Sandwich

Sandwich (pronounced sand-wich or san-wich)

(1) Two or more slices of bread or the like with a layer of meat, fish, cheese etc between each pair.

(2) A type of cake with noticeably distinct horizontal layers. 

(3) To insert something between two other things (used figuratively also of ideas, concepts, historic events etc).

(4) In engineering or construction, a technique of assembly in which materials (which need not be flat) are joined in two or more layers.

(5) To eat one or more sandwiches (archaic except in literary or poetic use).

1762: Named after John Montagu (1718-1792), fourth of Earl Sandwich, a bit of a cad and gambler who, during marathon sessions at the tables, would eat slices of cold meat between bread rather than rise for a meal and thus "miss a bet".  However, the earl’s biographer suggested his subject was a serious chap, committed to the navy, politics and the arts and the sandwiches were actually eaten at his desk at the Admiralty but the legend is much preferred.  It was in his honor Captain James Cook (1728-1779) named the Hawaiian Sandwich islands in 1778 when Montagu was First Lord of the Admiralty (then the UK's minister for the Royal Navy).  The family name is from the place in Kent which in the Old English was Sandwicæ (sandy harbor; trading center).  In structural linguistics, a "sandwich" word is one in which two or more syllables have been split (al la slices of bread) and filled with another word.  Use of the technique is common and exemplified by an opinion such as: "Fox News is just Murdoch propafuckinganda".  The term was coined by US lexicographer Dr Harold Wentworth (1904-1965).  A "sandwichery" is a place where sandwiches are sold and the noun sandwichness (the state or quality of being a sandwich) seems only ever used as jocular term food reviews.  Sandwich, sandwichness & sandwichery are nouns, verb & adjective, sandwiched is a verb and sandwichlike, sandwichy & sandwichless are adjectives; the noun plural is sandwiches (the always rare sandwichs probably now extinct).

There are a least dozens and likely more than a hundred recorded descriptions of sandwiches with names drawn variously from the fillings, type of bread, method of preparation, (alleged) regional origin or occasion when served but the word has also appeared in idiomatic use including: “nothing sandwich” (a sandwich with a bland taste (used also figuratively as a synonym of “nothingburger” to suggest something is of less significance than its appearance or treatment accorded deserves)); “soup sandwich” (something or someone thought disorganized, incompetent, fundamentally flawed or unfinished; “air sandwich” (a sandwich consisting only of bread and a sauce or spread, but no filling (in figurative use a strategy that has high-level direction and low-level administrative support but in operation is close to inert); “Elvis sandwich” (a sandwich made peanut butter, sliced or mashed banana, and sometimes bacon on toasted bread, based on the fondness the singer Elvis Presley (1935-1977) had for the concoction (a banana smeared with peanut butter was reputedly a favourite snack of Bill Clinton (b 1946; POTUS 1993-2001)); “shit sandwich” (something highly undesirable that is rendered more acceptable or palatable by the addition of more tolerable or agreeable components); “tavern sandwich” a sandwich consisting of unseasoned ground beef and sautéed onions in a bun); “barley sandwich” (a glass of beer (synonymous with “liquid lunch”); “lead sandwich” (a method of suicide in which a shotgun is placed in the mouth and discharged  (100% success rate as might be expected)) and “prawn (shrimp) sandwich brigade” (those who attend sporting event to socialize and enjoy the hospitality in corporate hospitality boxes rather than having any interest in the event).  In physics a “nanosandwich” is a nanoscale structure consisting of a dielectric layer between two discs and in chemistry a “sandwich compound” is any compound in which a metal atom is located between the faces of two planes of atoms, especially between two rings.   

Sandwich is a town in Barnstable County, Massachusetts, its population 20,675 at the last census; the oldest town on Cape Cod, in 2014, Sandwich turned 375 years old.  Sandwich has a police department: They are the Sandwich Police.

The Sandwich Police cruiser is a second generation (1998-2011) Ford Crown Victoria (1992-2011), built on the corporation's "Panther" platform (1978-2011).  When Ford ceased production of the Crown Victoria, it was the last of the old-style (BoF (body-on-frame), V8, RWD (rear wheel drive)), full-sized cars that were the backbone of the US industry for much of the first four post-war decades.  Although by the 1990s judged archaic by the US motoring press (and some international journalists who drove them in 2009 expressed amazement such a thing was still made), the demise of the Crown Victoria was a matter of regret for US police departments and many other fleet operators (notably rental car companies) because the CV's combination of virtues (robust, reliable, spacious, low TCO (total cost of ownership)) made them ideally suited for "heavy duty use" and in fleets, even today, some remain faithfully in service.  In truth, if driven within it's limitations, a CV (or the companion Mercury Grand Marquis) could be a satisfying experience for what it lacked in refinement it compensated for in other ways and for those who yearn still for the way things used to be done, the more desirable of the CVs can be a good choice.

More sandwich police: A police officer at the Ingham Subway in Queensland, Australia preparing a sub, an event held by Subway Australia on 2 November, 2018 to mark World Sandwich Day.  On the day, 329,814 sandwiches were assembled for needy families.

There is doubt whether the sandwich became so-named as early as 1762 because the first documented account of the earl’s culinary innovation was written in 1770 but it certainly caught on.  The sandwich board, the two-sided mobile advertising carried on the shoulders was first so-described in 1864 and someone employed to "wear" the device was sandwichman (a word now probably extinct although sandwich boards still occasionally are seen, carried presumably by sandwichpersons).  The Wall Street Journal once described the sandwich as "Britain's biggest contribution to gastronomy" but, given the parlous reputation of the rest of their pre-modern cuisine, the WSJ may have been damning with faint praise.  Regardless, while Lord Sandwich may have lent his name, the historical record suggests sandwiches have been eaten since bread was first baked, pre-dating the earl by thousands of years.

In 2022, with Lindsay Lohan on location in Ireland for the shooting of the Netflix film Irish Wish (2024), Westport Café The Creel created a sandwich to honor the famous visitor.  The Lindsay LoHam included 'nduja sausage, Monterey Jack cheese, mixed grated cheddar, caramelized onions and, naturally enough given the name, ham.  Irish Wish remains available to stream but the Lindsay LoHam enjoyed only a limited release.

By convention, when more than two slices of bread are used it becomes a "club sandwich" and it's now not uncommon for filled bread rolls, pita, flatbreads, etc also to be sold as sandwiches.  When the filling is spread atop a single slice of bread, it can be called an "open sandwich" which (historically) is oxymoronic but in commerce the term is well-established; dating from the 1920s, these first appeared on menus as "open face sandwich" but the term was soon clipped.  Over millennia, there must have been countless inventions and re-inventions of variants of the sandwich and the innovations have been linguistic as well as culinary, one noted concoction the muffuletta, a thick, round sandwich, typically containing ham, salami, and cheeses and topped with an olive salad, a specialty of New Orleans; it seems first to have been served in the late 1960s, the name from the Sicilian dialect, from the Italian muffoletta (a round hollow-centered loaf of bread), from muffola (mitten), from the French moufle.  In New Orleans, among the muffuletta cognoscenti, there is a heated faction and a room-temperature faction.  Another delicacy is the fried brain sandwich which, although now associated with things south of the Mason-Dixon line, was apparently first offered in St Louis, Missouri.  Self-explanatory, it's made with thinly sliced fried slabs of calf’s brain on white toast; to some a genuine delicacy, to others it'd be an acquired taste.  Etymologists note that confusingly, in the US, some restaurants (said to be most often those “specializing in barbecue”) use “sandwich” in its adjectival sense when serving a meal that is smaller than either lunch or dinner yet not so modest to be thought “a snack”.  These offerings do not imply that of necessity what’s served will be in the form of “a sandwich” although some may be, the point being what’s on the menu is “something smaller than what appears on the lunch and dinner menus”.

Quintessential Grilled Cheese: The ultimate cheese toastie.

In 2017, Guinness World Records officially recognized the “Quintessential Grilled Cheese” on the menu at New York City’s Serendipity 3 as the planet’s most expensive commercially available sandwich.  Then listed at US$214, it was made with Dom Perignon champagne-infused French Pullman bread, 23-karat edible gold, a rare Italian cheese and grass-fed white truffle butter.  Served on a Baccarat crystal plate with a bowl of South African lobster tail tomato bisque, the restaurant required customers to order 48-hour in advance.  Obviously not a typical cheese toastie, the core ingredient was Caciocavallo Podolico, an extremely rare Italian cheese made from the milk of a mere 25,000-odd cows grazing on fennel, licorice, and wild strawberries; accounting for some of the sandwich’s high price, the beasts lactate only for a few weeks over May-June.  The luxury toastie still appears on Serendipity 3's menu (along with the “World's most expensive fries” but interestingly, the restaurant have not advised any increase in the price, despite recent inflation and the spike in the gold price.  Given it need to be ordered in advance, presumably it's now on a PoA (price on application) basis.  Still, renowned also for its Frrrozen Hot Chocolate (there’s a $25,000 “Haute” version of that which must be remarkable), Serendipity 3 does sound the ideal place for a first date although it would raise expectations and one should choose the place only if one has the disposable income for regular return visits.  The Quintessential Grilled Cheese deserves at least a footnote in economics textbooks because a cheese toastie at that price is one of the industry's most literal instances of “conspicuous consumption” and its qualities may also be Veblen in that should Serendipity 3 note a slowing in sales, demand might be stimulated by raising the price, the point about Veblen goods being their behavior moving in the opposite direction on the classic PED (Price Elasticity of Demand) curve.    

Lindsay Lohan next to pink ice cream truck, Salt Lake City, Utah, 2021.

In 2021, RadarOnline (a pop culture aggregation handler published by RMG (Radar Media Group)) reported that while on-location in Salt Lake City, Utah for the shooting of the Netflix movie Falling for Christmas (2022), Lindsay Lohan bought ice cream sandwiches for the film crew.  Ice cream is in Utah a popular commodity because of what's laid down in the Word of Wisdom, (a kind of etiquette guide cum rulebook) for members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (the Mormons).  The Word of Wisdom is properly styled the Doctrine and Covenants (the D&C (1835)) and is the Mormon scriptural canon, section 89 containing the dietary rules proscribing, inter-alia, the consumption of alcohol, tobacco and hot drinks (ie tea & coffee).  Noted Mormon Mitt Romney (b 1947; Republican nominee in the 2012 US presidential election, US senator (Republican-Utah) 2019-2025) usually looks so miserable not only because of what has become of the Republican Party but because the D&C's index of the forbidden denies him the simple indulgence of a cup of coffee.  The rules also explain why manufacturers of chocolate, candy & soda have long found the Mormons of Utah a receptive and lucrative market; other than the joyful singing of hymns, the sugary treats are among their few orally enjoyed pleasures.  In Utah, as well as ice cream sandwiches, there's a ready market too for “dirty sodas”; Mormons aren’t allowed to do anything “dirty” (though it's rumored some do) and a dirty soda (a soda flavored with “spikes” of cream, milk, fruit purees or syrups) is about as close to sinfulness as a reading of the D&C would seem to permit.  Mormans sometimes team an ice cream sandwich with their dirty soda and for those who want more, ice cream cakes are also a big seller.  

Replacing humans with mechanical devices has a long history: Automated dystrybutor piwa i kanapek (beer and sandwich dispenser), Kraków, Poland.  It was installed in May 1931.

In the mid 1950s when English in the US was more regionalized than it would become, in New York City a sandwich typically was sold as a “hero” while in other parts it might be a grinder (based on the ground meat often used as the base of the filling) or a submarine (based on the use of a long, tubular bread roll, the use carried-over when other types of bread were used).  The “poor boy” was a description from New Orleans of uncertain origin but presumed related to the idea of a sandwich being a “cheap meal” to take-away while richer folks sat in the diner and ate off a plate.  Most intriguing was the “hoagie” which definitely emerged in the Pennsylvanian city of Philadelphia though the history is disputed.  One explanation is the original was a “big sandwich” in the form a filled split-roll (al la those served by the modern Subway chain) and thus resembling in shape a large cigar, the linguistic link claimed to be with “stogie”, a common slang term for a cigar, the construct thought to be stoga + -ie, the first element derived from the Conestoga Cigar Company which in the 1880s was one of the first Pennsylvanian cigar factories.  The connection sounds plausible but is undocumented.  The professionals seem unconvinced by the alternative suggestions: (1) a folk-etymology alteration of the Greek gyro (a back-formation from the plural gyros, from the Ancient Greek γύρος (gýros) (from the turning of the meat on a spit) or (2) some connection with the US popular musician Hoagland “Hoagy” Carmichael (1899-1981).  The Greek link is undocumented and thought “vague” and although as a songwriter Hoagy Carmichael enjoyed success as early as the late 1920s, his fame as a performer wasn’t established until a decade later and in Philadelphia the sandwiches were being sold as “hoggies” as early as 1935, thus the conclusion his later celebrity status might have influenced a change in the spelling, “Hoagies” on sale by 1945.  It is of course possible the original “hoggie” was derived from “hog” on the basis of at least some of the sandwiches being “pork rolls” but of this there’s no evidence.  As a footnote, although rarely seen without a cigarette, Mr Carmichael seems not to have been a cigar smoker.

1959 Lotus Elite S1.

The Lotus Elite (Type 14) was produced in two series (S1, 1957-1960; S2, 1960-1963) and was a rolling catalogue of innovation and clever re-purposing of off-the-shelf parts.  One of its most distinctive features was borrowed from aviation: the stressed-skin fibreglass monocoque construction which obviated entirely the need for a chassis or space-frame, the body an integrated, load-bearing structure created using the “sandwich technique”.  The only substantial steel components were a sub-frame supporting the engine and front suspension and a hoop to which was attached the windscreen, door hinges and jacking points.  The company’s philosophy was “simplify, then add lightness” while lent the Elite some delightful characteristics but even had all components been produced in accordance with the specification, many parts of the structure were so close to the point of failure that some revisions to the design would anyway have been necessary but the early cars were far from perfect.  The contact for the fabrication of the bodies had been won by a boat-builder, then one of the few companies with much experience in molding fibreglass.

Club sandwich: The Elite's triple-layer monocoque.

However, the Elite was a more complex design than a boat hull and fibreglass was still a novel material, even Chevrolet in the United States, with access to the financial and engineering resources of General Motors, found early in the production of the Corvette there were lessons still to be learned.  Unlike many boats which used a single or double-layer method, the Elite’s body consisted of three stressed-fiberglass layers (thus in industry jargon a “club sandwich”) which, when joined in a monocoque, created the bulkheads and eight torsion boxes gave the structure its strength and stiffness although the success was something of a surprise.  The designer, working in the pre-CAD (computed-aided design) era and with no experience of the behavior of fibreglass, had doubted the material would be strong enough so had the first prototype built with some steel and aluminum plates sandwiched between the layers with mounting brackets bonded in points at the rear to support the suspension and differential mountings.  In subsequent tests, these proved unnecessary but so poorly molded were many of the layers that structural failures became common, the resin porings of inconsistent thickness creating weaknesses at critical points, suspension struts and differentials known to punch themselves loose from mountings or even tear away chunks of the supposedly supporting fibreglass.

Le Mans 24 Hour, June 1959:  Lotus Elite #41 leads Ferrari 250TR #14. The Ferrari (DNF) retired after overheating, the Elite finishing eighth overall, winning the 1.5 litre GT class.

Needing an operation more acquainted with the tight tolerances demanded in precision engineering, after finishing some Elites, Lotus switched suppliers, the molding contract granted to the Bristol Aeroplane Company. This transformed quality control and the remaining 750-odd Elites carried an S2 designation, the early cars retrospectively (but unofficially) dubbed S1.  Even so, despite the improved, lighter and stiffer shell, it would be another generation before the structural implications of fibreglass would fully be understood and the flaws inherent in the design remained, suspension attachment points sometimes still prone to detachment, Lotus content to the extent it now happened only under extreme loading rather than habitually.  The combination of light-weight, a surprisingly powerful engine and a degree of aerodynamic efficiency which few for decades would match delivered a package with a then unrivalled combination of performance and economy.  On the road, point-to-point, it was able to maintain high average speeds under most conditions and only in then unusual places like the German Autobahns with their unlimited speeds could heavier, more powerful machines assert their advantage.  On the circuits, it enjoyed an illustrious career, notable especially for success in long-distance events at the Nürburgring and Le Mans.  The frugal fuel consumption was an important factor too, as well as claiming five class trophies in the Le Mans 24 hour race, the Elite twice won the mysterious Indice de performance (an index of thermal efficiency), a curious piece of mathematics actually designed to ensure, regardless of other results, a French car always would win a trophy for something.

Charlotte Brontë (1816–1855).

Elizabeth Gaskell's (1810–1865) 1857 biography (a very Victorian work) long loomed over the memory of Charlotte Brontë because it portrayed the author of the deliciously depraved eponymous protagonist in Jane Eyre (1847) as the doomed, saint-like victim of the circumstances which crushed her and the consumption which stalked her.  The old curmudgeon G.K. Chesterton (1874–1936) reckoned that while a good biography told one much about the subject, a bad one revealed all one needed to know about the author.  Gaskell’s crafted miserabilia of course created a legend of its own, a kind of death cult for those for whom victimhood isn’t quite enough so Charlotte Brontë has long been on the emo reading list (a very specific sub-set of the canon).  However, whatever might have been the tone of reviews penned by those critics who found little to admire in works by women, even jaded types like literary editors were captivated by her words, George Smith (1865-1932) who worked for the publishing house Smith, Elder & Co at Cornhill noting in his diary: “After breakfast on Sunday morning I took the manuscript of Jane Eyre to my little study, and began to read it.  The story took me captive.  When the servant came to tell me that luncheon was ready I asked him to brim me a sandwich and a glass of wine, and still went on with Jane Eyre.  Dinner came; for me the meal was a very hasty one; and before I went to bed that night I had finished reading the manuscript.”  She deserved better than the gloomy impression left by Elizabeth Gaskell and history has been kind although even George Smith who admired her thought he discerned what she really wanted from life, writing in The Critic in 1901: "I believe she would have given all her genius and all her fame to be beautiful.  Perhaps few women ever existed more anxious to be pretty than she, and more angrily conscious of the circumstance that she was not pretty."  That was perhaps toxic masculinity as expressed by the literary middle class but Anthony Trollope (1815-1882) focused just on the work, writing in his Autobiography (1883): "I venture to predict that Jane Eyre will be read among English novels when many whose names are now better known shall be forgotten."  

Of the fourth Earl of Sandwich who got a bit of fun out of life

Portrait of John Montagu, fourth Earl of Sandwich (1783) by Thomas Gainsborough (circa 1727-1788), National Maritime Museum, Greenwich.

John Montagu was one of the more interesting chaps to sit in the House of Lords.  Rich and well-connected, he was a libertine in the milieu of the aristocratic swagger of the eighteenth century, his country house described by a contemporary as “the scene of our youthful debaucheries, the retreat of your hoary licentiousness.”  There’s never been any suggestion Sandwich was in his self-indulgence any more depraved than many of his companions but certainly, he fitted-in.

In his lifetime, the earl’s fame came not from the eponymous snack but his long affair with Miss Martha Ray (1746-1779), a most becoming and talented young singer.  It’s never been known when first they made friends but she lived with him as his mistress from the age of seventeen (he was then forty-five), the relationship producing nine children.  The concubinage of Miss Ray he  enjoyed while his wife was suffering from mental illness and while it’s not recorded if her condition was triggered by her husband’s ways, given he conducted an affair also with his sister-in-law, there must be some suspicion.

Montagu's behavior attracted the interest of many, including John Wilkes, a prominent satirist who wrote a number of pieces critical of the earl’s politics and ridiculing his (not so) private life.  Montagu’s revenge was swift.  Wilkes didn’t write only publicly-published satire, he also had a small circle of socially elite subscribers to his other literary output.  That was pornography, and the earl was a subscriber.  To discredit Wilkes, Lord Sandwich rose in the House of Lords and read extracts from Wilkes’ The Essay on Women which he prefaced by telling their lordships “…it was so full of filthy langue (sic) as well as the most horrid blasphemies”.  The earl did not exaggerate and even today the words would shock and appall their lordships although, it must be admitted, it's always been a place where members easily are appalled (or at least affect to be).  The vengeance backfired, the Lords ruling his speech a breach of procedure which sounds a mild rebuke but in that place was a damning censure.  It also provoked Wilkes who responded with tales of Sandwich’s “debauchery, miserliness and lack of good faith” and a biography published in the 1760s labelled him “an arsonist and thief”.  His reputation never recovered although, when masticating a sandwich, we all still should remember him and be glad.

Portrait of Martha Ray (in pussy bow) by Nathaniel Dance-Holland  (1735–1811).

Miss Ray’s end was sadder still.  Lord Sandwich granted her a generous allowance and obtained a flat in Westminster so she had somewhere to live during those times when, for whatever reason, she couldn’t stay in his house.  He also introduced her to a young soldier, James Hackman (circa 1752-1779) who became obsessed with her and soon turned into what would now be called a stalker.  In 1779, Hackman resigned his commission to join the church and it seems he and Ms Ray may have had a brief liaison but she declined his offers of marriage, apparently because she thought his social status and financial means inadequate to keep he in the style to which she'd become accustomed.  Not handling rejection well, Hackman remained infatuated, became obsessively jealous and renewed the pursuit.  One evening in April 1779, after following her to the Royal Opera House at Covent Garden, he shot her dead, apparently under the impression she had taken another lover, which may or may not have been true.  Immediately after the murder, Hackman attempted suicide but succeeded only in wounding himself and was arrested.  Two days after she was buried, the Reverend Hackman was sentenced to be hanged and within the week he died on the Tyburn gallows in a public execution before “a large crowd”.

Quincunx

Quincunx (pronounced kwing-kuhngks or kwin-kuhngks)

(1) An arrangement of five objects, in a square or rectangle, one at each corner and one in the middle.

(2) In formal gardening, five plants placed thus as part of a design,

(3) In forestry, as a baseline pattern, five trees planted in such a shape.

(4) In botany, an overlapping arrangement of five petals or leaves, in which two are interior, two are exterior, and one is partly interior and partly exterior (described as a “quincuncial arrangement” of sepals or petals in the bud.

(5) The pattern of the five-spot on dice, playing cards and dominoes.

(6) In the history of numismatics, a bronze coin minted during the Roman Republic, valued at five-twelfths of an as (five times the value of the uncia); it was marked with five dots.

(7) In geometry, an angle of five-twelfths of a circle.

(8) In astrology An angle of five-twelfths of a circle (or 150°) between two objects (usually planets).

1640s: From the Latin quīncunx (the basis for the construct being quīnque +‎ uncia) which translates literally as “five twelfths”, a reference to a bronze coin minted (circa 211–200 BC) with a five dot pattern and issued by the Roman Republic; it was valued at five twelfths of an as (the Roman standard bronze coin).  Descendants from the Latin include the English quincunx, the French quinconce, the German Quinkunx, the Spanish quincunce and the Portuguese quincunce.  Quinque (the numeric five (5)) was from the From Proto-Italic kwenkwe, from the primitive Indo-European pénkwe, the cognates including the Sanskrit पञ्चन् (páñcan), the Ancient Greek πέντε (pénte), the Old Armenian հինգ (hing), the Gothic fimf and the Old English fīf (from which English ultimately gained “five”).  The basis of the construct of the Latin uncia may have been ūnicus (unique) (from ūnus (one), from the primitive Indo-European óynos) in the sense of twelfths making up the base unit of various ancient systems of measurement) +‎ -ia.  Not all etymologists agree and some prefer a link with the Ancient Greek ὀγκία (onkía) (uncia), from ὄγκος (ónkos) (weight).  Uncia was the name of various units including (1) the Roman ounce (one-twelfth of a Roman pound), (2) the Roman inch (one-twelfth of a Roman foot), (3) a bronze coin minted by the Roman Republic (one-twelfth of an as), (a Roman unit of land area (one-twelfth of a jugerum)) and in the jargon of apothecaries became a synonym of ounce (the British & American avoirdupois unit of mass); it was generally a synonym of twelfth.  In algebra, it was a (now obsolete) numerical coefficient in a binomial.  Quīnque was the source of many modern Romance words for “five” including the French cinq and the Spanish cinco; uncia was the source of both “inch” and “ounce”.  Quincunx is a noun, quincuncial is an adjective and quincuncially is an adverb; the noun plural is quincunxes or quincunces.

Quincunx garden, Wyken Hall, Suffolk, England.

When first it entered English in the 1640s, “quincunx” existed only in the vocabulary of astrologers (astrology then still a respectable science) and it was used to describe planetary alignments at a distance of five signs from one another.  By the 1640s it had migrated to mathematics (particularly geometry), applied to define “an arrangement of five objects in a square, one at each corner and one in the middle”, familiar in the five pips on a playing card or spots on a di).  In the 1660s (possibly from dice or cards rather than the fortune-tellers), it was picked up by gardeners to describe the layout of a section of a formal garden in which one plant or shrub was placed at each corner of a square or rectangle with a fifth exactly in the centre (an arrangement in two sets of oblique rows at right angles to each other, a sense known also in the original Latin.  In forestry, use began (as a layout tool for new plantings) early in the eighteenth century.

Lindsay Lohan (born 2 July, 1986 at 4:40 am) joins a list of the illustrious with a Mercury Quincunx MC (a planetary alignment where Mercury is 150^o apart from the Medium Coeli (a Latin phrase which translates as “Midheaven” (“MC” in the remarkably extensive jargon of astrologers)).  In explaining the significance of the Quincunx MC, the planetary soothsayers note than when two planets lie 150^o apart, “tension is created due to their lack of natural understanding or relation.”  The MC is the point where the cusp of the tenth house is found on a natal (birth) and the MC sign signifies “one’s public persona”.  Now we know.

Fluffy dice in 1974 Ford Mustang II Ghia (left) and a pair of pink fluffy dice showing the quincunx layout of the "5" (right).  The color of the dashboard molding emblematic of what was happening in the 1970s, browns and greens emblematic of the era; this green looks close to the typical hue of meconium .

The Mustang has been in continuous production over seven generations since a mid-season release in 1964 with the Mustang II (1973-1978) the least fondly remembered iteration (uniquely among Mustangs, in its first season a V8 engine was not even optional) but, introduced some weeks before the first oil embargo was imposed in October, 1973, being smaller and less thirsty than its rather bloated predecessor, it was a great success with sales exceeding the corporation's expectations.  Unlike at least some of the models in all other generations, the Mustang II is a classic “Malaise era” car and not a collectable in the conventional sense of the word although there is some residual value because the front sub-frame with its rack & pinion steering and flexible engine accommodation is prized for all sort of purposes so many have been cannibalized for this assembly alone.  Fluffy dice remain available in designer colors and as well as the familiar dots, there are some with hearts, skulls, handguns, eyes and dollar signs.  Probably, the Mustang II and fluffy dice are a perfect match.  Although the five-dot pattern on a di is known in the industry as the quincunx, the other five faces enjoy rather more prosaic descriptions and most just use the number:

1 (single dot, at the center of the face): The “center dot” or “monad”.

2 (two dots, diagonally opposite each other): The “diagonal pair”.

3 (three dots, forming a diagonal line): The “diagonal trio”.

4 (four dots, arranged in a square pattern: The “square” or “quadrant”.

6 (six dots, arranged in two parallel vertical lines of three dots each): The “double row” or “paired trios”.

US Army five star insignia of (General of the Army) Dwight Eisenhower (1890-1969; US president 1953-1961).

The quincunx was one of the layouts considered in 1944 when, for the first time, the US military created five star ranks in the army and navy (there would not be a separate USAF (US Air Force) until 1947).  Eventually a pentagrammatic circle of stars was preferred but, the the military being much concerned with tradition, the aesthetics of epaulettes were the least of the problems of historical protocol created by the new rank.  The use of “star” to describe the hierarchy of senior military ranks is now well-established and is useful for those not well-acquainted with the nomenclature.  For example a three star (lieutenant) general out-ranks a two star (major) general by a grade despite a major out-ranking a lieutenant by two notches.  The reasons for the apparent anomaly are historic but is an indication why for non-experts it easier to “think stars” than titles.  Surprisingly, in the United States military, the system was finalized only this century and prior to 1944, the matter of stars and titles for generals had been a little confused, the whole order of precedence in the army since the Declaration of Independence only properly codified with some retrospective creations in 1976 and 2024.  Historically, the most senior rank in the US Army had been lieutenant general and it was as one George Washington (1732–1799; first POTUS, 1789-1797) retired from the military.  The first major change came in the post Civil War (1861-1865) era when the rank of “General of the Army” was gazetted and while nominally a four star appointment, structurally, it was the equivalent of what would in 1944 be formalized as five star rank.  However, in 1866, the significance of the title “General of the Army” was it reflected the appointee being the general with authority over the whole army which meant there could be only ever be one in active service.  In other words, that meant the four star general was commander-in-chief of the army and the paperwork had years earlier been prepared for Washington to be raised thus but this was never done because of concern among lawyers it might set a precedent and be seen to impinge upon a president’s authority as commander in chief.  Indeed, although later the US military would use titles such as “Commander in Chief, US Pacific Command”, Donald Rumsfeld (1932–2021: US defense secretary 1975-1977 & 2001-2006) in 2002 ended the practice (and use of the acronym CINC) by re-asserting there was in the US: “only one commander in chief in America - the president”, spelled out in Article II, Section 2 of the US Constitution: “The President shall be Commander in Chief of the Army and Navy of the United States, and of the Militia of the several States, when called into the actual Service of the United States."  The matter of civilian authority over the military was one of the founding principles of the republic.

The next change came when General John "Black Jack" Pershing (1860–1948) who had commanded the US expeditionary forces in World War I (1914-1918) was appointed to the then unique rank of General of the Armies of the United States.  At the time, the war was known as the "World War" (a suggestion by Woodrow Wilson (1856–1924; POTUS 1913-1921)), the vast and bloody conflict already regarded as “the war to end all wars” and the feeling was the conflict had in scale and awfulness been unique so some special recognition was deserved.  Pershing however remained a four star general and confusingly, when the spate of five star appointments was made between 1944-1950, the old wording “General of the Army” was revived with the pecking order based on the gazetted date of appointment to the rank which no longer implied an individual having authority over the entire army.  There have since been no five star creations (although many other armies have continued to appoint field marshals which is the equivalent).  In the US, some historians and many in the military fretted over the untidiness of it all and in 1976, George Washington formerly was gazetted “General of the Armies of the United States with rank and precedence over all other grades of the Army, past or present”, meaning he will for all time be the US Army’s senior officer.  In 1944, there was also an amusing footnote which, according to legend, resulted in the decision to use the style “general” and not “marshal” (as many militaries do) because the first to be appointed was George Marshall (1880–1959; US Army chief of staff 1939-1945) and it was thought “Marshal Marshall” would be a bit naff, something Joseph Heller’s (1923-1999) character “Major Major” in Catch-22 (1961) would prove.

The quincunx induction system, the Cadillac Le Monstre and the 24 Heures du Mans, 1950

Living up to the name: The 1950 Cadillac Le Monstre.

The two Cadillacs which in 1950 raced at Le Mans were mechanically similar but visually, could have been from different planets.  The more conventional Petit Pataud was a Series 61 coupe with only minor modification and it gained its nickname (the translation “clumsy puppy” best captures the spirit) because to the French it looked a lumbering thing but, as its performance in the race would attest, Cadillac’s new 331 cubic inch (5.4 litre) V8 (which would in modified form grow to 429 cubic inches (7.0 litres) before it was retired in 1967) meant it was faster than it looked.  Underneath the second entrant (Le Monstre obviously needing no translation but used in the sense of “monstrosity” rather than “large”) there was also a Series 61 but the body had been replaced by something more obviously aerodynamic although few, then or now, would call it “conventionally attractive”.  Although Le Monstre seemed very much in the tradition of the “cucumber-shaped” Mercedes-Benz SSKL which had won the 1932 race at Berlin’s unique AVUS circuit, the lines were the result of testing a one twelfth (Uncia in the Latin) scale wooden model in a wind-tunnel used usually to optimize the shape of crop dusters and other slow-flying airplanes.  Presumably that explains the resemblance to a section of an airplane’s wing (a shape designed to encourage lift), something which would have been an issue had higher speeds been attained but even on the long (6 km (3.7 mile)) Mulsanne Straight, there was in 1950 enough power only to achieve around 210 km/h (130) mph although as a drag-reduction exercise it must have contributed to the 22 km/h (13 mph) advantage it enjoyed over Petit Pataud, something Le Monstre’s additional horsepower alone could not have done and remarkably, even with the minimalist aluminum skin it wasn’t much lighter than the standard-bodied coupe because this was no monocoque; the robust Cadillac chassis was retained with a tube-frame added to support the panels and provide the necessary torsional stiffness.

Le Monstre's 331 cubic inch V8 with its unusual (though not unique) five-carburetor induction system in a quincunx layout.

Some of the additional horsepower came from the novel "quincunx" induction system.  Le Monstre’s V8 was configured with five carburetors, the idea being that by use of progressive throttle-linkages, when ultimate performance wasn’t required the car would run on a single (central) carburettor, the other four summoned on demand and in endurance racing, improved fuel economy can be more valuable than additional power.  That’s essentially how most four-barrel carburettors worked, two venturi usually providing the feed with all four opened only at full throttle and Detroit would later refine the model by applying “méthode Le Monstre” to the triple carburettor systems many used between 1957-1971.  As far as is known, the only time a manufacturer flirted with the idea of a five carburetor engine was Rover which in the early 1960s was experimenting with a 2.5 (153 cubic inch) litre in-line five cylinder which was an enlargement of their 2.0 litre (122 cubic inch) four.  Fuel-injection was the obvious solution but the systems then were prohibitively expensive (for the market segment Rover was targeting) so the prototypes ended up with two carburettors feeding three cylinders and one the other two, an arrangement as difficult to keep in tune as it sounds.  Rover’s purchase of the aluminium 3.5 litre (214 cubic inch) V8 abandoned by General Motors (GM) meant the project was terminated and whatever the cylinder count, mass-produced fuel injection later made any configuration possible.  Five carburettors wasn’t actually the highest count seen in the pre fuel-injection era, Ferrari and Lamborghini both using six (done also by motorcycle manufacturers such as Honda and Benelli) and Moto-Guzzi in the 1950s fielded a 500 cm³ Grand-Prix bike with the memorable component count of 8 cylinders, 4 camshafts, 16 valves & 8 carburetors.  The early prototypes of Daimler’s exquisite hemi-head V8s (1959-1969) were also built with eight carburetors because the original design was based on a motorcycle power-plant, the reason why they were planned originally as air-cooled units.

Le Monstre ahead of Petit Pataud, Le Mans, 1950.  At the fall of the checkered flag, the positions were reversed. 

Motor racing is an unpredictable business and, despite all the effort lavished on Le Monstre, in the 1950 Le Mans 24 hour, it was the less ambitious Petit Pataud which did better, finishing a creditable tenth, the much modified roadster coming eleventh having lost many laps while being dug from the sand after an unfortunate excursion from the track.  Still, the results proved the power and reliability of Cadillac’s V8 and Europe took note: over the next quarter century a whole ecosystem would emerge, crafting high-priced trans-Atlantic hybrids which combined elegant European coachwork with cheap, powerful, reliable US V8s, the lucrative fun lasting until the first oil crisis began in 1973.

Intake manifold (5 x 2 barrel) for the first generation (1969-1964) Oldsmobile V8 with Rochester-style carburetor mounting flanges.

A tiny, lunatic fringe of the hot rod community did in the 1950s emulate Le Monstre's five-carburetor quincunx atop V8 engines and they were more ambitious still, using two barrel carburettors so that means ten throats for eight cylinders which sounds excessive but, as configured, the arrangement did make sense.  Generally, they used a modified version of a standard intake manifold's design, altered to the extent of retaining the central unit in its stock position while installing the other four in an extended "X", all five often the familiar (and easily tuneable) Rochester 2GC two-barrel.  What all this plumbing and hardware provided was an early form of the variable fuel metering now effortlessly delivered by modern electronic fuel injection in that the centre unit meant relatively economical operation and civilized characteristics for urban use while the four outboard took over under heavy throttle application, each located directly over an intake port for optimal distribution of the fuel air mix.  Synchronising multiple carburetors can of course be challenging when there’s two or three so five sounds worse but the configuration did simplify things because only the central one had to be adjusted for idle and part-throttle use while the outer four were tuned only for high-flow throughput.  There was however the need to engineer a mechanical throttle linkage operating in two planes and while this became for years a common fitting on systems with three two barrels or two four barrels, with five in a quincunx the machinery was bulky and intricate so, given the advantages of five turned out to be marginal at best, the idea never caught one and the systems are now just curiosities to be admired by those who adore complexity for its own sake.

1953 Ford X-100: With roof panel retracted (it was “targa” before Porsche told us there were Targas (left), the five carburetor apparatus atop the 317 cubic inch (5.2 litre) Lincoln Y-Block V8 (centre) and the built-in hydraulic jacking system in use (right).

It wasn’t only the one-off Le Mans Cadillac or crazy hot-rodders who took the quincunx path, the apparatus appearing also on the 1953 Ford X-100.  In the years to come, such a thing would be called a “concept car” but that term didn’t then exist so Ford used the more familiar “dream car” and that does seem a more romantic way of putting it.  Reflecting the optimistic spirit of the early post-war years, the X-100 included a number of innovations including the use of radial-ply tyres, a built-in hydraulic jacking system, a rain-sensor which automatically would trigger an electric motor to close the sliding plexiglass roof panel, a built-in dictaphone, a telephone in the centre console and the convenience of heated seats and an electric shaver mounted in the glove compartment.  Some of the features became mainstream products, some not and while the “variable volume horn” wasn’t picked up by the industry, one did appear on the Mercedes-Benz 600 (W100; 1963-1981) although that was a rare supportive gesture.  It was also an age of imaginative labels and Ford called their quincunx induction system the “Multi-Plex”; while the engineering proved a cul-de-sac, the name did later get picked up by multi-screen suburban cinema complexes.  For the X-100, Ford used a central Holly two-barrel while the outer four were Ford model 94 two-barrels.  X-100 still exists and is displayed at the Henry Ford Museum in Dearborn, Michigan.

1969 Mercury Marauder X-100.  In 1969, the blacked-out trunk (boot) lid and surrounds was standard on X-100 and optional on other models.  In 1970 it became a “delete option” (an option which seems often to have been exercised).

In a number of quirky coincidences, the name X-100 seems to once have been an industry favourite because as well as the 1953 Ford “dream car”, it was the US Secret Service’s designation for the 1961 Lincoln Continental parade convertible in which John Kennedy (JFK, 1917–1963; POTUS 1961-1963) was assassinated in Dallas, Texas.  One might have thought that macabre association might have been enough for the “X-100” tag (although the "JFK death-car Lincoln" did return service in the White House fleet) to not again be used but, presumably because the Secret Service’s internal codes weren’t then general public knowledge, in 1969 Ford’s Mercury division released an X-100 as an up-market version of its second generation (1969-1970) Marauder.  Notionally, the X-100 was a “high performance” version but its 365 (gross) horsepower 429 cubic inch (7.0 litre) V8 was an option in lesser priced Marauders which meant the X-100, weighed down by the additional luxury fittings, was just a little slower than the cheaper models with the 429.  The market for “full-sized” high performance cars was by 1969 anyway in the final throes of terminal decline and although an encouraging 5,635 were sold in 1969, sales the next year fell to 2,646; X-100 was retired at the end of the 1970 and not replaced.  Most bizarre though was project X-100, a US$75 million (then a lot of what was at the time borrowed money) contract in 1943 awarded to Chrysler to design, machine and nickel-plate the inner surfaces of the cylindrical diffusers required to separate uranium isotopes.  Part of the Manhattan Project which built the world’s first atomic bombs, Chrysler built over 3,500 diffusers used at the plant in Oak Ridge, Tennessee and many were still in service as late as the 1980s.  Not until after the first A-bomb was used against Hiroshima in August 1945 did most of the X-100 project’s workers become aware of the use being made of the precision equipment they were producing.