales consisting usually of an eye-witness account of an episode in peasant or provincial life, distinguished by the narrative being related by a fictitious narrator rather than the author directly.  What that method did was afford an author some latitude in the use of speech forms such as dialect, slang, mispronunciations and, not infrequently, neologisms, all of which lent the texts a naturalistic vigour and colourfulness which usually wouldn’t appear in a naturalistic piece, told in the first person.

A Spanish literary tradition in the same vein as ornamentalism was plateresco (from platero (silversmith), most associated with sixteenth century romances (with most of what that implies).  The English version of the terms was “plateresque” (silversmith-like) and literary criticism borrowed the idea from architecture & design where it describes the ornate styles popular in Spain during the sixteenth century, the word applied in the same way as rococo (which can be thought of as “high ornamentalism”).  The more familiar Spanish term was Gongorism which described the style of writing typified by that of the poet Luis de Góngora y Argote (1561-1627), famous for his baroque and affected ways with the language which featured a Latinistic vocabulary & syntax, intricate use of metaphors, much hyperbole, mythological allusions and a general weirdness of diction.  In fairness, Góngora did not always write in this manner but so distinctive were his narratives when he did that a minor industry of imitators followed including Richard Crashaw (1613-1649) and the English polymath Sir Thomas Browne (1605–1682) who had great fun while Gongorising.  Gongorism as practiced was a deliberate exaggeration of technique, unlike the earlier aureate (from the Latin aureatus (adorned or decorated with gold), the construct being aure(us) (golden, gilded) +‎ -ate (the adjective-forming suffix).  Arueate language (characterized by the use of (excessively) ornamental or grandiose terms) was most generously described as a sort of poetic diction and it was much in vogue for English and Scottish and poets of the fifteenth century, the works of whom are characterized by the used of ornate & ornamental language, often studded with vernacular coinages from Latin words.

Pillow

Pillow (pronounced pil-oh)

(1) A bag or case made of cloth that is filled with feathers, down, or other soft material, and is used to cushion the head during sleep or rest.

(2) Any similar construction used to cushion the head; a type of headrest.

(3) In lace-making, a hard cushion or pad that supports the pattern and threads in the making of bobbin lace (also called lace pillow).

(4) In ship-building, a supporting piece or part, as the block on which the inner end of a bowsprit (a spar projecting over the prow of a sailing vessel to provide the means of adding sail surface) rests.

(5) In geology, as “pillow lava”, the rock type resembling the shape of a typical pillow, formed when lava emerges from an underwater volcanic vent or a lava flow enters the ocean.

(6) In engineering, as “pillow block”, a piece of wood or metal, forming a support to equalize pressure (historically known also a “brass”, an allusion to the alloy once commonly used for such purposes.

(7) In engineering, the socket of a pivot.

(8) A kind of plain, coarse fustian (a coarse fabric made originally from cotton and flax and now a coarse fabric of twilled cotton or a cotton & linen mix).

(9) With and without modifiers (love pillows; dirty pillows etc) and usually in the plural, yet another slang term for the human female's breasts.

(10) To rest on a pillow.

(11) To support with pillows.

(12) To serve as a pillow for some purpose.

1450s: From the Middle English pillow & pilow, (a head-rest used by a person reclining, especially a soft, elastic cushion filled with down, feathers etc), from the earlier pilwe, from the Old English pylwe, pylu & pyle (cushion, bed-cushion, pillow), from West Germanic noun pulwi & pulwin (source also of the Old Saxon puli, the Middle Dutch polu, the Dutch peluw, the Old High German pfuliwi and the German Pfühl), from the Proto-West Germanic pulwī (pillow), borrowed (possibly as early as the second century) from the Latin pulvinus (a little cushion, small pillow) of uncertain origin but some etymologists have speculated the construct may have been the Latin pulvis (dust, powder) +‎ -īnus (-ine) (in the sense of the filler of a pillow).  The suffix -īnus (-ine) was from the Proto-Italic -īnos, from the primitive Indo-European –iHnos and was cognate with the Ancient Greek -ινος (-inos) and the Proto-Germanic -īnaz.  In use it was added to a noun base (especially a proper noun) to form an adjective conveying the sense “of or pertaining to” and could indicate a relationship of position, possession, or origin.  The modern English spelling dates from the 1450s.  Pillow & pillowing are nouns & verbs, pillowed is a verb & adjectice and pillowless, pillowy, pillowlike & pillowesque are adjectives; the noun plural is pillows.

Pillowslips (left) in the typical combination of (1) a pair in a matching set with sheets & (2) a pair in a set matching the duvet cover and a quartet of pillowshams (right).  

Use of the pillowcase (washable enclosure drawn over a pillow and known also as a “pillowslip”) probably long predates the first known use of the term in 1745 but the emergence in the 1860s of the “pillowsham” is likely indicative of the tastes of the rising middle-class.  The pillowsham can be thought of as the archetypal middle class accessory and while structurally similar to a pillow case, in the jargon of interior decorators they are distinct.  A pillowcase (or pillowslip) is a basic and close-fitting cover which encases a pillow to protect it and provide a comfortable surface for sleeping.  Typically, pillowcases are made from soft, washable fabrics like cotton, linen, or microfiber and usually feature an open end with a flap; most are simple in design although there can be frills (though not fringes which are restricted to cushions) and the fabric tends to be either a solid color or matching the rest of the bed linen (ie as part of a set).  A pillowsham is a decorative cover for a pillow, often used on beds to add style rather than for everyday sleeping and some shams placed over pillows for decorative effect are removed or placed at the back when someone is sleeping.  Pillowshams are much associated with intricate designs (embroidery, ruffles, textured fabric and worse) and usually have an opening at the back, often closed with buttons, a zipper, or an overlapping flap to hide the closure.  Sham (intended to deceive; false; act of fakery) is thought probably to have been a dialectal form of shame (reproach incurred or suffered; dishonour; ignominy; derision) from the Middle English schame, from the Old English sċamu, from Proto-Germanic skamō.  Thus, while interior decorators may have no shame, they certainly have shams.

Pillowsham is the generic term for these items (whether put over a pillow or cushion) and “cushionsham” is not part of the jargon; the terms pillowcase, pillowslip & pillowsham appear variously also as separate words and hyphenated.  The pillowsham is notorious for its use as a platform for kitsch and Adolf Hitler’s (1889-1945; Führer (leader) and German head of government 1933-1945 & head of state 1934-1945) mountain home (the Berghof in the Obersalzberg of the Bavarian Alps near Berchtesgaden, Bavaria) featured many, sent to him by his many female admirers.  He claimed not to approve of them but appreciated the gesture although they seem never to have appeared in photographs of the house’s principle rooms, banished it seems to places like the many surrounding buildings including the conservatory of Hans Wichenfeld (the chalet on which the Berghof based).

Hitler's study in the Berghof with only matched cushions (left) and the conservatory (centre & right) with some pillowshams (embroidered with swastikas and the initials A.H.).

In the US, Life magazine in October 1939 (a few weeks after the Nazis had invaded Poland) published a lush color feature focused on Hitler’s paintings and the Berghof, the piece a curious mix of what even then were called “human-interest stories”, political commentary and artistic & architectural criticism.  One heading :“Paintings by Adolf Hitler: The Statesman Longs to Be an Artist and Helps Design His Mountain Home” illustrates the flavor but this was a time before the most awful aspects of Nazi rule were understood and Life’s editors were well-aware a significant proportion of its readership were well disposed towards Hitler’s regime.  Still, there was some wry humor in the text, assessing the Berghof as possessing the qualities of a “…combination of modern and Bavarian chalet” styles, something “awkward but interesting” while the interiors, “…designed and decorated with Hitler’s active collaboration, are the comfortable kind of rooms a man likes, furnished in simple, semi-modern, sometimes dramatic style. The furnishings are in very good taste, fashioned of rich materials and fine woods by the best craftsmen in the Reich.”  Life seemed to be most taken with the main stairway leading up from the ground floor which was judged “a striking bit of modern architecture.”  Whether or not the editors were aware Hitler thought “modern architecture” suitable only for factories, warehouses and such isn’t clear.  They also had fun with what hung on the walls, noting: “Like other Nazi leaders, Hitler likes pictures of nudes and ruins” but anyway concluded that “in a more settled Germany, Adolf Hitler might have done quite well as an interior decorator.”  There was no comment on the Führer’s pillows and cushions.

Whatever Life’s views on him as potential interior decorator, decades later, his architect was prepared to note the dictator’s “beginner’s mistake” in the building’s design.  In Erinnerungen (Memories or Reminiscences) and published in English as Inside the Third Reich (1969)), Albert Speer (1905–1981; Nazi court architect 1934-1942; Nazi minister of armaments and war production 1942-1945) recalled:

“A huge picture window in the living room, famous for its size and the fact that it could be lowered, was Hitler s pride.  It offered a view of the Untersberg, Berchtesgaden, and Salzburg. However, Hitler had been inspired to situate his garage underneath this window; when the wind was unfavorable, a strong smell of gasoline penetrated into the living room.  All in all, this was a ground plan that would have been graded D by any professor at an institute of technology. On the other hand, these very clumsinesses gave the Berghof a strongly personal note. The place was still geared to the simple activities of a former weekend cottage, merely expanded to vast proportions.”

He commented also on the pillowshams: “The furniture was bogus old- German peasant style and gave the house a comfortable petit-bourgeois look.  A brass canary cage, a cactus, and a rubber plant intensified this impression.  There were swastikas on knickknacks and pillows embroidered by admiring women, combined with, say, a rising sun or a vow of "eternal loyalty."  Hitler commented to me with some embarrassment: "I know these are not beautiful things, but many of them are presents.  I shouldn't like to part with them."

Life’s assessment of Hitler’s alternative career path as an interior decorator wasn’t the first time the observation had been made of a head of state & government.  Woodrow Wilson (1856–1924; US president 1913-1921) had gone to the Paris Peace Conference (1919) determined above all to secure the agreement of all parties to the creation of the League of Nations (1920-1946) and this he pursued with a vigour not matched by other leaders present, all of who had a focus on the immediate needs of their own countries.  Wilson, knowing political pressure on him was rising in the US and whose health had long been fragile, found the negotiations exhausting and doctors in recent years have concluded he likely suffered several small strokes while in Paris, a prelude to the major event later in the year which substantially would incapacity him for the remainder of his presidency.

Wilson’s personal physician (Cary Grayson (1878–1938) had accompanied him to the conference and in his diary noted one manifestation of what he described as “the strain” when, after hours of “intense discussion” on matters ranging from tiresome US senators to the treaty terms sought by the delegation from Japan to the arraignment of the former Kaiser Wilhelm II (1859–1941; German Emperor & King of Prussia 1888-1918), the president suddenly made an announcement.

“I don’t like the way the colors of this furniture fight each other. The greens and the reds are all mixed up here and there is no harmony.  Here is a big purple, high-backed covered chair, which is like the Purple Cow, strayed off to itself, and it is placed where the light shines on it too brightly.  If you will give me a lift, we will move this next to the wall where the light from the window will give it a subdued effect.  And here are two chairs, one green and the other red.  This will never do.  Let’s put the greens all together and the reds together.”  He went on to relate to his doctor how at the “Council of Four” (the leaders of France, Italy, the US & UK) meeting how “…each delegation walked like schoolchildren each day to its respective corner.  Now, with the furniture regrouped, he said each country would sit according to its color.”  Dr Grayson attributed the “aberrant behaviour” to “stress” and prescribed only going for a drive in an automobile, remarking to his patient: “I think if you ever want a job after leaving the presidency you would make a great success as an interior decorator.”  Wilson concurred, answering: “I don’t mean to throw bouquets at myself but I do think that I have made a success of the arrangement of the furniture.”

Woodrow Wilson’s bedroom in the Washington DC townhouse where he lived after leaving office.

Mrs Wilson fitted-out the bedroom on S Street, Kalorama almost to exactly replicate the one he’d used at the White House, down to the footrests, pillows and reading lights.  Mrs Wilson commissioned the bed to be exactly the imposing dimensions (8 feet, 6 inches x 6 feet, 6 inches (2590 x 1981 mm)) of the White House’s Lincoln Bed; built in Grand Rapids, Michigan in a colonial revival style, it's made of mahogany.  After his stroke in October, 1919, Wilson substantially was confined to his bed and it was in this bed he died on 3 February, 1924, aged 67.  He was buried at the Washington National Cathedral, the only US president whose body lies in the national capital.

The "furniture incident" is now assessed in the light of the knowledge of the president’s previous neurological issues and analysts since have compared the behaviour to that of the anorexic who takes control of their diet because it is one thing they are able completely and immediately to control, in contrast to other aspects of their life which they have come to believe they are unable to influence and neurologists who have written on the subject do seem to agree a stroke would likely have induced the episode.  In October 1919, shortly after returning to the US, Wilson suffered a major stroke, us stroke, leaving him paralyzed on his left side, and with only partial vision in the right eye.  Despite this, he continued in office until his term expired in 1921 though he was physically isolated and few were able to see him except his wife and doctor, a situation not greatly different from the situation in 1953 when Winston Churchill’s (1875-1965; UK prime-minister 1940-1945 & 1951-1955) son-in-law for months acted as something of a prime-ministerial proxy in the aftermath of Churchill’s massive stroke.  The ad-hoc apparatus constructed by Mrs Wilson and Dr Grayson had led some claim she was, in effect, the nation’s “first female president” and while that’s drawing a long bow, it was something discussed in 2024 when Joe Biden’s (b 1942; US president 2021-2025) descent into senility was a topic of interest.  The roles played by of Dr Grayson, Lord Moran (Charles Wilson, 1882-1977, personal physician to prime minister Winston Churchill) and Ross McIntire (1889–1959; personal physician to Franklin Delano Roosevelt (FDR, 1882–1945, US president 1933-1945)) remain controversial and reflect the sometimes conflicting duality of responsibility a physician has (1) to their patient and (2) their patient’s position as head of government.

Lindsay Lohan themed pillows are available.

“Pillow dictionary” was a synonym of “sleeping dictionary” (a sexual partner who also serves as a native informant or language teacher for an outsider).  It was thus something of a euphemism for a tutor in a foreign language who, as is implied, gives “tuition in bed”; the term said (as might be expected) to be used more commonly used by men of women than vice versa.  Those who practice hypnopaedic techniques use a different kind of dictionary.  Hypnopedia (or hypnopædia) was a form of “sleep-learning (or sleep-teaching) and was an attempt to convey information to a sleeping person, typically by playing a sound recording to them while they sleep.  Because the role of sleep in memory consolidation had come to be understood, the hypothesis of hypnopedia was not unreasonable but it has been wholly discredited.

The “pillow fight” (a form of domestic mock-combat fought using pillows as weapons) is presumably a most ancient practice but the first known reference is from 1837.  Pillows being much associated with beds, in idiomatic use, the pillow naturally features in phrases associated with sex.  The slang “pillow talk” (relaxed, intimate conversation between a couple in bed) is doubtlessly more ancient still but the term may not have been used prior to 1939 and it now carries the implication of some indiscrete disclosure, often in the context of politics or espionage).  A “pillow word” was a calque of the Japanese 枕詞 (makurakotoba) and described the use in Waka (和歌) (Japanese poem) of a poetic device in which a certain introductory phrase is commonly used to allude to something else.

Jeremy Thorpe arriving at Minehead Magistrates Court, 4 December 1978, for the committal proceedings against him and three others on charges of conspiring to murder former male model Norman Scott.  Ultimately Mr Thorpe was acquitted of all charges.  The car is a Rover 3500S.  3500S was the original designation of the 3500s sold during the model's abortive foray into the US market but elsewhere was used to designate the version offered with a four-speed manual transmission (1971-1977), the original introduced in 1968 exclusively in automatic form.

A “pillow queen” was a woman concerned only with her own gratification during sex and interestingly, the equivalent creature among lesbians was apparently more often a “pillow princess”, both classified as “takers” rather than “givers”, the synonyms in the vernacular including “stone”, “rock”, “slate”, “cold fish”, “dead fish” and “starfish”.  The more evocative phrase “pillow-biter” seems first to have entered general use after it was used by Norman Scott (b 1940) when giving evidence in the 1979 trial of Jeremy Thorpe (1929–2014; leader of the UK Liberal Party 1967-1976), the witness describing the way he handled his unwilling participation as the alleged victim of Mr Thorpe committing upon him what in some jurisdictions used to be called “the abominable crime of buggery”: “I just bit the pillow, I tried not to scream because I was frightened of waking Mrs Thorpe.”  A pillow-biter is thus (in certain circles of the LGBTQQIAAOP communities) a “gay man who engages in passive anal sex”; a “bottom”, as opposed to Mr Thorpe who allegedly was a “top”.

Pillowbook describes a journal-type book kept to record sexual dreams and escapades, most intended only for the eyes of the writer.  It was a specific form of a quite commonplace book which appears to have originated in Japan as a compilation of notes & jottings, those periodic or occasional writings that might go into an extended diary.  The most famous example (and among the earliest extant) was the The Pillow Book (枕草子) (Makura no Sōshi) (Notes of the Pillow), a volume of observations and musings recorded by Sei Shōnagon (清少納言), circa 966–circa 1020, a lady of the court to Fujiwara no Teishi (藤原 定子) 977–1001 (known also as Sadako), an empress consort of the Japanese Emperor Ichijō (一条天皇) (Ichijō-tennō), 980–1011; 66^th emperor of Japan, 986-1011; the last entries in the book were made in the year 1002.  According to Japanese legend, the origin of the pillow book lies in a bundle of unused notebooks being brought to the empress who began musing on what should be done with them.  The lady-in-waiting suggested she should have them and make them into a pillow (which meant putting them into the drawers of “a wooden pillow” (a part of the Japanese sleeping apparatus).  Subsequently, she filled the notebooks with random facts, lists and discursive jottings and from this tradition came the traditional Japanese genre zuihitsu (随筆) (occasional writings) which exists still, describing a form of literature consisting of loosely connected personal essays and fragmentary ideas typically influenced by the author's surroundings and daily interactions with them.

1972 Oldsmobile Ninety-Eight Regency brochure.

“Loose pillow” upholstery had been in furniture for a while, implemented usually as detachable cushions designed to be removed for cleaning but it was Oldsmobile which first used the concept for automobiles.  Since the mid 1960s “luxury” versions (as opposed to mere “deluxe” editions which often included just a bundle of options anyway available on a “standard” car at a discount compared with ordering them individually) had begun to appear and this would evolve into what came to be called “the great Brougham era”.  That term seems to have been invented by Curbside Classic, a curated website which is a gallimaufry of interesting content, built around the theme of once-familiar and often everyday vehicles which are now a rare sight until discovered by Curbside Classic’s contributors (who self-style as "curbivores"), parked next to some curb.  These are the often the machines neglected by automotive historians and collectors who prefer things which are fast, lovely and rare.  According to Curbside Classic, the “great brougham era” began in 1965 with the release of the LTD option for the mass-market Ford Galaxie and that approach was nothing new because even the Galaxie name had in 1959 been coined for a "luxury" version of the Fairlane 500, a trick the US industry had been using for some time.

1972 Oldsmobile Ninety-Eight Regency brochure.  When the tufted, pillowed option was chosen in red velour, it was known casually as "mid-priced bordello chic".

Once, Detroit’s most elaborate interiors had been restricted to the top-of the range models (Cadillac, Lincoln & Imperial) but when Oldsmobile in introduced the “Regency” option for their Ninety-Eight range, it was quite a jump in middle-class opulence and it must have been galling for Cadillac: Oldsmobile, two notches down the GM pecking list from Cadillac had in one stroke out-done Cadillac’s interiors with not just tufted velour upholstery but the novelty also of the welcoming loose pillow style.  Cadillac had nothing like it but scrambled to respond, offering in 1973 the d'Elegance package, a US$750 option which included pillow-style velour seating as well as a more plush carpeting and bundled a few of the otherwise optional features.

1974 Cadillac Fleetwood Talisman rear compartment in blue velour with optional pillows.  The pillows (which many would have described as "cushions") were also available on Talismans trimmed in leather.  The world should have more leather pillows but, unfortunately, while "Cadillac pillows" are available, they come only in fabric.  The so-called "holy grail" among Talisman collectors is a 1974 model in blue leather which was listed as a factory option but no such machine has ever been sighted and Cadillac's production records don't provide a color breakdown.  It's thought likely none were ever built.

However, all the d'Elegance bling did was match what others were doing and there was still the corporate memory of the Cadillac mystique, a hankering for the time when Cadillac had been the “standard of the world”, a reputation built in the 1930s on basic engineering such as almost unique sixteen cylinder engines and maintained a generation later with cars such as the Eldorado Brougham, times when the name stood for something truly impressive.  By 1974 the world had changed and such extravagances were no longer possible but what could still be done was to add more gingerbread and for 1974, Cadillac announced the Talisman package.  Much more expensive than the d'Elegance and consequently more exclusive, the Talisman included an extended centre console, the front section housing an illumined writing tablet, the rear a storage compartment.  This had been done before but never with this opulence although it had the effect of reducing the huge car, a size which historically been a six-seater, into something strictly for four.  The interior was available in four colors in "Medici" crushed velour at US$1800 or in two shades in leather at US$2450 at a time when the Chevrolet Vega, GM’s entry-level automobile of the era cost US$2087.  The Talisman additionally gained matching deep-pile interior carpeting and floor-mats, a fully padded elk grain vinyl roof, exterior badge identifications, a stand-up, full-color wreath and crest hood ornament and unique wheel-covers.  For those who needed more, for an additional US$85, a matching pillow and robe was available although the robe unfortunately wasn't cut in leather.  Optioned with the leather package, a 1974 Cadillac Talisman cost about US$13,200, matching what the company charged for the even bigger Fleetwood Seventy-Five limousines.  The additional gingerbread wasn’t all that expensive to produce; what Cadillac was selling was exclusivity and the market responded, 1898 Talismans coming off the production line that year, all sold at a most impressive profit.  Most prized today are the relative handful trimmed in leather, the urban legend being all were in medium saddle with none in the dark blue which was listed on the option list.  If any were sold with the blue leather, none appear now to exist and Cadillac’s records don’t record the breakdown.

1974 Imperial LeBaron four-door hardtop (left) in chestnut leather (though not actually “fine Corinthian leather” which was exclusive to the Cordoba (1975-1983)) until 1975 when not only did the Imperial's brochures mention "genuine Corinthian leather (available at extra cost)" but for the first time since 1954 the range was referred to as the "Chrysler Imperial", a harbinger the brand was about to be retired.  Imperial's advertising copy noted of the brochure photograph above: “...while the passenger restraint system with starter interlock is not shown, it is standard on all Imperials.”  The marketing types didn't like seat-belts messing up their photos.

Fashions change and the 1997 Buick Park Avenue (right) was the last of the "pillowed cars".  The loose pillow style certainly caught on although the name was a little misleading because the pillows were loose only in the sense of moving a little to accommodate the frames sitting on them and were not removable.  In the showroom they looked good and attracted many buyers but were noted also for the propensity to trap crumbs, small coins and the other detritus of life in the many folds, tufts and crevasses.  The fad lasted for more than a generation and Detroit’s last fling of the pillow was the 1997 Buick Park Avenue.

1972 Imperial LeBaron four-door hardtop (left) and 1977 Chrysler New Yorker Brougham four-door hardtop (right).

Chrysler corporation’s implementation of the “loose pillow look” was the industry’s most sumptuous and on the more expensive in the range, the look extended even to “built-in foam pillows” affixed to the C-Pillars, a luxury for dozing customers and these were the sort of cars which were famous for “floating” effortlessly down freeways so it probably wasn’t uncommon for folk in the back to be lulled into sleep; the huge machines of the 1970s were nicknamed “land yachts” with good reason.  The pillows also proved to be dual-purpose.  Between 1969-1973, the Imperial’s rear map-reading lamps (maps used to be printed on paper) were located next to the rear windscreen and while they worked as intended, they had a sort of “stuck-on” look which didn’t suit the ambiance of the interior.  When illuminated, they also glowed in the driver’s rear-view mirror and because the stylists were anyway intending to better integrate the units, it was decided to do so in such a way that would make the light unobtrusive for the driver, removing a potential distraction.  The new design made it debut with the 1974 range.

1974 Imperial LeBaron brochure.

Chrysler made many mistakes during the 1970s but the basic engineering was usually sound and the new map-reading lamps were indicative of the approach.  Not only did the new lamps offer “increased luminosity” but the glow was now “warmer and softer” which sounds like advertising “puffery” but the terms are an accepted part of the jargon of light and the wider aperture of the lens meant what was cast was in a broader beam, better suited to maps or anything else being read.  The shape of the built-in foam pillows was used also to ensure the light couldn’t distract the driver, the engineers devoting some energy to working out just how much padding should be used to achieve this, while not detracting from the lamp’s functionality.  On the four-door models, there was also on each C-Pillar a “lavalier strap”.  “Lavalier” is a term from jewellery design which describes a pendant (typically with a single stone) suspended from a necklace and presumably Chrysler’s marketing department thought that sounded much better than the more brutish “grab handle”.  The jewellery style was named after Françoise-Louise de La Baume Le Blanc, Duchess of La Vallière and Vaujours (1644–1710) who was, between 1661-1667, the mistress of Louis XIV (1638–1715; le Roi Soleil (the Sun King), King of France 1643-1715); it’s said the use of her name for the pendants was based on the frequency with which such objects appeared in her many portraits.