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.

Doodlebug

Doodlebug (pronounced dood-l-buhg)

(1) In entomology the larva of an antlion (a group of some 2,000 species of insect in the neuropteran family Myrmeleontidae, the appellation “doodlebug” an allusion to the “doodle-like” marks they leave in the sand as tracks of their movement.

(2) In entomology (UK), a cockchafer (genus Melolontha).

(3) In entomology (US regional), a woodlouse.

(4) Any of various small, squat vehicles.

(5) A divining rod or similar device supposedly useful in locating underground water, oil, minerals etc.

(6) In World War II (1939-1945) UK slang, the German cruise missile the V1, (Fs-103, also known in formally as the “flying bomb” or “buzz bomb”, the latter an allusion to the distinctive sound made by the craft’s pulse-jet power-plant.  The slang began among RAF (Royal Air Force) personnel and later spread to the general population.

(7) In US rural slang, as “doodlebug tractor”, a car or light truck converted into tractor used for small-scale agriculture for a small farm during World War II.

(8) In informal use, a term of endearment (now rare).

(9) In informal use, a slackard (an archaic form of slacker) or time-waster (now rare).

(10) In informal, an idiot (the word used casually rather than in its once defined sense in mental health).

(11) In informal use, someone who habitually draws (or doodles) objects).

(12) Individual self-propelled train cars (obsolete).

(13) A device claimed to be able to locate oil deposits.

1865-1870: A coining in US English, the construct being doodle + bug, the first known use as a US dialectal form (south of the Mason-Dixon line) to describe certain beetles or larva.  Doodle dates from the early seventeenth century and was used to mean “a fool or simpleton”.  It was originally a dialectal form, from dudeldopp (simpleton) and influenced by dawdle (To spend time idly and unfruitfully; to waste time, pointlessly to linger, to move or walk lackadaisically; to “dilly-dally”), thus the later use of doodle to mean “a slackard (slacker) or time-waster”.  The German variants of the etymon included Dudeltopf, Dudentopf, Dudenkopf, Dude and Dödel (and there’s presumably some link with the German dudeln (to play the bagpipe)).  There is speculation the Americanism “dude” may have some link with doodle and the now internationalized (and sometimes gender-neutral) “dude” has in recent decades become one of slang’s more productive and variable forms.  The song Yankee Doodle long pre-dates the American Revolutionary War (1775-1783) but it was popularized in the era by being used as a marching song by British colonial troops and intended to poke fun at their rebellious opponents.  From this use was derived the verb of the early eighteenth century (to doodle), meaning “to swindle or to make a fool of”.  The predominant modern meaning (the drawings regarded usually as “small mindless sketches”) emerged in the 1930s either from this meaning or (s seems to have greater support), from the verb “to dawdle” which since the seventeenth century had been used to mean “wasting time; being lazy”.  In slang and idiomatic use, doodles uses are legion including “the penis” and any number of rhyming forms with meanings ranging from the very good to the very bad.

A doodled Volkswagen “bug” on Drawn Inside.

Bug dates from 1615–1625 and the original use was to describe insects, apparently as a variant of the earlier bugge (beetle), thought to be an alteration of the Middle English budde, from the Old English -budda (beetle) by etymologists are divided on whether the phrase “bug off” (please leave) is related to the undesired presence of insects or was of a distinct origin.  Bug, bugging & debug are nouns & verbs, bugged is a verb & adjective and buggy is a noun & adjective; the noun plural is bugs.  Although “unbug” makes structural sense (ie remove a bug, as opposed to the sense of “debug”), it doesn’t exist whereas forms such as the adjectives unbugged (not bugged) and unbuggable (not able to be bugged) are regarded as standard.  The array of compound forms meaning “someone obsessed with an idea, hobby etc) produced things like “shutterbug” (amateur photographer) & firebug (arsonist) seems first to have emerged in the mid nineteenth century.  The development of this into “a craze or obsession” is thought rapidly to have accelerated in the years just before World War I (1914-1918), again based on the notion of “bitten by the bug” or “caught the bug”, thus the idea of being infected with an unusual enthusiasm for something.  The use to mean a demon, evil spirit, spectre or hobgoblin was first recorded in the mid-fourteenth century and was a clipping of the Middle English bugge (scarecrow, demon, hobgoblin) or uncertain origin although it may have come from the Middle Welsh bwg (ghost; goblin (and linked to the Welsh bwgwl (threat (and earlier “fear”) and the Middle Irish bocanách (supernatural being).  There’s also speculation it may have come from the scary tales told to children which included the idea of a bugge (beetle) at a gigantic scale.  That would have been a fearsome sight and the idea remains fruitful to this day for artists and film-makers needing something frightening in the horror or SF (science fiction) genre.  The use in this sense is long obsolete although the related forms bugbear and bugaboo survive.  Dating from the 1570s, a bugbear was in folklore a kind of “large goblin”, used to inspire fear in children (both as a literary device & for purposes of parental control) and for adults it soon came to mean “a source of dread, resentment or irritation; in modern use it's an “ongoing problem”, a recurring obstacle or adversity or one’s pet peeve.  The obsolete form bugg dates from circa 1620 and was a reference to the troublesome bedbug, the construct a conflation of the middle English bugge (scarecrow, hobgoblin) and the Middle English budde (beetle).  The colloquial sense of “a microbe or germ” dates from 1919, the emergence linked to the misleadingly-named “Spanish flu” pandemic.  Doodlebug & doodlebugger are nouns and doodlebugging is a verb; the noun plural is doodlebugs.  The forms have sometimes been hyphenated.

A doodlebug (left) and his (or her) doodles in the sand (right).

That the word doodlebug has appeal is obvious because since the 1860s it has been re-purposed many time, often with the hint something “small but not cute”, that something understandable given the original creature so named (larva of an antlion) is not one of nature’s more charismatic creations.  Doodlebugs are squat little things which live mostly in loose sand where they create pit traps and genuinely are industrious creatures, their name earned not because they are idle time-wasters but because the tracks they leave in the sand are strikingly similar to the doodles people often wile away their time drawing.  The frankly unattractive ant leave their doodles behind because as they percolate over the sands, their big butts drag behind them, leaving the erratic trails.  So compelling is the name, it has been applied to a number of other, similar insects.  Another use is attributive from the link with the seventeenth century notion of a doodle being “a simpleton or time-waster”, extended later to “an idiot” (the word used casually rather than in its once defined sense in mental health); in the 1930s it came be used of those who incessantly sketch or draw stuff, the idea being they are squandering their time.  What they draw are called “doodles”, the source of the name for the artist.

Doodles on a rendering of Lindsay Lohan by Stable Diffusion.

The mid-twentieth century art (some of its practitioners claiming it was a science) of doodlebugging was practiced by doodlebuggers who used a method said to be not greatly different from the equally dubious technique of the water diviner.  All the evidence suggests there was a general scepticism of the claims that a bent rod waived about above the earth could be used to locate hydro-carbons and the use of “doodlebuging” to refer to the process was originally a slur but it became an affectionate name for those intrepid enough to trek into deserts seeking the “black gold”.  In the 1940s when the “profession” was first described, any reliable means of detecting sub-surface oil deposits simply didn’t exist (other than drilling a hole in the ground to see if it was there) and the early doodlebuggers were scam merchants.  The science did however advance (greatly spurred on by the demands of wartime) and when geologists came to be able to apply the modern machinery of seismic mapping and actually had success, they too were called doodlebuggers and happily adopted the name.

Texaco Doodlebug fuel tanker, one of eight built in 1934-1935 during the industry's "streamliner" era.  It was a time when art deco's lovely lines appeared in many fields of design. 

In the early twentieth century, a doodlebug was a self-propelled rail car, used on rail lines which were short in length and subject only to light traffic.  These were autonomous vehicles, powered both by gasoline (it was the pre-diesel era in the US) and electricity and were an economical alternative for operators, being much cheaper to run than the combination of large locomotives & carriage cars, eminently suited to lower passenger numbers.  The concept may be compared with the smaller (often propeller or turbo-prop) aircraft used on regional & feeder routes where the demand wouldn’t make the use of a larger airliner viable.  Although the doodlebugs carried relative few passengers, their operating costs were correspondingly lower so the PCpM (passenger cost per mile) was at least comparable with the full-sized locomotives.  While it may be a myth, the story is that one rail employee described the small, stumpy rail car as looking like a “potato bug” and (as English informal terms tend to do) this morphed into the more appealing doodlebug.

Some assembly required: a doodlebug tractor with hydraulic pump-driven crane, the agglomeration dating from circa 1934.

Although the mechanical specification of each tended to vary as things broke and were replaced with whatever fell conveniently to hand or could be purchased cheaply, when discovered it included a 1925 Chevrolet gasoline engine, Ford Model T firewall and steering, Ford Model A three-speed manual transmission, Ford Model TT rear end and AM General HMMWV rear wheels and tires.  The "mix & match" approach was typical of the genre and it's doubtful many were for long exactly alike.

A doodlebug could also be a DIY (do it yourself) tractor.  During the Great Depression of the 1930s, the smaller-scale farmers in the US no longer had the capital (or access to capital) to purchase plant and equipment on the same scale as in more prosperous times but they needed still to make their land productive and one of the modern tools which had transformed agriculture was the tractor.  New tractors being thus unattainable for many, necessity compelled many to turn to what was available and that was the stock of old cars and pickup trucks, now suddenly cheaper because the Depression had lowered demand for them as well.  With saws and welding kits, imaginative and inventive farmers would crop & chop and slice & dice until they had a vehicle which would do much of what a tractor could and according to the legends of the time, some actually out-performed the real thing because their custom design was optimized for a specific, intended purpose.  What made the modifications possible in the engineering sense was that it was a time when cars and pick-ups were almost always built with a separate chassis; the bodies could be removed and it was possible still to drive the things and it was on these basic platforms the “doodlebug” tractors were fashioned.  They were known also as “scrambolas”, “Friday night specials” and “hacksaw tractors” but it was “doodlebug” which really caught on and so popular was the practice that kits were soon advertised in mail-order catalogues (the Amazon of the day and a long tradition in the rural US).  Not until the post-war years when economic conditions improved and production of machinery for civilian use resumed at full-scale did the doodlebug industry end.

1946 Brogan Doodlebug (right) with 1942 Pontiac Torpedo (left).

Although now what’s most remembered about the US cars of the post-war era are the huge and extravagantly macropterous creations, there were more than two dozen manufacturers in the 1940s & 1950s which offered “micro-cars”, aimed at (1) female drivers, (2) inner-city delivery services and (3) urban drivers who wanted something convenient to manoeuvre and park.  The market however proved unresponsive and as the population shift to the suburbs accelerated, women wanted station wagons (in many ways the emblematic symbol of suburban American of the 1950s) and the delivery companies needed larger capacity.  As the VW Beetle and a few other niche players would prove during that decade’s “import boom”, Americans would buy smaller cars, just not micro-cars which even in Europe, where they were for a time successful, the segment didn’t survive to see the end of the 1960s.  But there was the Brogan Doodlebug, made by the B&B Specialty Company of Rossmoyne, Ohio and produced between 1946-1950 although that fewer than three dozen were sold hints at the level of demand at a time when Detroit’s mass-production lines were churning out thousands of “standard sized” car a day.

1946 Brogan Doodlebug.

Somewhat optimistically (though etymologically defensible) described as a “roadster”, the advertising for the Doodlebug exclusively featured women drivers and it certainly was in some ways ideal for urban use (except perhaps when raining, snowing, in cold weather, under harsh sun etc).  It used a three wheeled chassis with the single wheel at the front, articulated so the vehicle could turn within its own length so parking would have been easy, the thing barely 96 inches (2440 mm) in length & 40 inches (1020 mm) wide; weighing only some 442 lbs (200 kg), it was light enough for two strong men to pick it up and move it.  Powered by either a single or twin-cylinder rear-mounted engine (both rated at a heady 10 horsepower (7.5 kW)) no gearbox was deemed necessary thus no tiresome gear levers or clutch pedals were there to confuse women drivers and B&B claimed a fuel consumption up to 70 mpg (US gallon; 3.4 L/100 km) with a cruising speed of 45-50 mph (70-80 km/h).  All this for US$400 and remarkably, it seems it wasn’t until 1950 (after some 30 doodlebugs had been built over four years) the cost-accountants looked at the project and concluded B&B were losing about US$100 on each one sold.  A price-rise was ruled out so production ended and although B&B released the Broganette (an improved three-wheeler with the single wheel at the rear which provides much better stability), it was no more successful and the company turned to golf carts and scooters which proved much more lucrative.  B&B later earned a footnote in the history of motorsport as one of the pioneer go-kart manufacturers.

Annotated schematic of the V-1 (left) and a British Military Intelligence drawing (dated 16 June 1944, 3 days after the first V-1 attacks on London (right). 

First deployed in 1944 the German Vergeltungswaffen eins (“retaliatory weapon 1” or "reprisal weapon 1” and eventually known as the V-1) was the world’s first cruise missile.  One of the rare machines to use a pulse-jet, it emitted such a distinctive sound that those at whom it was aimed nicknamed it the “buzz-bomb” although it attracted other names including “flying bomb” and “doodlebug”.  In Germany, before Dr Joseph Goebbels (1897–1945; Reich Minister of Propaganda 1933-1945) decided it was the V-1, the official military code name was Fi 103 (The Fi stood for Fieseler, the original builder of the airframe and most famous for their classic Storch (Stork), short take-off & landing (STOL) aircraft) but there were also the code-names Maikäfer (maybug) & Kirschkern (cherry stone).  While the Allied defenses against the V-1 did improve over time, it was only the destruction of the launch sites and the occupation of territory within launch range that ceased the attacks.  Until then, the V-1 remained a highly effective terror weapon but, like the V-2 and so much of the German armaments effort, bureaucratic empire-building and political intrigue compromised the efficiency of the project.

Novecento

Novecento (pronounced no-vee-chen-toh)

(1) In Italian, nine hundred (900).

(2) In Italian the “twentieth century (1900s)”, the term used in the modern way to define the century as 1900-1999 rather than the strictly correct 1901-2000.

(3) As Novecento Italiano (literally the “Italian 1900s”), the Italian artistic movement founded in Milan in 1922 with the aim of representing the fascism of Benito Mussolini (1883-1945; Duce (leader) & prime-minister of Italy 1922-1943) in artistic form.

An Italian word which translates literally as nine-hundred (900), the construct being nove (nine) +‎ cento (hundred).  Nove was from the Latin novem, from noven (contaminated by decem, the original form preserved in nōnus), from the Proto-Italic nowem, from the primitive Indo-European hnéwn̥, the cognates including the Sanskrit नवन् (navan), the Ancient Greek ἐννέα (ennéa), the Gothic niun and the Old English nigon (which became the English nine).  Cento was from the Latin centum, from the Proto-Italic kentom, from the primitive Indo-European ḱm̥tóm, the formal cognates including the Sanskrit शत (śata), the Old Church Slavonic съто (sŭto) and the Old English hund (from which English, with an appended suffix, gained “hundred”. In Italian, the adjective novecentistico (feminine novecentistica, masculine plural novecentistici, feminine plural novecentistiche) is used generally of “twentieth century art” while “Novecento Italiano” was specifically of the movement (1922-1943) associated with Italian fascism.  However, “novecentistico” is sometimes used casually in the sense of “modern art”.  Novecento is a noun and novecentesco & novecentistico are adjectives.

Mussolini, Italian fascism and the Novecento Italiano 

In Italy and beyond, the curious coming to power in 1922 of Benito Mussolini (an event less dramatic than the Duce’s subsequent “March on Rome” propaganda would suggest) triggered many events (Adolf Hitler (1889-1945; Führer (leader) and German head of government 1933-1945 & head of state 1934-1945) always acknowledging the debt the Nazi state owed because "Mussolini was the one who showed us it could be done") and one of the more enduring footnotes of the epoch was the Novecento Italiano, opportunistically announced as having been “formed” in Milan in 1922 (although some “members” at the time appear not to have been aware they’d "joined".  What attracted the movement’s founders was the what Mussolini called “la visione fascista” (“the Fascist vision” and sometimes translated as “the Fascist platform” (la piattaforma fascista) although, as the years went by, most seemed to conclude Mussolini dealt more in concepts than plans (even the so-called "corporate state" was never really "corporatized").  The Duce had expressed his disgust at the decadence of the modern Italian people, believing they had been seduced by French ways into “elevating cooking to the status of high art”, declaring he would never allow Italy to descend to the level of France, a country ruined by “alcohol, syphilis and journalism”.  His vision extended also to reviving national vigour with “the beneficial hygiene of war”, something which worked only until his army was confronted by forces with more firepower than the brave but out-gunned (and out-gassed) Abyssinian (Ethiopian) tribesman.  Mussolini was harking back to the glories of the Roman Empire which has once stretched from “Hadrian’s Wall to the first cataract of the Nile, from Parthia to the Pillars of Hercules” and while so much of fascism was fake and bluster, the Duce genuinely was intoxicated at the notion he might be a “new Roman Emperor”.

Paesaggio urbano (Urban Landscape, circa 1924), oil on paper mounted on board by Mario Sironi.  Despite his latter day reputation, not all Sironi's representations of streets and buildings were gloomy, cold scenes but the ones now most popular seem to be; they must suit the twenty-first century zeitgeist.  Sironi was a devoted and leading Futurist and traces of that really never left his works; his most compelling technique was to exclude the human element from his urban scenes or deliberately have the figures dwarfed by the built environment.  The supremacy of the state over the individual was a core component of fascism and although as a motif it isn't apparent in all of the Novecento Italiano's output, it's a recurrent theme in Sironi's works. 

It was a vision which appealed to a certain sort of artist, one with a mind full of the grandeur of Italy's classical artistic heritage and the possibilities offered by science and the techniques of modernity, something seen as an authentic continuation of the works of Antiquity and the Renaissance whereas other threads in modern art, like the Futurism which had come to dominate avant-garde Italian art, were derided as “the work of skilled draftsmen”.  Futurism had also been disruptive and Italy had suffered more from the effects of World War I (1914-1918) that its status as a nominal victor might have been expected and like Mussolini, one of the Novecento Italiano’s key themes was a “return to order”, presumably the cultural analogue of “making the trains run on time”.  Again reflecting the post-Renaissance “construction” of a certain “idea” of the perfection of things in the ancient world, the movement sought a “return” to the Classical values of harmony, clarity, and stability.  They were pursuing a myth which remains to some persuasive, even today.

Lindsay Lohan as the Novecento Italiano might have depicted her: Lindsay (2019) by Sam McKinniss (b 1985), from a reference photograph taken 22 July 2012, leaving the Chateau Marmont, West Hollywood, Los Angeles.

The most obvious influence on the movement was a return to the imagery associated with Antiquity (albeit with many of the exemplars from later artists), with mythological or historical subjects, emphasizing form and balance, a deliberate rejection of the abstraction and dynamism of Cubism, Vorticism or Futurism.  Instead, a figurative and realist prevailed, an attempt deliberately to place the movement as the inheritor of Italy’s artistic heritage.  The movement was founded by a number of prominent figures but remains most associated with art collector, critic & journalist Margherita Sarfatti (1880–1961).  That focus is probably unfair to others but signora Sarfatti also wrote advertising copy for the Partito Nazionale Fascista (the PNF, the National Fascist Party) and perhaps more significantly, was also Mussolini’s mistress, a form of administrative horizontal integration not unfamiliar to the Duce.  Prominent members of the movement included Mario Sironi (1885-1961), known for his monumental and often sombre depictions of urban landscapes and political figures, Achille Funi (1890-1972) who focused on classical subjects with modern interpretations and Felice Casorati (1883-1963), in many ways the most interesting of the movement because few were more accomplished in the technique of fusing elements of modernism with a sharp focus on form and structure; the (not always complimentary) phrase “technical ecstasy” might have been invented to critique his output.  The most comprehensive collection of the movement’s works is displayed in Rome’s La Galleria Nazionale d’Arte Moderna e Contemporanea (National Gallery of Modern and Contemporary Art).

Donna al caffè (Woman in the Café, 1931), oil on canvas by Antonio Donghi (1897-1963). The subject matter (a lone woman at a café table) was familiar in European art but the artists of the Novecento Italiano anticipated the later technique of "photographic clarity", achieved with the air of stillness, reminiscent of the precision with which Renaissance portraits were staged though without their sumptuous detailing.  As well as the movement's focus on clarity, order, and balance, there was a new interest in depicting "ordinary" urban citizens in scenes of a detached, almost serene realism.  In the work of the Novecento Italiano, woman tended to be represented as what the fascist state would have liked their citizens to be.

The comparisons with “Nazi art” are sometimes made but because art was a topic of little interest to Mussolini (who preferred the Autostrada (the world’s first motorways (freeways)), tanks and battleships, never in Italy as there anything so so dictatorial and the funding was spread to ensure the widest support for the regime.  That was a contrast with Hitler who to his dying day never ceased to think of himself as “an artist” and assumed the role of the Third Reich’s chief critic and censor, meaning there was a recognizably political theme to the art of the period.  Interestingly, while artists in the Reich increasingly “worked towards the Führer” and dutifully churned out what they knew would be “regime approved”, more than one memoir from his contemporaries recorded how little interest he took in them, responding with delight only to stuff like landscapes or portraiture he thought works of genuine beauty.  Really, there were probably fewer than a couple of dozen “Nazi” paintings or sculptures; it was just that hundreds of artists produced them thousands of times.

Dafne (1934), oil on plywood by Felice Casorati.  Casorati’s work often featured mythological subjects but, unlike many, he surrounded them with simplified forms, drawing attention to his sense of focus, precise structure and clarity.  Here, Daphne (in Greek mythology transformed into a laurel, the tree sacred to Apollo), is rendered in a figurative, geometric style with flat, muted colors, the work, while obviously modernist, owing a debt to classical traditions, Mannerism and hinting even at the Italian Primitives.

So the movement was neither monolithic nor “political” in the way things were done in the Third Reich and certainly nothing like the even more severe regime which prevailed in comrade Stalin’s (1878-1953; Soviet leader 1924-1953) Soviet Union but it was supported to some extent by the Fascist state and while that association proved helpful, even before the tide of World War II (1939-1945) turned against Italy, as early as the mid-1930s the historic moment of Novecento Italiano had already passed as the world responded to the latest “shock of the new”, the language of surrealism and other adventures in abstraction capturing the imagination.  When in 1943 Italian Fascism “burst like a bubble” and Mussolini was removed from power, the movement was dissolved.  However, artistically, the legacy was real in that it did foster a dialogue between modernism and tradition in European art and ensured the Italian state during the inter-war years became involved in the commissioning of monumental and representational public art, beginning a tradition which continues to this day.