Frango

Frango (pronounced fran-goh)

(1) A young chicken (rare in English and in Portuguese, literally “chicken”).

(2) Various chicken dishes (an un-adapted borrowing from the Portuguese).

(3) In football (soccer) (1) a goal resulting from a goalkeeper’s error and (2) the unfortunate goalkeeper.

(4) The trade name of a chocolate truffle, now sold in Macy's department stores. 

In English, “frango” is most used in the Portuguese sense of “chicken” (variously “a young chicken”, “chicken meat”, “chicken disk” etc) and was from the earlier Portuguese frângão of unknown origin.  In colloquial figurative use, a frango can be “a young boy” and presumably that’s an allusion to the use referring to “a young chicken”.  In football (soccer), it’s used (sometimes trans-nationally) of a goal resulting from an especially egregious mistake by the goalkeeper (often described in English by the more generalized “howler”.  In Brazil, where football teams are quasi-religious institutions, such a frango (also as frangueiro) is personalized to describe the goalkeeper who made the error and on-field blunders are not without lethal consequence in South America, the Colombian centre-back Andrés Escobar (1967–1994) murdered in the days after the 1994 FIFA World Cup, an event reported as a retribution for him having scored the own goal which contributed to Colombia's elimination from the tournament. Frango is a noun; the noun plural is frangos.

The Classical Latin verb frangō (to break, to shatter) (present infinitive frangere, perfect active frēgī, supine frāctum) which may have been from the primitive Indo-European bhreg- (to break) by not all etymologists agree because descendants have never been detected in Celtic or Germanic forks, thus the possibility it might be an organic Latin creation.  The synonyms were īnfringō, irrumpō, rumpō & violō.  As well as memorable art, architecture and learning, Ancient Rome was a world also of violence and conflict and there was much breaking of stuff, the us the figurative use of various forms of frangō to convey the idea of (1) to break, shatter (a promise, a treaty, someone's ideas (dreams, projects), someone's spirit), (2) to break up into pieces (a war from too many battles, a nation) and (3) to reduce, weaken (one's desires, a nation).

A frangō in the sense of the Classical Latin: Lindsay Lohan with broken left wrist (fractured in two places in an unfortunate fall at Milk Studios during New York Fashion Week) and 355 ml (12 fluid oz) can of Rehab energy drink, Los Angeles, September 2006.  The car is a 2006 Mercedes-Benz SL 65 AMG (R230; 2004-2011) which would later feature in the tabloids after a low-speed crash.  The R230 range (2001-2011) was unusual because of the quirk of the SL 550 (2006-2011), a designation used exclusively in the North American market, the RoW (rest of the world) cars retaining the SL 500 badge even though both used the 5.5 litre (333 cubic inch) V8 (M273).

The descendents from the Classical Latin frangō (to break, to shatter) included the Aromanian frãngu (to break, to destroy; to defeat), the Asturian frañer (to break; to smash) & francer (to smash), the English fract (to break; to violate (long obsolete)) & fracture ((1) an instance of breaking, a place where something has broken. (2) in medicine a break in a bone or cartilage and (3) in geology a fault or crack in a rock), the Friulian franzi (to break), the German Fraktur ((1) in medicine, a break in a bone & (2) a typeface) & Fraktion (2) in politics, a faction, a parliamentary grouping, (3) in chemistry, a fraction (in the sense of a component of a mixture), (4) a fraction (part of a whole) and (5) in the German-speaking populations of Switzerland, South Tyrol & Liechtenstein, a hamlet (adapted from the Italian frazione)), the Italian: frangere (1) to break (into pieces), (2) to press or crush (olives), (3) in figurative use and as a literary device, to transgress (a commandment, a convention of behavior etc), (4) in figurative use to weaken (someone's resistance, etc.) and (5) to break (of the sea) (archaic)), the Ladin franjer (to break into pieces), the Old Franco provençal fraindre (to break; significantly to damage), the Old & Middle French fraindre (significantly to damage), the Portuguese franzir (to frown (to form wrinkles in forehead)), the Romanian frânge (1) to break, smash, fracture & (2) in figurative use, to defeat) and frângere (breaking), the Old Spanish to break), and the Spanish frangir (to split; to divide).

Portuguese lasanha de frango (chicken lasagna).

In Portuguese restaurants, often heard is the phrase de vaca ou de frango? (beef or chicken?) and that’s because so many dishes offer the choice, much the same as in most of the world (though obviously not India).  In fast-food outlets, the standard verbal shorthand for “fried chicken” is “FF” which turns out to be one of the world’s most common two letter abbreviations, the reason being one “F” representing of English’s most unadapted linguistic exports.  One mystery for foreigners sampling Portuguese cuisine is: Why is chicken “frango” but chicken soup is “sopa de galinha?”  That’s because frango is used to mean “a young male chicken” while a galinha is an adult female.  Because galinha meat doesn’t possess the same tender quality as that of a frango, (the females bred and retained mostly for egg production), slaughtered galinhas traditionally were minced or shredded and used for dishes such as soups, thus: sopa de galinha (also as canja de galinha or the clipped caldo and in modern use, although rare, sopa de frango is not unknown).  That has changed as modern techniques of industrial farming have resulted in a vastly expanded supply of frango meat so, by volume, most sopa de galinha is now made using frangos (the birds killed young, typically between 3-4 months).  Frangos have white, drier, softer meat while that of the galinha is darker, less tender and juicer and the difference does attract chefs in who do sometimes offer a true sopa de galinha as a kind of “authentic peasant cuisine”.

There are also pintos (pintinhos in the diminutive) which are chicks only a few days old but these are no longer a part of mainstream Portuguese cuisine although galetos (chicks killed between at 3-4 weeks) are something of a delicacy, usually roasted.  The reproductive males (cocks or roosters in English use) are galos.  There is no tradition, anywhere in Europe, of eating the boiled, late-developing fertilized eggs (ie a bird in the early stages of development), a popular dish in the Philippines and one which seems to attract virulent disapprobation from many which culturally is interesting because often, the same critics happily will consume both the eggs and the birds yet express revulsion at even the sight of the intermediate stage.  Such attitudes are cultural constructs and may be anthropomorphic because there’s some resemblance to a human foetus.

Lindsay Lohan at Macy's and Teen People's Freaky Friday Mother/Daughter Fashion Show, Macy's Herald Square, New York City, August 2003.  It's hoped she had time for a Frango.

 Now sold in Macy’s Frangos are a chocolate truffle created in 1918 for sale in Frederick & Nelson department stores.  Although originally infused with mint, many variations ensued and they became popular when made available in the Marshall Field department stores which in 1929 acquired Frederick & Nelson although it’s probably their distribution by Macy's which remains best known.  Marshall Field's marketing sense was sound and they turned the Frango into something of a cult, producing them in large melting pots on the 13th floor of the flagship Marshall Field's store on State Street until 1999 when production was out-sourced to a third party manufacturer in Pennsylvania.  In the way of modern corporate life, the Frango has had many owners, a few changes in production method and packaging and some appearances in court cases over rights to the thing but it remains a fixture on Macy’s price lists, the trouble history reflected in the “Pacific Northwest version” being sold in Macy's Northwest locations in Washington, Idaho, Montana and Oregon while the “Seattle version” is available in Macy's Northwest establishments.  There are differences between the two and each has its champions but doubtless there are those who relish both.

A patent application (with a supporting trademark document) for the Frango was filed in 1918, the name a re-purposing of a frozen dessert sold in the up-market tea-room at Frederick & Nelson's department store in Seattle, Washington.  The surviving records suggest the “Seattle Frangos” were flavoured not with mint but with maple and orange but what remains uncertain is the origin of the name.  One theory is the construct was Fr(ederick’s) + (t)ango which is romantic but there are also reports employees were told, if asked, to respond it was from Fr(ederick) –an(d) Nelson Co(mpany) with the “c” switched to a “g” because the word “Franco” had a long established meaning.  Franco was a word-forming element meaning “French” or “the Franks”, from the Medieval Latin combining form Franci (the Franks), thus, by extension, “the French”.  Since the early eighteenth century it had been used when forming English phrases & compound words including “Franco-Spanish border” (national boundary between France & Spain), Francophile (characterized by excessive fondness of France and all things French (and thus its antonym Francophobe)) and Francophone (French speaking).

Hitler and Franco, photographed at their day-long meeting at Hendaye, on the Franco-Spanish border, 23 October 1940.  Within half a decade, Hitler would kill himself; still ruling Spain, Franco died peacefully in his bed, 35 years later.

Remarkably, the Frango truffles have been a part of two political controversies.  The first was a bit of a conspiracy theory, claiming the sweet treats were originally called “Franco Mints”, the name changed only after the outbreak of the Spanish Civil War (1936-1939) in which the (notionally right-wing and ultimately victorious) Nationalist forces were led by Generalissimo Francisco Franco (1892-1975; Caudillo of Spain 1939-1975) and the explanation was that Marshall Field wanted to avoid adverse publicity.  Some tellings of the tale claim the change was made only after the Generalissimo’s meeting with Adolf Hitler (1889-1945; Führer (leader) and German head of government 1933-1945 & head of state 1934-1945) at Hendaye (on the Franco-Spanish border) on 23 October 1940.  Their discussions concerned Spain's participation in the War against the British but it proved most unsatisfactory for the Germans, the Führer declaring as he left that he'd rather have "three of four teeth pulled out" than have to again spend a day meet with the Caudillo.  Unlike Hitler, Franco was a professional soldier, thought war a hateful business best avoided and, more significantly, had a shrewd understanding of the military potential of the British Empire and the implications for the war of the wealth and industrial might of the United States.  The British were fortunate Franco took the view he did because had he agreed to afford the Wehrmacht (the German armed forces) the requested cooperation to enable them to seize control of Gibraltar, the Royal Navy might have lost control of the Mediterranean, endangering the vital supplies of oil from the Middle East, complicating passage to the Indian Ocean and beyond and transforming the strategic position in the whole hemisphere.  However, in the archives is the patent application form for “Frangos” dated 1 June 1918 and there has never been any evidence to support the notion “Franco” was ever used for the chocolate truffles.

Macy's Dark Mint Frangos.

The other political stoush (a late nineteenth century Antipodean slang meaning a "fight or small-scale brawl) came in 1999 when, after seventy years, production of Frangos was shifted from the famous melting pots on the thirteenth floor of Marshall Field's flagship State Street store to Gertrude Hawk Chocolates in Dunmore, Pennsylvania, the decision taken by the accountants at the Dayton-Hudson Corporation which had assumed control in 1990.  The rationale of this was logical, demand for Frangos having grown far beyond the capacity of the relatively small space in State Street to meet demand but it upset many locals, the populist response led Richard Daley (b 1942; mayor (Democratic Party) of Chicago Illinois 1989-2011), the son of his namesake father (1902–1976; mayor (Democratic Party) of Chicago, Illinois 1955-1976) who in 1968 simultaneously achieved national infamy and national celebrity (one’s politics dictating how one felt) in his handling of the police response to the violence which beset the 1968 Democratic National Convention held that year in the city.  The campaign to have the Frangos made instead by a Chicago-based chocolate house was briefly a thing but was ignored by Dayton-Hudson and predictably, whatever the lingering nostalgia for the melting pots, the pragmatic Mid-Westerners adjusted to the new reality and with much the same with the same enthusiasm were soon buying the imports from Pennsylvania.

Macy's Frango Mint Trios.

Remarkably, there appears to be a “Frango spot market”.  Although the increasing capacity of AI (artificial intelligence) has made the mechanics of “dynamic pricing” (a price responding in real-time to movements in demand), as long ago as the Christmas season in 2014, CBS News ran what they called the “Macy's State Street Store Frango Mint Price Tracker”, finding the truffle’s price was subject to fluctuations as varied over the holiday period as movements in the cost of gas (petrol).  On the evening of Thanksgiving, “early bird” shoppers could buy a 1 lb one-pound box of Frango mint “Meltaways” for US$11.99, the price jumping by the second week in December to US$14.99 although that still represented quite a nominal discount from the RRP (recommended retail price) of US$24.00.  Within days, the same box was again listed at US$11.99 and a survey of advertising from the previous season confirmed that in the weeks immediately after Christmas, the price had fallen to US$9.99.  It may be time for the Chicago Mercantile Exchange (CME) to open a market for Frango Futures (the latest “FF”!).

Taciturn

Taciturn (pronounced tas-i-turn)

(1) Inclined to silence; reserved in speech; reluctant to join in conversation.

(2) Dour, stern, reticent, quiet and silent in expression and manner.

1765-1775: A back formation from from taciturnity (a tendency habitually to be silent; reserved in speech) or from the fifteenth century French taciturne, from the Latin taciturnus (not talkative; noiseless, quiet, maintaining silence), from tacitus (silent) & tacēre (to be silent).  The Modern French form is taciturne (feminine taciturna, masculine plural taciturns, feminine plural taciturnes).  Taciturn is an adjective, taciturnity is a noun and taciturnly is an adverb; the noun plural is taciturnities.

Silent Cal

Not all US presidents have been as voluble as Donald Trump (b 1946; US president 2017-2021): Calvin Coolidge (1872-1933; US president 1923-1929) was famously taciturn and widely known as silent Cal.  When news of his death was announced, Dorothy Parker (1893-1967) is said to have remarked, "How can they tell?"  Still, when he did speak, what he said could be pithy.  Having unexpectedly been chosen by the Republican National Convention as Warren Harding's (1865–1923; US president 1921-1923) running mate in 1920, he assumed the presidency upon Harding death and in 1924 declined to nominate his own running mate, again leaving it to the convention on that basis that in 1920 they'd "...picked a durned good man".  At one dinner he was seated next to a woman who told him she'd made a bet with her friend who'd told her she'd not be able to get more than two words from him  He answered: "You lose" and returned to his soup.

Silent Cal, silent (left) and listening (right).  The White House was an early adopter of the telephone, the first device installed in the telegraph room in 1877 during the administration of Rutherford Hayes (1822–1893; US president 1877-1881).  The handset was moved to the Oval Office during his presidency.

Lindsay Lohan and her lawyer in court, Los Angeles, December, 2011.

There is some some support for Silent Cal's approach; in politics, it’s been observed more men talked themselves into trouble than ever talked their way out.  Perhaps the exemplar was a certain Mr WM Jack, the member for North Sydney in the Australian parliament between 1949-1966.  A rarity among talkative politicians, during his long and undistinguished career he became known as “the silent one”, in seventeen years delivering five speeches, one of which was “I move that the motion be put”.  It’s not known if William Shakespeare's (1564–1616) Polonius (from Hamlet (circa 1600)) was in his mind when he began his penultimate address to the house with the words “I can remain silent no longer”.  His constituents rewarded his taciturnity: he retired undefeated having increased his majority on most of the six occasions he sought re-election and in gratitude, in the New Year Honours List (1968) he was appointed an Officer of the Order of the British Empire (OBE) for services to the parliament and the community.  Of course, if one has no need to seek votes, one may with few restraints tend to the loquacious.  Fidel Castro (1926–2016; leader of Cuba 1959-2011) delivered infamously long speeches, his address to the 872nd plenary meeting of the General Assembly of the United Nations (UN) on 26 September 1960 lasting 4 hours & 29 minutes, a record which still stands.  Given the United Nations (UN) General Assembly vies with the European Parliament for the title of the world’s most pointless deliberative body, it’s not impossible the record will one day be broken.

Monocoque

Monocoque (pronounced mon-uh-kohk or mon-oh-kok (non-U))

(1) A type of boat, aircraft, or rocket construction in which the shell carries most of the stresses.

(2) A type of automotive construction in which the body is combined with the chassis as a single unit.

(3) A unit of this type.

1911: From the French monocoque (best translated as “single shell” or “single hull” depending on application), the construct being mono- + coque.  Mono was from the Ancient Greek μόνος (monos) (alone, only, sole, single), from the primitive Indo-European root men (small, isolated).  Coque was from the Old French coque (shell) & concha (conch, shell), from the Latin coccum (berry) and concha (conch, shell) from the Ancient Greek κόκκος (kókkos) (grain, seed, berry).  In the early twentieth century, it was the French who were most dominant in the development of aviation.  Words like “monocoque”, “aileron”, “fuselage” and “empennage” are of French origin and endure in English because it’s a vacuum-cleaner of a language which sucks in anything from anywhere which is handy and manageable.  Monocoque is a noun; the noun plural is monocoques.

Noted monocoques

Deperdussin Monocoque, 1912.

A monocoque (sometime referred to as structural skin) is a form of structural engineering where loads and stresses are distributed through an object's external skin rather than a frame; concept is most analogous with an egg shell. Early airplanes were built using wood or steel tubes covered with starched fabric, the fabric rendering contributing only a small part to rigidity.  A monocoque construction integrates skin and frame into a single load-bearing shell, reducing weight and adding strength.  Although examples flew as early as 1911, airframes built as aluminium-alloy monocoques would not become common until the mid 1930s.  In a pure design where only function matters, almost anything can be made a stressed component, even engine blocks and windscreens.

Lotus 25, 1962.

In automotive design, the word monocoque is often misused, treated as a descriptor for anything built without a separate chassis.  In fact, most road vehicles, apart from a handful of expensive exotics, are built either with a separate chassis (trucks and some SUVs) or are of unibody/unitary construction where box sections, bulkheads and tubes to provide most of the structural integrity, the outer-skin adding little or no strength or stiffness.  Monocoque construction was first seen in Formula one in 1962, rendered always in aluminium alloys until 1981 when McLaren adopted carbon-fibre.  A year later, the McLaren F1 followed the same principles, becoming the first road car built as a carbon-fibre monocoque.

BRM P83 (H16), 1966.

In 1966, there was nothing revolutionary about the BRM P83’s monocoque chassis.  Four years earlier, in the second season of the voiturette era, that revolution had been triggered by the Lotus 25, built with the first fully stressed monocoque chassis, an epoch still unfolding as materials engineering evolves; the carbon-fibre monocoques seen first in the 1981 McLaren MP4/1 becoming soon ubiquitous.  The P83 used a monocoque made from riveted Duralumin (the word a portmanteau of durable and aluminium), an orthodox construction for the time.  Additionally, although it had been done before and would soon become an orthodoxy, what was unusual was that the engine was a stressed part of the monocoque.

BRM Type 15 (V16), 1949.

The innovation was born of necessity.  Not discouraged by the glorious failure of the extraordinary V16 BRM had built (with much much fanfare and precious little success) shortly after the war, the decision was taken again to join together two V8s in one sixteen cylinder unit.  Whereas in 1949, the V8s had been coupled at the centre to create a V16, for 1966, the engines were re-cast as 180^o flat 8s with one mounted atop another in an H configuration, a two-crankshaft arrangement not seen since the big Napier-Sabre H24 aero-engines used in the last days of the war.  The design yielded the advantage that it was short, affording designers some flexibility in lineal placement, but little else.  It was heavy and tall, exacerbating further the high centre of gravity already created by the need to raise the engine location so the lower exhaust systems would clear the ground.  Just as significantly, it was wide, too wide to fit into a monocoque socket and thus was taken the decision to make the engine an integral, load-bearing element of the chassis.  There was no other choice.

BRM H16 engine and gearbox, 1966.

 

Structurally, it worked, the monocoque was strong and stable and despite the weight and height, the P83 might have worked if the H16 had delivered the promised horsepower but the numbers were never realised.  The early power output was higher than the opposition but it wasn’t enough to compensate for the drawbacks inherent in the design and, these being so fundamental they couldn’t be corrected, the only hope was even more power.  The path to power was followed and modest increases were gained but it was never enough and time ran out before the plan to go from 32 to 64 valves could come to fruition, an endeavour some suggested would merely have “compounded the existing error on an even grander scale.”  Additionally, with every increase in power and weight, the already high fuel consumption worsened.

The H16 did win one grand prix, albeit in a Lotus rather than a BRM monocoque, but that was a rare success; of the forty times it started a race, twenty-seven ended prematurely.  The irony of the tale is that in the two seasons BRM ran the 440 horsepower H16 with its sixteen cylinders, two crankshafts, eight camshafts and thirty-two valves, the championship in both years was won by the Repco-Brabham, its engine with 320 horsepower, eight cylinders, one crankshaft, two camshafts and sixteen valves.  Adding insult to the exquisitely bespoke H16’s injury, the Repco engine was based on an old Oldsmobile block which General Motors had abandoned.  After two seasons the H16 venture was retired, replaced by a conventional V12.

The Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren

Mercedes-Benz McLaren SLR Coupé (left), Roadster (centre) and Speedster (right).

The monocoque Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren (C199 / R199 / Z199) was a joint development with McLaren Automotive and was available as a coupé (2003-2010), roadster (2007-2009) & speedster (2009).  Visually, the car was something of an evocation of the 300 SLR gullwing coupé, two of which were built in 1955 for use in competition but never used, one of the consequences of the disaster that year during the Le Mans 24 hour endurance classic when a 300 SLR crashed into the crowd, killing 84 and injuring dozens of others.  Footage of that event is widely available and to a modern audience it will seem extraordinary the race was allowed to continue.

Lindsay Lohan, Britney Spears and Paris Hilton in Ms Hilton's Mercedes-Benz McLaren SLR, outside the Beverley Hills Hotel, Los Angeles.  This was the occasion which produced the photograph which appeared on the infamous “Bimbo Summit” front page of Rupert Murdoch’s (b 1931) New York Post, 29 November 2006.

The 300 SLR (Sport Leicht Rennsport (Sport Light Racing)) which crashed was an open version and the model name was a little opportunistic because it was essentially the W196R Formula One car with a 3.0 litre straight-8 (the F1 rules demanded a 2.5) so the SLR, built to contest the World Sports Car Championship, was technically the W196S; it became the 300 SLR to cross-associate it and the 300 SL gullwing (W198, 1954-1957).  Nine were built, two of which were converted to SLR gullwings and, although never raced, they came to be dubbed the “Uhlenhaut coupés” because they were co-opted by racing team manager Rudolf Uhlenhaut (1906–1989) as high-speed personal transport, tales of his rapid trips between German cities soon the stuff of legend and even if a few myths developed, the cars could exceed 290 km/h (180 mph) so some at least were probably true.  That what was essentially a Grand Prix race car with a body and headlights could be registered for road use is as illustrative as safety standards at Le Mans of how different was the world of the 1950s.  In 2022, one of the Uhlenhaut coupés was sold at auction to an unknown buyer (presumed to be Middle Eastern) for US$142 million, becoming by some margin the world’s most expensive used car.

As a footnote (one to be noted only by the subset of word nerds who delight in the details of nomenclature), for decades, it was said by many, even normally reliable sources, that SL stood for sports Sports Leicht (sports light) and the history of the Mercedes-Benz alphabet soup was such that it could have gone either way (the SSKL (1929) was the Super Sports Kurz (short) Leicht (light) and from the 1950s on, for the SL, even the factory variously used Sports Leicht and Super Leicht.  It was only in 2017 it published a 1952 paper (unearthed from the corporate archive) confirming the correct abbreviation is Super Leicht.  Sports Leicht Rennsport (Sport Light Racing) seems to be used for the the SLRs because they were built as pure race cars, the W198 and later SLs being road cars but there are references also to Super Leicht Rennsport.  By implication, that would suggest the original 300SL (the 1951 W194) should have been a Sport Leicht because it was built only for competition but given the relevant document dates from 1952, it must have been a reference to the W194 which is thus also a Sport Leicht.  Further to muddy the waters, in 1957 the factory prepared two lightweight cars based on the new 300 SL Roadster (1957-1963) for use in US road racing and these were (at the time) designated 300 SLS (Sports Leicht Sport), the occasional reference (in translation) as "Sports Light Special" not supported by any evidence.  The best quirk of the SLS tale however is the machine which inspired the model was a one-off race-car built by Californian coachbuilder ("body-man" in the vernacular of the West Coast hot rod community) Chuck Porter (1915-1982).  Porter's SLS was built on the space-fame of a wrecked 300 SL gullwing (purchased for a reputed US$500) and followed the lines of the 300 SLR roadsters as closely as the W198 frame (taller than that of the W196S) allowed.  Although it was never an "official" designation, Porter referred to his creation as SL-S, the appended "S" standing for "scrap".      

The SLR and its antecedents.

A Uhlenhaut coupé and a 300 SLR of course appeared for the photo sessions when in 2003 the factory staged the official release of the SLR McLaren and to may explicit the link with the past, the phrase “gullwing doors” appeared in the press kit documents no less than seven times.  Presumably, journalists got the message but they weren’t fooled and the doors have always, correctly, been called “butterflies”.  Unlike the machines of the 1950s which were built with an aluminium skin atop a space-frame, the twenty-first century SLRs were a monocoque (engineers say the sometimes heard “monocoque shell” is tautological) of reinforced carbon fibre.  Although the dynamic qualities were acknowledged and it was, by all but the measure of hyper-cars, very fast indeed, the reception it has enjoyed has always been strangely muted, testers seeming to find the thing rather “soulless”.  That seemed to imply a lack of “character” which really seems to suggest an absence of obvious flaws, the quirks and idiosyncrasies which can at once enrage and endear.

The nature of monocoque.

The monocoque construction offered one obvious advantage in that the inherent stiffness was such that the creation of the roadster version required few modifications, the integrity of the structure such that not even the absence of a roof compromised things.  Notably, the butterfly doors were able to be hinged along the windscreen (A) pillars, such was the rigidity offered by carbon fibre, a material for which the monocoque may have been invented.  McLaren would later use a variation of this idea when it released the McLaren MP4-12C (2011-2014), omitting the top hinge which allowed the use of frameless windows even on the roadster (spider) version.

The SLR Speedster (right) was named the Stirling Moss edition and was a homage to the 300 SLR (left) which in the hands of Sir Stirling Moss (1929–2020) and navigator Denis Jenkinson (1920–1996), won the 1955 Mille Miglia (an event run on public roads in Italy over a distance of 1597 km (992 miles)) at an average speed of 157.65 km/h (97.96 mph).

However, the minimalist (though very expensive) Speedster had never been envisaged when the monocoque was designed and to ensure structural integrity, changes had to be made to strengthen what would have become points of potential failure, the removal of the windscreen fame and assembly having previously contributed much to rigidity.  Door sills were raised (recalling the space frame which in 1951 had necessitated the adoption of the original gullwing doors on the first 300 SL (W194)) and cross-members were added across the cockpit, integrated with a pair of rollover protection bars.  Designed for speed, the Speedster eschewed niceties such as air-conditioning, an audio system, side windows and sound insulation; this was not a car for Paris Hilton.  All told, despite the additional bracing, the Speedster weighed 140 kg (310 lb) less than the coupé while the supercharged 5.5 litre V8 was carried over from the earlier 722 edition but the reduction in frontal area added a little to top speed, now claimed to be 350 km/h (217 mph) although the factory did caution that above 160 km/h (100 mph), the dainty wind deflectors would no longer contain the wind and a crash helmet would be required so even if the lack of air-conditioning might have been overlooked, that alone would have been enough for Paris Hilton to cross the Speedster off her list; she wouldn't want "helmet hair".  Only 75 were built, none apparently ever driven, all spending their time on display or the auction block, exchanged between collectors.

Ultracrepidarian

Ultracrepidarian (pronounced uhl-truh-krep-i-dair-ee-uhn)

Of or pertaining to a person who criticizes, judges, or gives advice outside their area of expertise

1819: An English adaptation of the historic words sūtor, ne ultra crepidam, uttered by the Greek artist Apelles and reported by the Pliny the Elder.  Translating literally as “let the shoemaker venture no further” and sometimes cited as ne supra crepidam sūtor judicare, the translation something like “a cobbler should stick to shoes”.  From the Latin, ultra is beyond, sūtor is cobbler and crepidam is accusative singular of crepida (from the Ancient Greek κρηπίς (krēpís)) and means sandal or sole of a shoe.  Ultracrepidarian is a noun & verb and ultracrepidarianism is a noun; the noun plural is ultracrepidarians.  For humorous purposes, forms such as ultracrepidarist, ultracrepidarianish, ultracrepidarianize & ultracrepidarianesque have been coined; all are non-standard.

Ultracrepidarianism describes the tendency among some to offer opinions and advice on matters beyond their competence.  The word entered English in 1819 when used by English literary critic and self-described “good hater”, William Hazlitt (1778–1830), in an open letter to William Gifford (1756–1826), editor of the Quarterly Review, a letter described by one critic as “one of the finest works of invective in the language” although another suggested it was "one of his more moderate castigations" a hint that though now neglected, for students of especially waspish invective, he can be entertaining.  The odd quote from him would certainly lend a varnish of erudition to trolling.  Ultracrepidarian comes from a classical allusion, Pliny the Elder (circa 24-79) recording the habit of the famous Greek painter Apelles (a fourth century BC contemporary of Alexander the Great (Alexander III of Macedon, 356-323 BC)), to display his work in public view, then conceal himself close by to listen to the comments of those passing.  One day, a cobbler paused and picked fault with Apelles’ rendering of shoes and the artist immediately took his brushes and pallet and touched-up the sandal’s errant straps.  Encouraged, the amateur critic then let his eye wander above the ankle and suggested how the leg might be improved but this Apelles rejected, telling him to speak only of shoes and otherwise maintain a deferential silence.  Pliny hinted the artist's words of dismissal may not have been polite.

So critics should comment only on that about which they know.  The phrase in English is usually “cobbler, stick to your last” (a last a shoemaker’s pattern, ultimately from a Germanic root meaning “to follow a track'' hence footstep) and exists in many European languages: zapatero a tus zapatos is the Spanish, schoenmaker, blijf bij je leest the Dutch, skomager, bliv ved din læst the Danish and schuster, bleib bei deinen leisten, the German.  Pliny’s actual words were ne supra crepidam judicaret, (crepidam a sandal or the sole of a shoe), but the idea is conveyed is in several ways in Latin tags, such as Ne sutor ultra crepidam (sutor means “cobbler”, a word which survives in Scotland in the spelling souter).  The best-known version is the abbreviated tag ultra crepidam (beyond the sole), and it’s that which Hazlitt used to construct ultracrepidarian.  Crepidam is from the Ancient Greek κρηπίς (krēpís) and has no link with words like decrepit or crepitation (which are from the Classical Latin crepare (to creak, rattle, or make a noise)) or crepuscular (from the Latin word for twilight); crepidarian is an adjective rare perhaps to the point of extinction meaning “pertaining to a shoemaker”.

The related terms are "Nobel disease" & "Nobel syndrome" which are used to describe some of the opinions offered by Nobel laureates on subjects beyond their specialization.  In some cases this is "demand" rather than "supply" driven because, once a prize winner is added to a media outlet's "list of those who comment on X", they are sometimes asked questions about matters of which they know little.  This happens because some laureates in the three "hard" prizes (physics, chemistry, physiology or medicine) operate in esoteric corners of their discipline; asking a particle physicist something about plasma physics on the basis of their having won the physics prize may not elicit useful information.  Of course those who have won the economics or one of what are now the DEI (diversity, equity and inclusion) prizes (peace & literature) may be assumed to have helpful opinions on everything.

Jackson Pollock (1912-1956): Blue Poles

In 1973, when a million dollars was a still lot of money, the National Gallery of Australia, a little controversially, paid Aus$1.3 million for Jackson Pollock’s (1912-1956) Number 11, 1952, popularly known as Blue Poles since it was first exhibited in 1954, the new name reputedly chosen by the artist.  It was some years ago said to be valued at up to US$100 million but, given the increase in the money supply (among the rich who trade this stuff) over the last two decades odd, that estimate may now be conservative and some have suggested as much as US$400 million might be at least the ambit claim.

Number 11 (Blue poles, 1952), Oil, enamel and aluminum paint with glass on canvas.

Blue Poles emerged during Pollock’s "drip period" (1947-1950), a method which involved techniques such throwing paint at a canvas spread across the floor.  The art industry liked these (often preferring the more evocative term "action painting") and they remain his most popular works, although at this point, he abandoned the dripping and moved to his “black porings phase” a darker, simpler style which didn’t attract the same commercial interest.  He later returned to more colorful ways but his madness and alcoholism worsened; he died in a drink-driving accident.

Alchemy (1947), Oil, aluminum, alkyd enamel paint with sand, pebbles, fibers, and broken wooden sticks on canvas.

Although the general public remained uninterested (except by the price tags) or sceptical, there were critics, always drawn to a “troubled genius”, who praised Pollock’s work and the industry approves of any artist who (1) had the decency to die young and (2) produced stuff which can sell for millions.  US historian of art, curator & author Helen A Harrison (b 1943; director (1990-2024) of the Pollock-Krasner House and Study Center, the former home and studio of the Abstract Expressionist artists Jackson Pollock and Lee Krasner in East Hampton, New York) is an admirer, noting the “pioneering drip technique…” which “…introduced the notion of action painting", where the canvas became the space with which the artist actively would engage”.  As a thumbnail sketch she offered:

Number 14: Gray (1948), Enamel over gesso on paper.

“Reminiscent of the Surrealist notions of the subconscious and automatic painting, Pollock's abstract works cemented his reputation as the most critically championed proponent of Abstract Expressionism. His visceral engagement with emotions, thoughts and other intangibles gives his abstract imagery extraordinary immediacy, while his skillful use of fluid pigment, applied with dance-like movements and sweeping gestures that seldom actually touched the surface, broke decisively with tradition. At first sight, Pollock's vigorous method appears to create chaotic labyrinths, but upon close inspection his strong rhythmic structures become evident, revealing a fascinating complexity and deeper significance.  Far from being calculated to shock, Pollock's liquid medium was crucial to his pictorial aims.  It proved the ideal vehicle for the mercurial content that he sought to communicate 'energy and motion made visible - memories arrested in space'.”

Number 13A: Arabesque (1948), Oil and enamel on canvas.

Critics either less visionary or more fastidious seemed often as appalled by Pollock’s violence of technique as they were by the finished work (or “products” as some labelled the drip paintings), questioning whether any artistic skill or vision even existed, one finding them “…mere unorganized explosions of random energy, and therefore meaningless.”  The detractors used the language of academic criticism but meant the same thing as the frequent phrase of an unimpressed public: “That’s not art, anyone could do that.”

Number 1, 1949 (1949), Enamel and metallic paint on canvas. 

There have been famous responses to that but Ms Harrison's was practical, offering people the opportunity to try.  To the view that “…people thought it was arbitrary, that anyone can fling paint around”, Ms Harrison conceded it was true anybody could “fling paint around” but that was her point, anybody could, but having flung, they wouldn’t “…necessarily come up with anything.”  In 2010, she released The Jackson Pollock Box, a kit which, in addition to an introductory text, included paint brushes, drip bottles and canvases so people could do their own flinging and compare the result against a Pollock.  After that, they may agree with collector Peggy Guggenheim (1898-1979) that Pollock was “...the greatest painter since Picasso” or remain unrepentant ultracrepidarians.  Of course, many who thought their own eye for art quite well-trained didn't agree with Ms Guggenheim.  In 1945, just after the war, Duff Cooper (1890–1954), then serving as Britain's ambassador to France, came across Pablo Picasso (1881–1973) leaving an exhibition of paintings by English children aged 5-10 and in his diary noted the great cubist saying he "had been much impressed".  "No wonder" added the ambassador, "the pictures are just as good as his".   

Helen A Harrison, The Jackson Pollock Box (Cider Mill Press, 96pp, ISBN-10:1604331860, ISBN-13:978-1604331868).

Dresses & drips: Three photographs by Cecil Beaton (1904-1980), shot for a three-page feature in Vogue (March 1951) titled American Fashion: The New Soft Look which juxtaposed Pollock’s paintings hung in New York’s Betty Parsons Gallery with the season’s haute couture by Irene (1872-1951) & Henri Bendel (1868-1936).

Beaton choose the combinations of fashion and painting and probably pairing Lavender Mist (1950, left) with a short black ball gown of silk paper taffeta with large pink bow at one shoulder and an asymmetrical hooped skirt by Bendel best illustrates the value of his trained eye.  Critics and social commentators have always liked these three pages, relishing the opportunity to comment on the interplay of so many of the clashing forces of modernity: the avant-garde and fashion, production and consumption, abstraction and representation, painting and photography, autonomy and decoration, masculinity and femininity, art and commerce.  Historians of art note it too because it was the abstract expressionism of the 1940s which was both uniquely an American movement and the one which in the post-war years saw the New York supplant Paris as the centre of Western art.  There have been interesting discussions about when last it could be said Western art had a "centre".

Eye of the beholder: Portrait of Lindsay Lohan in the style of Claude Monet at craiyon.com and available at US$26 on an organic cotton T-shirt made in a factory powered by renewable energy.

Whether the arguments about what deserves to be called “art” began among prehistoric “artists” and their critics in caves long ago isn’t known but it’s certainly a dispute with a long history.  In the sense it’s a subjective judgment the matter was doubtless often resolved by a potential buyer declining to purchase but during the twentieth century it became a contested topic and there were celebrated exhibits and squabbles which for decades played out before, in the post modern age, the final answer appeared to be something was art if variously (1) the creator said it was or (2) an art critic said it was or (3) it was in an art gallery or (4) the price tag was sufficiently impressive.

So what constitutes “art” is a construct of time, place & context which evolves, shaped by historical, cultural, social, economic, political & personal influences, factors which in recent years have had to be cognizant of the rise of cultural equivalency, the recognition that Western concepts such as the distinction between “high” (or “fine”) art and “folk” (or “popular”) art can’t be applied to work from other traditions where cultural objects are not classified by a graduated hierarchy.  In other words, everybody’s definition is equally valid.  That doesn’t mean there are no longer gatekeepers because the curators in institutions such as museums, galleries & academies all discriminate and thus play a significant role in deciding what gets exhibited, studied & promoted, even though few would now dare to suggest what is art and what is not: that would be cultural imperialism.

In the twentieth century it seemed to depend on artistic intent, something which transcended a traditional measure such as aesthetic value but as the graphic art in advertising and that with a political purpose such as agitprop became bigger, brighter and more intrusive, such forms also came to be regarded as art or at least worth of being studied or exhibited on the same basis, in the same spaces as oil on canvas portraits & landscapes.  Once though, an unfamiliar object in such places could shock as French painter & sculptor Marcel Duchamp (1887-1968) managed in 1917 when he submitted a porcelain urinal as his piece for an exhibition in New York, his rationale being “…everyday objects raised to the dignity of a work of art by the artist's act of choice.”  Even then it wasn’t a wholly original approach but the art establishment has never quite recovered and from that urinal to Dadaism, to soup cans to unmade beds, it became accepted that “anything goes” and people should be left to make of it what they will.  Probably the last remaining reliable guide to what really is "art" remains the price tag.

1948 Cisitalia 202 GT (left; 1947-1952) and 1962 Jaguar E-Type (1961-1974; right), Museum of Modern Art (MoMA), New York City.

Urinals tend not to be admired for their aesthetic qualities but there are those who find beauty in things as diverse as mathematical equations and battleships.  Certain cars have long been objects which can exert an emotional pull on those with a feeling for such things and if the lines are sufficiently pleasing, many flaws in engineering are often overlooked.  New York’s Museum of Modern Art (MoMA) acknowledged in 1972 that such creations can be treated as works of art when they added a 1948 Cisitalia 202 GT finished in “Cisitalia Red” (MoMA object number 409.1972) to their collection, the press release noting it was “…the first time that an art museum in the U.S. put a car into its collection.”  Others appeared from time-to-time and while the 1953 Willys-Overland Jeep M-38A1 Utility Truck (MoMA object number 261.2002) perhaps is not conventionally beautiful, its brutish functionalism has a certain simplicity of form and in the exhibition notes MoMA clarified somewhat by describing it as a “rolling sculpture”, presumably in the spirit of a urinal being a “static sculpture”, both to be admired as pieces of design perfectly suited to their intended purpose, something of an art in itself.  Of the 1962 Jaguar E-Type (XKE) open two seater (OTS, better known as a roadster and acquired as MoMA object number 113.996), there was no need to explain because it’s one of the most seductive shapes ever rendered in metal.  Enzo Ferrari (1898-1988) attended the 1961 Geneva Motor Show (now defunct) when the Jaguar staged its stunning debut and part of E-Type folklore is he called it “the most beautiful car in the world”.  Whether those words ever passed his lips isn’t certain because the sources vary slightly in detail and il Commendatore apparently never confirmed or denied the sentiment but it’s easy to believe and many to this day agree just looking at the thing can be a visceral experience.  The MoMA car is finished in "Opalescent Dark Blue" with a grey interior and blue soft-top; there are those who think the exhibit would be improved if it was in BRG (British Racing Green) over tan leather but anyone who finds a bad line on a Series 1 E-Type OTS is truly an ultracrepidarian.