Borderline

Borderline (pronounced bawr-der-lahyn)

(1) On or near a border or boundary; a border; dividing line; line of demarcation.

(2) Uncertain; indeterminate; debatable; an indeterminate position between two conditions.

(3) Not quite meeting accepted, expected, or average standards.

(4) In psychiatry, as Borderline Personality Disorder, a descriptor of a personality disorder characterized by instability in many areas, as mood, identity, self-image and behavior and often manifested by impulsive actions, suicide attempts, inappropriate anger, or depression. The abbreviation is BPD.

1847: A compound word (also as border-line), created to describe a "strip of land along a frontier" as distinct from the actual line of a border, the construct being border + line.  Border was inherited from the Middle English bordure, from the Old French bordure & bordeure, from border (to border), from bort & bord (a border), of Germanic origin akin and to the Middle High German borte (border, trim) and the German Borte (ribbon, trimming); doublet of bordure.  Line, influenced in Middle English by the Middle French ligne (line), was from the Latin linea, from līneus (flaxen; a flaxen thing) from līnum (flax).  The Middle French ligne was from the Old Danish likna, derived with the inchoative suffix -ne from lig (similar) and was related to the Swedish likna, the English liken and the Middle Low German līkenen.  It replaced galīkōną, an older verb without -n, hence the Old English ġelīcian, the German gleichen and the Gothic galeikōn.  As an adjective meaning "verging on" it is attested from 1903, originally in medical jargon to describe various conditions but from the 1930s, it became most associated with metal health, the diagnosis of the condition BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder) apparently first mentioned in the medical literature in 1938 and evolving over several decades.  More correctly, that process can be called a "co-evolution" because while in academic and clinical use understanding of the condition was being refined, in the popular imagination BPD became one of the more popular terms used both for self-diagnosis and to apply to others (whether or not known personally).  Because BPD is inherently a spectrum condition, coinings like borderlinelike & borderlineish are superfluous although (of behavior) borderlinesque might be useful; all three remain non-standard.  The adjective nonborderline is used both in political geography (those lines of delineation on maps indicating something other than national or sub-national borders) and mental health (meaning “unaffected by BPD”).  Borderline is a noun, verb, adjective & adverb, borderliner & borderlineness are nouns and borderlined & borderlining are verbs; the noun plural is borderlines.  

Borderline Personality Disorder

On the internet, BPD is one of the more popular of the conditions ascribed to celebrities, politicians and others in the public eye.  As a general principle, places on the web are not recommended as sources of medical advice and that includes mental health although it seems obvious that in many politicians, their personality disorders are well beyond being classified as "borderline", many thresholds long since crossed.

In clinical psychiatry, although the number of borderline conditions has increased, it’s only the concepts of Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) and the Schizotypal Personality which are claimed to have adequate diagnostic reliability, the parameters of both first codified in the third edition of the American Psychiatric Association's (APA) Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM).  The fourth edition (DSM-IV-TR (2000)), established the most commonly followed criteria for BPD and in DSM-5 (2013), these were extended to a remarkable sixteen headings in seven (A-G) categories in what appeared to be a kind of clinical mopping-up of symptoms suffered by those not able, for whatever reason, to be diagnosed with something more specific.  Indeed, the all-encompassing taxonomy appears rendered superfluous by Criterion E which seems just about to sum it up.

Criterion A: Moderate or greater impairment in personality functioning; two or more of the following criteria: (1) Identity: Markedly impoverished, poorly developed, or unstable self-image, often associated with excessive self-criticism; chronic feelings of emptiness; dissociative states under stress. (2) Self-direction: Instability in goals, aspirations, values, or career plans. (3) Empathy: Compromised ability to recognize the feelings and needs of others associated with interpersonal hypersensitivity (i.e., prone to feel slighted or insulted); perceptions of others selectively biased toward negative attributes or vulnerabilities. (4) Intimacy: Intense, unstable, and conflicted close relationships, marked by mistrust, neediness, and anxious preoccupation with real or imagined abandonment; close relationships often viewed in extremes of idealization and devaluation and alternating between over-involvement and withdrawal.

Criterion B: Four or more of the following seven pathological personality traits must be present: (5) Emotional liability: Unstable emotional experiences and frequent mood changes; emotions that are easily aroused, intense, and/or out of proportion to events and circumstances. (6) Anxiousness: Intense feelings of nervousness, tenseness, or panic, often in reaction to interpersonal stresses; worry about the negative effects of past unpleasant experiences and future negative possibilities; feeling fearful, apprehensive, or threatened by uncertainty; fears of falling apart or losing control. (7) Separation insecurity: Fears of rejection by and/or separation from significant others, associated with fears of excessive dependency and complete loss of autonomy. (8) Depressivity: Frequent feelings of being down, miserable, and/or hopeless; difficulty recovering from such moods; pessimism about the future; pervasive shame; feelings of inferior self-worth; thoughts of suicide and suicidal behavior. (9) Impulsivity: Acting on the spur of the moment in response to immediate stimuli; acting on a momentary basis without a plan or consideration of outcomes; difficulty establishing or following plans; a sense of urgency and self-harming behavior under emotional distress. (10) Risk-taking: Engagement in dangerous, risky, and potentially self-damaging activities, unnecessarily and without regard to consequences; lack of concern for one’s limitations and denial of the reality of the personal danger. (11) Hostility: Persistent or frequent angry feelings; anger or irritability in response to minor slights and insults.

Criterion C: (12) The impairments in personality functioning and the individual’s personality trait expression are relatively inflexible and pervasive across a broad range of personal and social situations.

Criterion D: (13) The impairments in personality functioning and the individual’s personality trait expression are relatively stable across time with onsets that can be traced back at least to adolescence or early adulthood.

Criterion E: (14) The impairments in personality functioning and the individual’s personality trait expression are not better explained by another mental disorder.

Criterion F: (15) The impairments in personality functioning and the individual’s personality trait expression are not attributable to a substance (eg, a drug of abuse, medication, exposure to a toxin) or a general medical condition (eg, severe head trauma).

Criterion G: (16) The impairments in personality functioning and the individual’s personality trait expression are not better understood as normal for the individual’s developmental stage or the socio-cultural environment.

The wide BPD net cast in DSM-5 pleased the psychiatrists but in recent years, there’s been interest in changing the name of BPD, a movement led not the profession but by those diagnosed with the condition, the creation of pressure-groups now greatly assisted by social media.  The objections seem to be that BPD (1) somehow marginalizes the sufferers in the hierarchy of mental illness, (2) fails to capture the underlying issues and mechanisms involved in producing its symptoms and (3), denigrates and even invalidates the very existence of their condition, the word “borderline” suggesting their symptoms aren’t sufficiently severe to be a “real” condition.  In that sense, the word does have loaded connotations, “borderline” used first by 1930s psychoanalysts to describe patients whose symptoms lay between psychosis and neurosis but to modern lay-persons, a common interpretation is that the condition “borders” on being a “real” illness.  Some even object to “disorder” but most accept it; they’d just prefer to be diagnosed with a more significant, and fashionable, depressive disorder.

Although it seems hardly more respectable, Emotional Intensity Disorder emerged from a survey as the popular choice of patients, beating out Emotional Regulation Disorder, Emotional Dysregulation Disorder, Emotionally Unstable Personality Disorder, Impulsive Personality Disorder & Impulsive-Emotional Dysregulation Disorder.  The clinicians liked Emotional Regulation Disorder but were out-voted.  Unimpressed by either, the committee working on the revision of DSM-5 proposed Borderline Type (which sounds like a sceptical psychiatrist’s casual dismissal of emos), but noted “no decision has yet been made.”  When in 2022 the text-revision (DSM-5-TR) was released, although there were textual and contextual updates, the diagnostic criteria for BPD did not change so the distinction between the two can be thought terminological rather than structural, the language used reflected the editors’ decades-long attempts at once to be more precise and less stigmatizing.  In DSM-5-TR there was also an obvious focus on editing “now suspect” references to gender but none of this altered the construct of BPD.  As had long been the practice, DSM-5-TR included updated epidemiology data (if newer research or analysis was thought to have provided some refinement) but it was very much a project focused on cultural considerations, terminology and “modernization” of language.

Checkpoint Charlie and the Berlin borderline, 1961-1990

Konrad Adenauer (1876–1967; FRG Chancellor 1949-1963) at Checkpoint Charlie in 1962; car is a Mercedes-Benz 300d (W189).

The 300 was produced in four generations (W186: 300, 300b & 300c, 1951-1957 & W189: 300d, 1957-1962) and became known informally as the “300 Adenauer”, the association prompted by the chancellor using six (cabriolets, sedans and a landaulet) 300s during his long term in office.  The 300d is also associated with John XXIII (1881–1963; pope 1958-1963) who was presented with one in 1960 and it served as the official papal vehicle until 1965 when Paul VI (1897-1978; pope 1963-1978) took delivery of a Mercedes-Benz 600; both cars were high-roofed landaulets.  Used only until the mid-1960s, the lower case characters in the model designation appeared only in documents and were never added to the badgework but they are another layer in the intricacy of the factory's model nomenclature which, when first conceived (sort of) made sense but a combination of new technology and range-proliferation (with the same engines appearing in different classes conspired to make the system unmanageable and in the early 1990s there was a structural revision which, as amended (with its own inconsistencies), endures to this day.

Although the most famous, the crossing point in the Berlin Wall (1961-1989) on the borderline between East and West Berlin and named Checkpoint Charlie (Checkpoint C to the military) was one of three, all known by their designation drawn from the NATO phonetic alphabet, the now forgotten pair being Checkpoint Alpha at Helmstedt and Checkpoint Bravo at Wannsee.  The Soviets (officially) didn't use the NATO designation, instead calling Checkpoint Charlie the КПП Фридрихштрассе (KPP Fridrikhshtrasse (Friedrichstraße Crossing Point)) while the government of the GDR (Deutsche Demokratische Republik (German Democratic Republic; the old East Germany, 1949-1990) listed it as the Grenzübergangsstelle (Border Crossing Point) Friedrich-Zimmerstraße.

Checkpoint Charlie, 1963.

In one of the charming coincidences of the Cold War, Checkpoint Charlie was located at the intersection of Friedrichstraße, Zimmerstraße & Mauerstraße (Wall Street).  It became the only well-know crossing point because, for reasons of security and administrative convenience, it was the sole designated crossing point (whether for foot or vehicular traffic) for foreigners and members of the three Allied (previously occupying) forces (France, the UK & the US) stationed in the FRG (Bundesrepublik Deutschland (Federal Republic of Germany; the old West Germany, 1949-1990).  The manned structures associated with Checkpoint Charlie were also in a location which lent itself to photography from a number of angles and replicas were built by film studios for the many productions shot in Berlin during the Cold War.  Often dark, gloomy pieces, the "Cold War spy film" was a genre which over the decades as geopolitical tensions waxed & waned but the divided Berlin of the 1960s was its high-point and what was done then "defined the look".  The Cafe Adler (Eagle Café), adjacent to Checkpoint Charlie was for decades one of West Berlin's tourist hotspots.

Checkpoint Charlie in 1982, showing the larger aluminum building which that year replaced the original wooden hut.

To those accustomed to seeing the gargantuan structures the US military tend to erect wherever they take root, Checkpoint Charlie must have been a surprise, a modest (though enlarged in 1962) and obviously temporary wooden hut was for more than twenty years all that stood on the western side, the little building replaced in 1982 only because it had become so dilapidated it was literally falling down around the guards stationed within and even then, the metal structure which replaced it, while larger, was no more permanent.  That obvious impermanence was part of the political messaging, the Western powers never wishing to hint at an acceptance the division of Germany would forever endure.  However, if people were surprised, it’s doubtful many were disappointed, the compact architecture providing a single point of focus and even in the pre-selfie era, at one glance, what tourists could take in was evocative of the Cold War cinema with which so many were familiar.

Checkpoint Charlie, 1970.

The attitude of the allied powers reflected their political position that while obviously a line of control, the Berlin Wall was not a legitimate international borderline and thus only small, temporary buildings were required.  To the authorities in the Kremlin and the GDR, whatever some might suggest was the position in international law, the Berlin Wall was a borderline and thus on their side the infrastructure quickly grew to include watchtowers, a military barracks and a multi-lane, enclosed clearing zone in which those wishing to cross could be interrogated and searched.

Checkpoint Charlie in 2020, now a replica “1961” hut with new sandbags.

The Berlin Wall “fell” in November 1989 and the checkpoint booth was removed some six months later although, because East and West Germany remained legally separate countries, the checkpoint at the point of the borderline was retained as the designated official crossing-point for foreigners and diplomats, an arrangement which ended in October 1990 when German reunification was formalized in law.  Checkpoint Charlie has since remained one of Berlin's tourist attractions and, just as some parts of the once demolished wall have been re-created because supply of the real thing wasn’t enough to meet demand, the municipal government soon erected an almost exact replica of the checkpoint as it stood in 1961 although the quality of the construction is said to be rather more robust than the original and it’s expected to enjoy a longer life.  Better to capture the flavor, even the sandbags which gradually were removed during the 1970s are back in place, carefully stacked.  During every week of the tourist season, selfies are taken by the thousand.

Literal

Literal (pronounced lit-er-uhl)

(1) In accordance with, involving, or being the primary or strict meaning of the word or words; not figurative or metaphorical.

(2) Following the words of the original exactly.

(3) True to fact; not exaggerated; actual or factual; being actually such, without exaggeration or inaccuracy.

(4) Of, persons, tending to construe words in the strict sense or in an unimaginative way; matter-of-fact; prosaic.

(5) Of or relating to the letters of the alphabet (obsolete except for historic, technical or academic use); of or pertaining to the nature of letters.

(6) In language translation, as "literal translation", the precise meaning of a word or phrase as opposed to the actual meaning conveyed when used in another language.

(7) A typographical error, especially involving a single letter (in technical use only).

(8) In English (and other common law jurisdictions) law, one of the rules of statutory construction and interpretation (also called the plain meaning rule).

(9) In computer science, a notation for representing a fixed value in source code.

(10) In mathematics, containing or using coefficients and constants represented by letters.

1350-1400: From the Middle English from the Late Latin literalis & litteralis (of or belonging to letters or writing) from the Classical Latin litera & littera (letter, alphabetic sign; literature, books).  The meaning "taking words in their natural meaning" (originally in reference to Scripture and opposed to mystical or allegorical), is from the Old French literal (again borrowed from the Latin literalis & litteralis).  In English, the original late fourteenth meaning was "taking words in their natural meaning" and was used in reference to the understanding of text in Scripture, distinguishing certain passages from those held to be mystical or allegorical.  The meaning "of or pertaining to the letters of the alphabet " emerged in English only in the late fifteenth century although that was the meaning of the root from antiquity, a fork of that sense being " verbally exact, according to the letter of verbal expression, attested from the 1590s and it evolved in conjunction with “the primary sense of a word or passage”.  The phrase “literal-minded” which can be loaded with negative, neutral or positive connotations, is noted from 1791.  Literal is a noun & adjective, literalize is a verb, literalistic is an adjective, literalist, literalization & literalism are nouns and literally is an adverb; the noun plural is literals.

The meaning "concerned with letters and learning, learned, scholarly" was known since the mid-fifteenth century but survives now only literary criticism and the small number of universities still using “letters” in the description of degree programmes.  The Bachelor of Letters (BLitt or LittB) was derived from the Latin Baccalaureus Litterarum or Litterarum Baccalaureus and historically was a second undergraduate degree (as opposed to a Masters or other post-graduate course) which students pursued to study a specialized field or some aspect of something of particular interest.  Once common, these degrees are now rare in the English-speaking world.  It was between 1895-1977 offered by the University of Oxford and was undertaken by many Rhodes Scholars, sometimes as an adjunct course, but has now been replaced by the MLitt (Master of Letters) which has a minimal coursework component.  When the BLitt was still on the books, Oxford would sometimes confer it as a sort of consolation prize, offering DPhil candidates whose submission had proved inadequate the option of taking a BLitt if the prospect of re-writing their thesis held no appeal.  Among the dons supervising the candidates, the verb "to BLitt" emerged, the classic form being: “he was BLitt-ed you know".

Oxford BLitt in light-blue hood, circa 1907, prior to the reallocation of the shades of blue during the 1920s.

Oxford's colorful academic gowns are a footnote in the history of fashion although influences either way are difficult to detect.  The regulations of 1895 required the new BLitt and the BSc (Bachelor of Science) were to wear the same dress as the existing B.C.L (Bachelor of Civil Law) and the BM (Bachelor of Medicine) and if there was a difference between the blues used for the BCL and the BM in 1895, the implicit "respectively" (actually then its Latin equivalent) would seem to suggest the BLitt was to use the same color hood as the BCL and the BSc to use the shade of the BM and that's certainly how it appears on many contemporary depictions.  Although in the surviving record the hues of blue would in the following decades vary somewhat (and the colors were formerly re-allocated during the 1920s, the BLitt moving to a more vivid rendition of light-blue), the BLitt, BSc and BCL hoods tended always to be brighter and the BM darker.  Whether it was artistic license or an aesthetic nudge, one painter in 1927 mixed something much lighter for the BLitt, a shade more neutral and hinting at a French grey but no other artist seems to have followed.  By 1957, the BLitt and BSc gowns had returned to the colors of the 1895 decree while the BCL and BM were now in mid-blue and that remained unchanged until 1977 when the BLitt and BSc were superseded by masters’ degrees, the new MSc and MLitt given a blue hood lined with the grey of the DLitt & DSc.

Oxford BM in mid-blue hood, circa 1905.

Quite how much the work of the artist can be regarding as an accurate record of a color as it appeared is of course dubious, influenced as it is the painter’s eye, ambient light and the angle at which it was observed.  Even the descriptions used by the artists in their notes suggest there was either some variation over the years (and that would not be unexpected given the differences in the dying processes between manufacturers) or the terms for colors meant different things to different painters: The Oxford BMus hood was noted as blue (1882 & 1934), mauve (1920), lilac (1923, 1924, 1927, 1935 & 1957), dark lilac (1948) and dark purple (1926).  With improvements in photographic reproduction and the greater standardization in the industrial processes used in dying, the post-war photographic record is more reliable and lilac seems a good description for the BM and “light blue” for the BLitt.

In modern (social media) use, "literal" often is used as term of emphasis meaning something like "an exemplar of".  Although the purists will never approve, in that context, it may come to be regarded as a genuine additional meaning, although unlike a word like decimate, it wont be a meaning shift replacing the original.   

In March 2023, after the announcement of her daughter's pregnancy, Lindsay Lohan's mother (Dina Lohan (b 1962)) was quoted as saying: “I’m literally over the moon. I’m so happy, I can’t stop smiling”.  The proneness to exaggeration seems to be a family trait because Lindsay Lohan did once admit some of her youthful antics made her mother “hit the roof” which, hopefully, she didn't mean to be taken literally (although, who knows?).  The now seemingly endemic misuse of literal is not new, Henry Watson Fowler (1858–1933) in his A Dictionary of Modern English Usage (1926) noting errors in general use from as early as the 1820s and the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) has cited literary examples from the seventeenth century.  Interestingly, it appears objections emerged at scale only in the early twentieth century which does suggest an additional meaning may have existed or at least been evolving before the grammar Nazis imposed their censorious ways.  So endemic in English has the (mis)use become and genuine confusion so rare the pedants really should give up their carping; after all, some illustrious names have sinned:

Scrooge McDuck, literally "rolling in wealth" in his famous money bin. 

“…literally rolling in wealth…”: (Mark Twain (1835-1910), The Adventures of Tom Sawyer (1876)).  In fairness to Twain, it can be done.  While Donald Trump (as far as is known) does it only figuratively, Walt Disney (1901–1966) had Scrooge McDuck (created 1947) literally roll-around in the huge volumes of cash he stashed in his "money bin" (a reputed 3 cubic acres (257,440 m³; 772.321 megalitres)) but that wouldn't have been what Twain had in mind.

“The land literally flowed with milk and honey.”: (Louisa May Alcott (1832–1888), Little Women (1868-1869)).  That one may be at least a gray area because milk and honey do literally "flow" (though their varies viscosities mean the flow-rates do differ) and "the land" can be used in the sense of the country and its people rather than "the soil".   

“…Gatsby literally glowed” [after reuniting with Daisy at his house]: (F Scott Fitzgerald (1896–1940), The Great Gatsby (1925)).  Women (when pregnant or as new mothers) often are said "to be glowing" in the sense of their happiness being such it seems "to radiate" from them and this may be what Fitzgerald wished to suggest but even then it was untypical to apply the phrase to men.  However, at least debatably, some time ago, popular use reached the threshold where to describe a new mother as “glowing” could be regarded as literal because the word has become so vested with that sense.  Indeed, in January 2026, when announcing her long-standing feud with Lindsay Lohan had moved from a state of détente to a kind of entente cordiale, Paris Hilton (b 1981) told her audience: “We plan on getting the kids together.  I'm so happy for her.  She is glowing. We love being moms.”  So, that literalism of “glowing” has her imprimatur and, as is well-known, where Paris Hilton goes, the English language follows.  

The literal rule in statutory interpretation in the UK & Commonwealth

Statute law is that set in place by a body vested with appropriate authority (typically a legislature) and maintained in written form.  In providing rulings involving these laws, courts in the common-law world (although in the US the evolution has been a little different) have developed a number of principles of statutory interpretation, the most fundamental of which is “the literal rule” (sometimes called the “plain meaning rule”).  It’s the basis of all court decisions involving statues, the judge looking just to the words written down, relying on their literal meaning without any attempt to impute or interpret meaning.  The process should ensure laws are made exclusively by legislators alone; those elected for the purpose, the basis of the constitutional theory being that it’s this which grants laws their legitimacy and thus the consent of those upon they’re imposed.  However, an application of the literal rule can result in consequences which are nonsensical, immoral or unjust but the theory is that will induce the legislature to correct whatever error in drafting was the cause; it not being the task of the court to alter a duly passed law; the judiciary must interpret and not attempt to remedy the law.

A judge in 1980 observed the British constitution “…is firmly based upon the separation of powers; parliament makes the laws, the judiciary interpret them.  When Parliament legislates to remedy what the majority of its members at the time perceive to be a defect… the role of the judiciary is confined to ascertaining from the words that parliament has approved as expressing its intention what that intention was, and to giving effect to it. Where the meaning of the statutory words is plain and unambiguous it is not for the judges to invent fancied ambiguities as an excuse for failing to give effect to its plain meaning because they themselves consider that the consequences of doing so would be inexpedient, or even unjust or immoral.”  So a judge should not depart from the literal meaning of words even if the outcome is unjust.  If they do, the will of parliament is contradicted.

However, some things were so absurd even the most black-letter-law judges (of which there were not a few) could see the problem.  What emerged was “the golden rule”, the operation of which a judge in 1857 explained by saying the “…grammatical and ordinary sense of the words is to be adhered to unless that would lead to some absurdity or some repugnance or inconsistency with the rest of the instrument in which case the grammatical and ordinary sense of the words may be modified so as to avoid the absurdity and inconsistency, but no farther.”  The golden rule thus operates to avoid an absurdity which an application of the literal rule might produce.

The golden rule was though deliberately limited in scope, able to be used only in examples of absurdity so extreme it would be a greater absurdity not to rectify.  Thus “the mischief rule” which with judges exercised rather more discretion within four principles, first mentioned in 1584 at a time when much new legislation was beginning to emerge to supersede the old common law which had evolved over centuries of customary practice.  Given the novelty of codified national law replacing what previously been administered with differences between regions, the need for some debugging was not unexpected, hence the four principles of the mischief rule: (1) What was the common law before this law?, (2) What was the mischief and defect for which the common law did not provide and thus necessitate this law?, (3) What remedy for the mischief and defect is in this law”, & (4) The role of the judge is to make such construction as shall suppress the mischief and advance the remedy.  The rule was intended to determine what mischief a statute was intended to correct and interpret the statute justly to avoid any mischief.

The mischief rule closes loopholes in the law while allowing them to evolve in what may be a changing environment but does permit an element of the retrospective and depends on the opinion and prejudices of the judge: an obvious infringement on the separation of powers protected by the strict application of literal rule.  So it is a trade-off, the literal rule the basic tool of statutory interpretation which should be deviated from only in those exceptional cases where its application would create an absurdity or something manifestly unjust.  This the golden rule allows while the mischief rule extends judicial discretion, dangerously some have said, permitting the refinement of law at the cost of increasing the role of the judges, a group where views and prejudices do vary.  From all this has evolved the debate about judicial activism.

Colonel Theodore Roosevelt (TR, 1858–1919; VPOTUS 1901, POTUS 1901-1909) with the 1^st US Volunteer Cavalry and troopers of the 10th Cavalry after the capture of Kettle Hill during the Battle of San Juan Hill, July 1898.

Fought between April-August 1898, the Spanish–American War followed the warship USS Maine (an “armoured cruiser” best thought of as one of the smaller “pre-Dreadnought” battleships) in February blowing up and sinking while anchored in Cuba’s Havana Harbor; 261 of the ship’s complement of 355 were killed.  Based on the early reports and available evidence, the US Navy’s explosives experts suggested the blast appeared to have been caused by a spontaneous coal bunker fire but Roosevelt, then serving as Assistant Secretary of the Navy, pushed back, labelling that conclusion “premature” and insisted sabotage was possible, telling colleagues: “the Maine was sunk by an act of dirty treachery on the part of the Spaniards.”  That might have sounded strange to those who have read the press reports of courteous Spaniards having welcomed her arrival in Havana with the presentation to the captain of a case of Jerez sherry and William McKinley (1843–1901; US president 1897-1901) the next evening, hosting his first diplomatic dinner in the White House, having the Spanish minister sit next to him, despite almost a dozen other envoys enjoying precedence.  Roosevelt however had his war-paint on and he had the enthusiastic support of William Randolph Hearst’s (1863–1951) New York newspaper the Journal, something of the FoxNews of its day and an early example of “yellow journalism”.

Unconvinced after having learned the Maine had been “a floating bomb, its forecastle packed with gunpowder and its magazines laced with shortable wires”, McKinley ordered an investigation, saying: “I don’t propose to be swept off my feet by the catastrophe.  I have been through one war [the US Civil War 1861-1865] and I have seen the dead piled up, and I do not want to see another.”   He called for an investigation, which dragged on for months.  While McKinley’s enquiry percolated, Hearst had the Journal print fanciful diagrams showing how the Spanish “Infernal Machine” had hit the hull while Roosevelt, taking advantage of the temporary absence of the Secretary of the Navy, ordered the Pacific squadron to sea, put the European and South Atlantic stations on alert, demanded of Congress the immediate authorization of the unlimited recruitment of seamen and ordered large quantities of guns and ammunition.  By the time McKinley's investigation reported the cause of the sinking as an “external explosion”, Roosevelt and Hearst had honed public opinion and, the die cast, a reluctant McKinley took his country to war.

A stylized image of the explosion which sank the USS Maine, published in 1898 by Kurz and Allison (a Chicago-based publisher of chromolithographs), Nautical History Gallery and Museum.

In a move that would wholly be unfamiliar to bloodthirsty, non-combatant modern politicians who prefer to sit at a safe distance to watch other people’s children fight their wars, Roosevelt’s view was: “I have done all I could to bring on the war, because it is a just war, and the sooner we meet it the better.  Now that it has come, I have no business to ask others to do the fighting and stay home myself.”  He resigned from the administration and headed for Cuba with his “Rough Riders” (a collection of “cowboys, idealists. Veteran soldiers, Native Americans and adventurers”), assembled as the 1^st US Volunteer Cavalry, a formation John Hay (1838-1905; US Secretary of State 1898-1905) thought “ideally suited” to what be labelled a “splendid little war.”  Although brief, the conflict was of great significance because it was at this point the US became an imperial power, its defeat of Spain resulting in the acquisition of Puerto Rico, Guam, and the Philippines, while Cuba would until 1902 remain a US protectorate.  By the late twentieth century a consensus had emerged that the explosion was most likely caused by an "internal event" and not a Spanish mine but much had since happened and "what's done is done and can't be undone".

The Rough Riders were one of several units formed ad hoc which were dissolved with the end of the war and while the notion of what were quasi-private militias operating in concert with regular forces may seem curious, before World War I (1914-1918) changed the public perception of war, for some men, the lure of combat still had a romantic aura.  While the contribution of the Rough Riders strategically was slight, it was real and it was the action of 1 July which became the war’s most famous engagement.  On that day, in a combined assault with regular army troops, Roosevelt on horseback led the Rough Riders in charges up Kettle Hill and San Juan Hill; there over a thousand casualties with some 200 killed.  He returned to the US as a national hero and in November 1898 was elected governor of New York before being "persuaded" to run as McKinley’s running mate on the Republican ticket for the 1900 presidential election.  Roosevelt would have been familiar with the nineteenth century there was a joke about two brothers: “One ran off to sea and the other became vice-president; neither were ever heard of again” and may have anticipated the view of John Nance Garner III (1868–1967, VPOTUS 1933-1941 so thus a reasonable judge of these things), that being VPOTUS was “...not worth a bucket of warm piss” (which is polite company usually is sanitized as “...bucket of warm spit”).  Accordingly, he was diffident about seeking the nomination which in his day was not thought a stepping stone to higher things.  That’s changed and a number of VPOTUSs have become POTUS; on a few occasions that has worked well but of late the record has not been encouraging, the presidencies of Lyndon Johnson (LBJ, 1908–1973; VPOTUS 1961-1963, POTUS 1963-1968), Richard Nixon (1913-1994; VPOTUS 1953-1961, POTUS 1969-1974), George H. W. Bush (George XLI, 1924-2018; VPOTUS 1981-1989, POTUS 1989-1993) and Joe Biden (b 1942; VPOTUS 2008-2017, POTUS 2021-2025) 1963-1968, all ending badly, in despair, disgrace, defeat and decrepitude respectively.  Roosevelt in 1900 told friends he’d rather “…be anything else, say, a professor of history” but finally decided he could make it a solid platform for a run for the presidency in 1904.

His path to the nomination for VPOTUS was made somewhat smoother by the party bosses in New York wanting him out because although popular with the voters, for the machine men used to running things, he was a loose cannon and one they’d sooner have sitting in an inconsequential office in Washington DC than making trouble in New York where he exercised real power.  Mark Hanna (1837-1904), the great Republican boss, called him “that damned cowboy” (which, in many ways, could be read literally) and Mark Twain disapproved, saying he was “clearly insane… and insanest upon war and its supreme glories.”  Hanna was of course aware of the danger for a VPOTUS is first in the line of succession and he’d tried to stop the nomination, imploring the delegates to “see reason”, telling them: “Don’t any of you realize that there’s only one life between that madman and the presidency?”  It was to no avail and in 1900 the McKinley/Roosevelt ticket prevailed, prompting Hanna to tell McKinley: “Your sacred duty for the next four years is to stay alive” and the president did his best but, through no fault of his own, was within months cut down by the gunfire of an anarchist and “that damned cowboy” was sworn in as Chief Magistrate of the United States.  In what must now seem an extraordinary example of judicial alacrity, within six weeks of McKinley’s death, the anarchist assassin had been tried, convicted and executed in New York’s Auburn Prison, dispatched by the New York State Electrician.

A full-page advertisement taken out by Donald Trump (b 1946; US president 2017-2021 and since 2025) in the New York Daily News (1 May 1989).  When he said "BRING BACK THE DEATH PENALTY", he meant it literally.

“New York State Electrician” really was the title of the state’s chief executioner and the title was derived from the use of the electric chair.  The first appointment was made in 1890 and despite New York staging its last execution in 1963, the position was not disestablished until the Nixon-era decision by the USSC (US Supreme Court) in Furman v. Georgia, 408 U.S. 238 (1972), which had the effect of imposing a national moratorium on the use of the death penalty until 1976 when it was held certain states successfully had re-written their statutes in conformity with the US constitution.  Intriguingly, between 1890-1963 the fee received by the State Electrician was never changed from the original US$150 (with a bonus US$50 paid for additional executions performed on the same day).  That was despite substantial inflation (and the related decrease in the purchasing power of the US$): By 1963, the equivalent value of 1890’s US$150 was calculated at US$504.40 and by 2026 the number was US$5,342.67.  Mr Trump ran his advertisement in four New York City newspapers at a total cost of US$85,000 so, had the New York State Electrician still be plying his specialized trade, what was paid to the papers would have covered some 567 executions but if the fee had been adjusted in line with inflation (the value of 1990’s US$150 by 1989 having risen to US$2,043.96), it would have paid for fewer than 42 to “get the chair”.

Movements in the value of the US$ (inflation & purchasing power), 1890-2026.

Roosevelt’s military exploits in what came to be called the Battle of San Juan Heights made him a national celebrity, a role he was well-equipped to exploit and when late in 1898 he's returned to the US, his mind turned to politics and his goal was the White House; for that he needed a stepping stone.  New York’s Republican Party establishment preferred to endorse candidates who were (1) sane and (2) dependent on the machine and thus compliant so were thus not enamoured with the leader of the Rough Riders but above all they needed someone likely to win an election, a quality Roosevelt appeared to possess, unlike the alternatives.  So, reluctantly, the New York Republicans adopted them as their candidate in the 1898 gubernatorial election and Roosevelt stormed into the campaign with the same enthusiasm he'd a few months earlier displayed on horseback while leading charges against the Spanish.  With a sense for publicity which never deserted him, he had Sergeant Buck Taylor (who’d charged with him in Cuba) speak at an election rally where he told the assembled crowd: “…and when it came to the great day he led us up San Juan Hill like sheep to the slaughter and so he will lead you.”  Roosevelt won the election, winning the popular vote 49.02% to 47.70% so clearly not too many New Yorkers took Sergeant Taylor’s words literally.

Allegro

Allegro (pronounced uh-ley-groh or uh-leg-roh or ahl-le-graw (Italian)).

(1) In music, a tempo mark directing that a passage is to be played in a quick, lively tempo, faster than allegretto but slower than presto.

(2) In music (more traditionally), an expressive mark indicating that a passage is to be played in a lively or happy manner, not necessarily quickly.

(3) In music, a piece or passage to be performed in this manner (an allegro movement).

(4) In printing & typography, as the font Allegro, a serif typeface released in 1936 (initial upper case).

(5) In the history of the internet's lists of "the worst cars ever made", British Leyland's Austin Allegro (1973-1982) (initial upper case).

(6) In Italian use, a male given name (initial upper case).

1625–1635: From the Italian allegro (lively; happy, cheerful (feminine allegra, masculine plural allegri, feminine plural allegre, superlative allegrissimo)), from the French allègre, from the Latin alacer (nominative alacer) (lively, cheerful, brisk) (from which English later picked up alacrity).  The Italian allegretto (diminutive of allegro) in musical composition is the instruction to be (brisk & sprightly but not so quick as allegro) was coined in 1740 explicitly for its technical purpose in music and the alternative form was the adverb allegro non troppo, the construct being allegro (fast) + non (not) + troppo (too much), thus understood as "play fast but not too fast".   As well as the native Italian and the English allegro, composers in many languages use the term including in French allegro (the post-1990 spelling allégro), the Greek αλέγρος (alégros) & αλλέγκρο (allégkro), the Norwegian allegro, the Portuguese allegro (the alternative spelling alegro), the Turkish allegro and the Persian آلگرو.  Allegro is a noun, adjective & adverb; the noun plural is allegros (Initial upper case if used of the cars of appropriately named Italian males).

Use as a musical term seems not to have been recorded until 1721.  Prior to that, since the early seventeenth century, English had used the word in the sense (brisk, sprightly; cheerful) picked up from Italian and Latin although the original spelling in English was aleger (lively, brisk) from Old French alegre, influenced by the Medieval Latin alacris.  What encouraged use was the adoption of the word (in its literal sense) by John Milton (1608–1674) who included the poem L'Allegro" in his collection Poems (1645); L'Allegro (The happy man) was a pastoral poem and critics regarded it as a companion piece for his Il Penseroso (The melancholy man), a work which in some ways anticipated the Romantic movement of the early nineteenth century.  The literary use extended to the term "allegro speech" (a relatively fast manner of speaking), once often used as a stage notation by playwrights although it seems now less common, replaced by terms better known to the young.  This fragment from Milton's L'Allegro is illustrative of the piece's rhythm and movement:

Haste thee nymph, and bring with thee
Jest and youthful Jollity,
Quips and cranks, and wanton wiles,
Nods, and becks, and wreathbd smiles,
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,
And love to live in dimple sleek;
Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides.
Come, and trip it as you go
On the light fantasric roe.

Lindsay Lohan merchandize on allegro.pl, a Polish e-commerce site. 

The site presumably settled on "allegro.pl" to convey the idea of speed (fast service, fast delivery etc).  Although the word allegro was never absorbed into the Polish language, because it appeared with such frequency in augmenting musical notation, it’s a familiar form throughout Europe.  Polish composer Frédéric Chopin (1810–1849) used it as a title for Allegro de concert in A major, Opus 46 and his work also included three “allegro” movements: Allegro maestoso (the first movement of the Piano Concerto No. 1 in E minor, Opus. 11), Allegro vivace (the third movement of the Piano Concerto No. 1 in E minor, Opus 11) and Allegro vivace (the third movement of the Piano Concerto No. 2 in F minor, Opus 21).  In an appalling example of an attempt at normative moral relativism, while on trial before the International Military Tribunal (IMT) at Nuremberg (1945-1946), Hans Frank (1900–1946; Nazi lawyer and governor of the General Government (1939-1945) in German-occupied Poland during World War II) suggested that in mitigation for his direct complicity in mass-murder, he should receive some credit for establishing the Chopin Museum in Krakow, something “the Poles had never done”.

Voraciously corrupt (even by Nazi standards), Frank was protected by virtue of his past service as Adolf Hitler’s (1889-1945; Führer (leader) and German head of government 1933-1945 & head of state 1934-1945) personal lawyer and remained in his palace until the military collapse of the General Government in 1945; under his rule, some four million were murdered.  Remarkably, he handed to the Allies dozens of volumes of his highly incriminating diaries and the IMT found him guilty under Count 2 (War Crimes) & Count 3 (Crimes Against Humanity), sentencing him to death by hanging.  His response to the sentence was to say: “I expected it, I deserved it”, adding: “A thousand years will pass and still this guilt of Germany will not have been erased.”  The latter sentiment he recanted while awaiting execution, suggesting the trial had provided something of a cleansing effect but at the time most regarded that as cynically as they noted the rediscovery of his long abandoned Roman Catholic faith.  Although power corrupted him and led him down a path to depravity, Frank never quite lost his respect for the idea of the rule of law and its fundamental importance in a civilized society but was not in his mind able to resolve the conflict between the legal mystique in which he’d been trained and the reality of the Führerstaat (Führer state) in which the word of Hitler was the law.  Frank did attempt to build a framework in which the many contradictions could be reconciled but soon was made to understand his mental gymnastics would (rightly) be thought mere legal sophistry and anyway be ignored by those in the state who held authority.  Awaiting trial, he told one interrogator Hitler’s lack of reverence for the law was the “one defect in this great man” and regretted he’d never been able to change the Führer’s view he “would not rest until Germans realize it is shameful to be a lawyer.”

The Allegro typeface by German graphic artist Hans Bohn (1891–1980)

Although book burning infamously was associated with the era, much publishing was still done in Germany during the 1930s and the centre of the industry was Frankfurt.  In 1936, the city’s Ludwig & Mayer type foundry released the Allegro typeface which was in the tradition of Didone style which became popular in the nineteenth century but influenced also by art deco designs which had flourished during the inter-war years (1919-1939).  A serif design which relied for its impact on the alternation of thick and thin strokes, it used breaks in the letter where thin strokes might be expected, hinting at the style of stencils with a touch of the inclination associated with calligraphy.  It was a popular typeface for decorative purposes such as book jackets or headings of musical notation but, very much a display font, it worked well only above a certain point size and thus was used at scale, almost exclusively for titles.

The Ford Allegro

Ford Allegro concept cars: 1963 (left & centre) and the 1967 Allegro II (right).

Ford’s Allegro was a concept car developed between 1961-1962 which was well-received during its time on the show circuit, viewers much taken by the dramatic interior which included a cantilever-arm, movable steering wheel with an electronic memory unit and adjustable pedals, features which would appear in production cars within a decade.  Built on the unibody platform of the compact Falcon which had been introduced in 1959, it was powered by a V4 manufactured by Ford’s European operation in Cologne, FRG (Bundesrepublik Deutschland (Federal Republic of Germany; the old West Germany, 1949-1990).  Noting the use in music, the company settled on the “Allegro” name to convey the idea of “brisk and lively performance” but company documents confirm the team responsible for such things pondered “Avventure” and “Avanti” before settling on “Allegro”.  The more obviously speculative Allegro II was displayed in 1967 and a number of the design motifs from both would appear on subsequent Fords as well as Chevrolet’s Vega (1970-1977) and second generation Camaro(1970-1981).

The Austin Allegro

Aesthetic success & failure: The Alfa-Romeo Alfasud (left) and the Austin Allegro (right).

Often featured (usually with several other products of British Leyland in the 1970s) in lists as among the worst cars ever made, the Austin Allegro was in production between 1973-1982 and actually sold in respectable numbers for most of that time although at only a third the rate of its remarkably popular predecessor (ADO16, the Morris 1100/1300 and its five badge-engineered siblings (Austin, MG, Wolseley, Riley & Vanden Plas).  One much criticized aspect of the Allegro was the appearance; it was thought a bloated blob in an era of sharp-edges and wedges and the critique does illustrate just how narrow can be the margin between success and failure in the execution of a concept.  The Alfa Romeo Alfasud (1971-1983 (variants of the original produced until 1989)) adopted essentially the same shape and dimensions yet was praised as an elegant and well-balanced design.  Seen in silhouette, the shapes are similar yet in the metal, the detail differences, a mere inch (25 mm) or two here and there or a subtle change in an angle or curve and one emerges lithe, the other ponderous.

Harris Mann’s 1968 conceptual sketch for the Allegro project.

The Allegro’s portly appearance wasn’t the original intent.  Tasked with designing a replacement for ADO16, the stylist Harry Mann (1938-2023) sketched a modernist wedge, designed to accommodate what was at the time an advanced specification which included all-independent hydraulic suspension, front wheel drive, disk brakes and crucially, new, compact engines.  Mann however began the project while employed by BMC (British Motor Corporation of which Austin was a part) but by the time substantive work on the Allegro began, BMC had been absorbed into the Leyland conglomerate, a sprawling entity of disparate and now competing divisions which, if agonizingly reorganized, might have succeeded but such were the internal & external obstacles to re-structuring that, coupled with political turmoil and the economic shocks of the 1970s, it staggered to failure, something the later nationalization could only briefly disguise.  Mann’s team learned the clean-lined wedge would have to be fattened-up because, not only were the old, tall, long-stroke engines to be re-used but the new units to be offered as options were bulkier still.

If installed at an angle (which would have demanded some re-engineering but would have been possible), that might have been manageable but what was not was the decision to use the corporate heater unit, developed at an apparently extraordinary cost; it could be installed just one way and it was a tall piece of machinery.  Allegro production ended in 1982 but what its appearance of all those "worst car ever" lists tends to obscure is it wasn't a commercial failure.  Although it sold only about a third the volume of its predecessor (the ADO16 ranges) which was for most of the 1960s the UK's best-selling car (and an export success, especially in New Zealand), the Allegro existed in a much more competitive market.  Essentially, the Allegro was nearly a very good car and had it been produced by an outfit less inept than British Leyland, it'd probably now be better-remembered.  While it's now sometimes dismissed as "all agro" ("agro" a slang form of "angry", the phrase meaning something like "nothing but trouble"), in its time the Allegro sold well and enjoyed a better than average reliability record.

1976 Triumph TR7 coupé (left) and 1980 Triumph TR8 convertible (right).  It is wholly emblematic of British Leyland that just as the TR8 had become a good car with much unexplored potential, production ceased. 

Mann didn’t forget his 1968 sketch and when the opportunity later came to design a new sports car, his wedge re-appeared as one of the cars which most represented the design ethos of the 1970s: The Triumph TR7 (1974-1981) & TR8 (1977-1982) which weren't quite trouble-free but which sold quite well and, as the TR8 (which used the 3.5 litre (215 cubic inch) Rover V8), represented something in which the potential of the original was finally realized but it was too late for by then the disaster that was British Leyland had eaten itself.  

1960 Plymouth Fury four-door hardtop (left), 1974 Austin Allegro 1750 Sport Special (centre) and 2024 Chevrolet Corvette Z06 coupe (right).

The Allegro is remembered also for a steering wheel which was neither circular yet not exactly square.  Dating back decades, the idea wasn’t novel and such things had in the early 1960s appeared of a few American cars but, fitted to the Allegro, it attracted much derision, something not diminished by Leyland’s explanation it afforded "an ideal view of the instruments".  Leyland also attracted the scorn of mathematicians when they called the shape “quartic” on the basis of it being “a square with rounded corners”.  However, technically, a quartic is “an algebraic equation or function of the fourth degree or a curve describing such an equation or function” while sqound (a portmanteau word, the construct being sq(uare) + (r)ound) is the ultimate niche word, the only known use by collectors of certain Chevrolet C4 Corvettes (1984-1996), describing the shift in 1990 from round to “a square with rounded corners” taillights.  Mathematicians insist the correct word for a "square with rounded corners" is "squircle" (in algebraic geometry "a closed quartic curve having properties intermediate between those of a square and a circle"), the construct being squ(are) +c(ircle).

Few etymologists (and certainly no lexicographers) appear to have listed sqound as a "real" word but it's of minor interest because as a rare example of a word where "q" is not followed by "u"; such constructs do exist but usually in the cases where initialisms have become acronyms such as Qantas (Queensland and Northern Territory Aerial Services).  Such words do appear in English language texts but they tend to be foreign borrowings including (1) qat (or khat) (a plant native to East Africa and the Arabian Peninsula, often chewed for its stimulant effects, (2) qi (a term from Chinese philosophy referring to life force or energy), qibla (the direction Muslims face when praying, towards the Kaaba in Mecca and (4) qiviut (the soft under-wool of the musk-ox, valued when making warm clothing).  For a while, Leyland pretended to ignore the pedants but within a year replaced the wheel with a conventional circular design.  Whatever the name, variations of the shape have since become popular with high-end manufacturers, Ferrari, Aston-Martin, Lamborghini and others all pursuing non-circular themes and one is a feature of the latest, mid-engined, C8 Chevrolet Corvette in which, unlike the despised Allegro, it's much admired.

How to make an Allegro look worse: 1976 Vanden Plas 1500, the variant coming too late to receive the quartic wheel.  The consensus among testers was the best place to enjoy a Vanden Plas 1500 was sitting inside, amid the leather and walnut, most readers drawing the inference that was because one wouldn't have to look at the thing.  One less charitable scribe described it as "mutton dressed up as hogget". 

In another sign of the times, unlike ADO16, one basic vehicle which was badge-engineered to be sold under six brands (Austin, Morris, Riley, Wolseley, MG & Vanden Plas with the Italian operation Innocenti among the overseas builders, some of which added "modernized" front and rear styling), the only variation of the Allegro was a luxury version by in-house coach-builder Vanden Plas (although there were Belgium-built Allegros and Leyland's Italian operation produced some 10,000 between 1974-1975 as the Innocenti Regent), laden with leather, cut-pile carpeting and burl walnut trim including the picnic tables so beloved by English coach-builders.  It didn't use the Allegro name and has always elicited condemnation, even from those who admired the Vanden Plas ADO16, presumably because the traditional upright grill attached to the front suited the earlier car's lines whereas the version which had to be flattened to fit the Allegro's pinched, pudgy nose was derided as coming from the hand of a vulgarian.  Still, there's clearly some appeal because the Vanden Plas cars have the highest survival rate of all Allegros and now enjoy a niche (one step below the GDR's (Deutsche Demokratische Republik (German Democratic Republic; the old East Germany, 1949-1990) Trabant (the infamous "Trabbi")) on the bottom rung of the collector car market.  One thing which may disappoint collectors is the Vanden Plas 1500 & 1750 (1974-1982) never used the "quartic" steering wheel although a photograph of one so-equipped did appear in the early brochures, printed before the decision in mid-1974 to replace it with a conventional (circular) design.  The photograph was of what the the industry calls a "final pre-production prototype", a common practice.

Leyland's other misadventure in 1973: The P76     

The antipodean Edsel: 1973 Leyland P76 Super V8.

Although 1973 was the last “good year” for the “old” UK economy and one during which British Leyland was looking to the future with some optimism, the corporation’s troubles that year with steering wheels were, in retrospect, a harbinger.  In addition to the Allegro, also introduced in 1973, on the other side of the planet, was the P76, a large (then a “compact” in US terms) sedan which Leyland Australia hoped would be competitive with the then dominant trio, GMH’s (General Motors Holden) Holden, Ford’s Falcon and Chrysler’s Valiant, the previous attempts using modified variants of UK models less than successful although the adaptations had been both imaginative and achieved at remarkably low cost.  Whatever the hope and dreams, publicly, Leyland Australia kept expectations low, claiming the target was nothing more than a 10% market share and the initial reception the P76 received suggested this might more than be realized, the consensus of press reports concluding the thing was in many aspects at least as good as the opposition and in some ways superior, the country’s leading automotive periodical that year awarding the V8 version the coveted CotY (Car of the Year) trophy.  

The answer to the question nobody asked: 44 gallon drum in a P76 boot.  In fairness, the marketing gimmick was a device to illustrate the car had "a bigger boot than the competition" rather than an indication many buyers routinely (if ever) carted such a thing but it soon became a matter of ridicule.

Unfortunately, the circumstances of 26 June 1973 when the P76 was launched didn’t last, the first oil crisis beginning some four months later which resulted in a spike in the price of oil which not only suddenly dampened demand for larger cars but also triggered what was in the West then the most severe and longest-lasting recession of the post-war years.  Some basic design flaws and indifferent quality control contributed to the debacle which is now remembered as the Australian industry’s Edsel and in October 1974 production of the P76 ended; Leyland closed its Australian manufacturing facilities, never to re-open.  Not even the much-vaunted ability of the P76 effortlessly to carry a 44 (imperial) gallon (53 US gallon; 205 litre) drum in its trunk (boot) had been enough to save the outpost of the old empire.

1973 P76 with the original (sharp-edged) steering wheel (left) and the later version, designed for the Force 7 (right) which was fitted also to the Targa Florio version released to celebrate a P76 setting the fastest time on the stage of the 1974 London–Sahara–Munich World Cup Rally held on the historic Targa Florio course in Sicily (in the rally, the P76 finished a creditable 13^th).  The steering wheel was one of many flaws which were planned to be rectified (or at least ameliorated) in the "facelifted" version scheduled for 1975 but, before the end of 1974, the decision had been taken in London to axe the entire Leyland Australia manufacturing venture.    

Given the geo-political situation, rampant inflation and troubled industrial relations of the time, the P76’s steering wheel is really just a footnote in the sad tale but, like the Allegro’s “quartic” venture it was emblematic of the self-inflicted injuries to which Leyland would subject itself, both in the UK and its antipodean offshoot.  When the P76 made its debut in 1973, there was some comment that the steering wheel’s boss had a horn-pad in the shape of a boomerang, emphasizing its credentials as a locally developed product, but what was criticized was the rim which had bizarre, concave cross-section, meaning a quite sharp edge faced the driver, leaving an impression on the palms of the hands after only a few minutes driving.  The industry legend is the shape was a consequence of the typist (second wave feminism hadn't yet left the bookshelves and arrived in boardrooms so in 1973 it remained SOP (standard operating practice) to wherever possible "blame the woman") who prepared the final specification-sheet having mixed up “concave” & “convex” but even if true it’s remarkable such an obvious design-flaw wasn't rectified at the prototype stage.

Some have doubted the veracity of the story but such things do happen including in space.  The problems of the HST (Hubble Space Telescope, 1990) were a famous example and on 23 September, 1999, NASA (the US National Aeronautics and Space Administration) lost the US$125 million Mars Climate Orbiter spacecraft after its 286-day journey to Mars and that was a time when US$125 million was still a lot of money.  There was of course the inevitable review which found the craft’s directional thrusters had, over the course of several months, been incorrectly fired because the control data had been calculated in incorrect units.  The contractor (Lockheed Martin, responsible for the calculations) was sending data in Imperial measures (pounds) to NASA, while NASA's navigation team, expecting metric units, interpreted the numbers as Newtons.  As far as is known, neither contractor nor agency attempted to blame a typist.

1974 Leyland Force 7V.

Compounding the error on an even grander scale, Leyland even planned to release a P76 coupé.  Of the 60-odd built, only 10 of the prototype Force 7V coupés survived the crusher and although it offered the novelty of a practical hatchback, the styling was ungainly and the execution expensive (no external panels shared with the sedan, then the standard practice for such variants).  However, what was more critical was the very market segment for which it was intended was close to extinction and the five vehicles intended as its competitors (Ford's Falcon Hardtop & Landau, Holden's Monaro coupé and Chrysler's Valiant Hardtop & Charger) would be all dropped from production by 1978.  Even had the range survived beyond 1974, success would thus have seemed improbable although the company should be commended for having intended to name the luxury version the Tour de Force (from the French and translated literally as "feat of strength"), the irony charming although En dépit de tout (In spite of everything) might better have captured the moment.  Industry historians have long concluded that even had the P76 survived, the Force 7 would have been a short-lived failure.     

Seriously, the New Zealanders did, by at least the hundreds.

One darkly amusing footnote in the dismal decline and fall of the P76 is that between 1971-1976, Rover's highly regarded 3500 (P6B, 1968-1977) was assembled from CKD (completely knocked down) packs at the NZMC (New Zealand Motor Corporation) plant in Nelson, some 2,400 finished cars shipped to Australia.  To an economist that probably sounds an unexceptional trans-Tasman commercial transaction but in return, NZMC received from Leyland Australia CKD packs of P76 V8s to an equivalent NZ$ value.  Most concluded the Australians got the better part of the deal although the P76 is now a fixture in the lower reaches of the local collector market where they sell for rather more than 3500s so there's that.

There seems no publicly available record of how many CKD packs were shipped to New Zealand but a fully-assembled, ADR (Australian Design Rules) compliant 3500 would have had a higher book value than a CKD pack P76 of any specification so, given the retail pricing at the time, a ratio between 3-4:1 may be a reasonable guess, the labor component in any assembly a substantial part of the calculated value.  That means it must have been a partial exchange because however calculated, 650 CKD packs of P76s would be only a fraction the value of 2400 complete P6s.  During the mid 1970s, the NZ$-Aus$ exchange rate bounced between (roughly) 1.10-1.22 so, depending on contractual terms, that may also have influenced the two-way volumes.  By the mid-1970s the Bretton Woods system (1944-1973) of fixed exchange rates was over but Western countries still set rates in a system called a “managed float”, periodically using a “basket” of currencies (US$ the benchmark; cross-rates from the basket).  “Managed float” sounds an oxymoron but the process wasn’t wholly different from modern practice (the interplay of forex markets and central bank interventions).

GQ Magazine (British edition), September 1995.  GQ stands for “Gentleman's Quarterly” but perhaps, by the 1990s, there was some irony in the title.

While it may be unfair, the P6-P76 exchange may be compared with the “Seriously, would you trade her in for Paula Yates?” caption which appeared on the September, 1995 cover of the British edition of the periodical GQ, used for a photograph of an alluringly posed Helena Christensen.  The piece was a comment on the news Australian singer Michael Hutchence (1960–1997) had “traded in” Danish supermodel Helena Christensen (b 1968 and his long-time girlfriend) for English media personality Paula Yates (1959–2000), the unsubtle implication being Ms Christensen was rather more attractive than Ms Yates, GQ's view apparently a woman's desirability should be determined on no other basis.  There are reasons the grimier end of English journalism gained its reputation.  

Paula Yates.

Many might make a similar point between the Rover P6 and the Leyland P76 although, like the two women, the pair do share some fundamental DNA, both V8s based on the original aluminium unit developed by GM (General Motors) for BOP (the corporation’s Buick, Oldsmobile & Pontiac divisions); not wholly suited to US use, GM produced the 215 cubic inch (3.5 litre) V8 only between 1960-1963 before selling the rights and tooling to Rover.  GM would come to regret that decision but nevertheless got good value from the design, similar engines with iron blocks used between 1964-1980 although the greatest benefit came from a V6 derivative which, in various forms in places around the world, was in continuous production between 1964-2008.  Best remembered as the long-serving “3800”, the V6 proved one of Detroit’s most robust, reliable and easily serviced engines.  For the P6, Rover used the original 3.5 litre configuration (although the company made the first of their many improvements) while Leyland Australia created a “tall deck” block and achieved a 4.4 litre (269 cubic inch) displacement with a perfectly square bore & stroke (both 88.9 mm (3.5 inch)).  Had the rest of the car been up to the standard of the 4.4, the P76 may have succeeded.

Helena Christensen.

Introduced in 1963 as the Rover 2000 (with a unique 2.0 litre (121 cubic inch) in-line four-cylinder engine), the P6 was one of the outstanding products of the post-war British car industry (genuinely, despite the perceptions of some, there were a few fine machines) with an advanced specification in a conveniently sized package.  It was the first ECotY (European Car of the Year) and all it needed was more power (a flirtation with enlarging the 2.0 to a 2.5 litre (151 cubic inch) in-line five aborted), that deficiency in 1968 addressed with the release of the 3500, the range in 1971 augmented by the 3500S (unrelated to the automatic 3500S sold briefly in the US) with a four-speed manual gearbox, the revised configuration making these P6s genuine 125 mph (200 km/h) cars.  Although by then a nearly decade-old platform, the 3500S impressed testers with it pace, the usual competence of the de Dion rear suspension and brakes which were state of the (pre-ABS) art; the fuel gauge also attracted comment, praised for its unusual accuracy.  Regrettably, the P6's fine platform was under-exploited although the Swiss coach-builder Graber was among several which built nicely-executed coupés & cabriolets while in England there were the inevitable estates (station wagons) although the latter were not ascetically pleasing because of the need to follow the slope of the roof-line.  Along with much of the UK industry, Rover rather lost its way after the high water mark of the 3500.  

The Alfa Romeo Alfasud

The fate of many Alfasuds.

Sea water played a part in the story of the Alfasud.  The Alfasud name (the construct being Alfa + sud) was an allusion to it being produced in a newly built factory in the Naples region, the decision taken after financial inducements were offered by the government, anxious to do something about the levels of unemployment and lack of economic development in the south of the country.  The Italian sud (south) was from the French sud, from Old English suþ, from Proto-Germanic sunþrą.  As a plan it made sense to politicians and economists but, industrial relations being what they were at the time, the outcome was less than ideal.    

In one aspect, the Allegro and Alfasud (1971-1989) were wholly un-alike, the latter infamous for its propensity to rust, a trait shared with many mass-produced Italian cars of the era, the only consolation for Alfasud owners being the contemporary Lancia Beta (1972-1984) suffered even more.  The Alfasud's rust-resistance did improve over the years but it remained a problem until the end of production and the industry story has always been that in the barter economy which was sometime conducted between the members of the EEC (European Economic Community (1957), the Zollverein that would evolve into the EU (European Union (1993)) and those of the Warsaw Pact (the alliance between the USSR and the satellite states within Moscow's sphere of influence which essentially duplicated the structure of NATO (North Atlantic Treaty Organization, 1949), Italian manufactured goods were exchanged for Russian steel which reputedly was re-cycled but anyway turned out to be of poor quality and essentially porous.  The story certainly is a good fit for the narrative of mal-administration and corruption that was Italy in the 1970s but subsequent research has revealed it to be a myth, the sheet metal used in the Neapolitan factory at Pomigliano d’Arco where Alfasuds were made the same stuff Alfa Romeo used in the facility at Arese in Milan where the Giulia range was produced and its reputation for resisting rust was above average.  The evidence suggests all the steel used by the company's local operations came from the state owned Taranto steel mills and intriguingly, the factories south & north all used the same paints and the ovens & paint booths were a decade-odd newer in Naples.

Variations on the Alfasud theme: The Sprint (1976-1989, left) and Giardinetta (station wagon or estate-car) (1975-1980, right).

Given all that, the startlingly premature corrosion surprised many within Alfa Romeo and in 1977 a project-team was formed to investigate the causes and it was afforded some urgency given the reputational damage being suffered by the whole company (ie profits were suffering).  Having determined the core components (paint & steel) weren't to blame, the engineers deconstructed the production process including the system of movement (how the partially completed cars proceeded from start to finish).  What the team found was that while the electrophoresis baths at Pomigliano were state of the art, the inexperienced (and sometimes indifferently-minded) workforce operated them without adequate supervision and quality control, something exacerbated by the chronically bad labor relations, the factory beset by rolling strikes which meant unpainted bodies were often sitting for days.  In the humid climate of the south, condensation gathered, many cars already rusting even before eventually receiving a coat of paint and that the plant was less than 10 miles (16 km) from the coast and prevailing winds blew from the sea added to the problem, the unpainted Alfasuds often for days sitting unpainted accumulating salty moisture.

1983 Alfa Romeo Alfasud Ti Quadrifoglio Verde (Green Cloverleaf), one of the industry's longer model names and clipped usually to "Alfasud QV".

The team's findings resulted in a change to the production process for the revised Series 2 Alfasuds launched in December 1977.  The critical parts of the bodyshell now used "Zincrometal" (steel coated with a primer) which was a mix of chromium, zinc and an organic bonding resin, baked at 160°C (320°F) and that was as good a system as anything then used in the European industry.  As a added precaution, a polyurethane foam was injected into the body's boxed sections with a flexible plastic sealant applied at the seams to prevent moisture intrusion.  That had the added benefit of reducing noise vibration & harshness (NVH) while adding only a little extra weight.  Unfortunately, the tests the engineers conducted to prove the design was waterproof relied on perfectly applied sealant at the junctions but the poor quality control continued so many seams were improperly sealed which meant the foam acted as a moisture store, making the problem worse.  By contrast, whatever its other faults (and there were a few), the Allegro resisted rust like few cars built anywhere during the era, the body-engineering sound and that 1970s British Leyland paint thick and durable.  In the years that followed, many would criticize the sometimes lurid and even sickly shades but as a protective coating, it did the job.

Ultimate Alfasud: The Giocattolo (left), the world's best Alfa Romeo Sprint which included the world’s best tool kit (right).  Unrelated to either, Il giocattolo (the Toy, 1979) was an Italian film noir from the Anni di piombo (Years of lead) era, directed by Giuliano Montaldo (1930-2023).

The much admired coupé variant of the Alfasud was sold as the Alfasud Sprint (1976-1983) and Sprint (1983-1989); it proved rather more rust resistant.  It was subject to continuous product improvement and fitted with progressively bigger and more powerful engines although none were larger than 1.7 litres (104 cubic inches) which limited its use in competition to events where outright speed mattered less than balance and agility.  The handling was about as good as FWD (front wheel drive) then got and in events such as hill climbs the things are competitive even today.  However, rising to the challenge, between 1986-1989, an Australian company solved the two problems afflicting the Sprint (FWD & lack of power).  Thus the Giocattolo (a play on the Italian word meaning “toy”), a batch of 15 built in the Queensland coastal town of Bundaberg before the economic downturn (remembered locally as "the recession we had to have", the then treasurer's (Paul Keating (b 1944; Prime Minister of Australia 1991-1996)) rationalization of why it was essential to kill off the inflation which had become entrenched in the mid 1970s) ended the fun.  The Giocattolo was fitted with a mid-mounted 304 cubic inch (5.0 litre) Holden V8, driving the rear wheels through a ZF five-speed transaxle, the combination yielding a top speed of 160 mph (257 km/h), a useful increase of 40 mph (65 km/h) over the fastest of the factory's Sprints.  As impressive as the mechanical specification was, the Giocattolos are remembered also for the unusual standard feature of a 375 ml bottle of Bundaberg Rum (the region's most famous product which began as a way to use a waste-product of sugar-cane processing) and two shot glasses as part of the toolkit.  Many who worked on Italian cars probably thought they deserved a drink so it was a good idea but these days, a company would risk being cancelled for such a thoughtful inclusion.