Statesman

Statesman (pronounced steyts-muhn)

(1) Certain politicians with a favorable reputation (a rare breed), especially those associated with international relations.

(2) A person (not of necessity an elected politician) experienced in the art & science of government or versed in the administration of government affairs, especially those involved in diplomacy.

(3) A product name used variously of such things as cars, ships and (especially) newspapers and periodicals.

1585–1595: A construct was state + s + -man, modeled on steersman (in nautical use, one who steers a ship or other vessel (the helmsman)).  State was from the early thirteen century Middle English noun stat, from both the Old French estat and the Latin status (manner of standing, attitude, position, carriage, manner, dress, apparel; and other senses), from stare (to stand); a doublet of estate and status.  The idea of “the polity” which evolved ultimately into the construct of the modern nation-state began to develop in fourteenth century Europe, notably the multi-entity Holy Roman Empire.  In other European languages, the comparable words were the French être, the Greek στέω (stéo), the Italian stare, the Portuguese estar, the Romanian sta, and the Spanish estar.  

The suffix –man developed from the noun and was applied describe (1) someone (the original implication obviously implied male) who is an expert in an area or who takes part in an activity, (2) someone employed or holds a position in an area, (3) someone possessing particular characteristics relating to a topic or area, (4) someone (in this case explicitly male) of a certain nationality or sub-national geographical identity (not a universal use which varied according to the structure of the root word (other suffixes including –an, -ian etc) or (5) in Admiralty jargon, a ship which has special characteristics relating to a trade or area (‎merchantman, ‎Greenlandman etc) which produced the amusing linguistic paradox of forms such as “she’s a merchantman” because of the convention ships were always referred to in the feminine.  Man was from the Middle English man, from the Old English mann (human being, person, man), from the Proto-West Germanic mann, from the Proto-Germanic mann-, from the primitive Indo-European mon- (human being, man”).

The derived form statesmanship described an idealized conception of how a politician should behave.  It's now less common, probably less so because the standard of politicians has so obviously declined than a reluctance to use a word thought gender-loaded; to say "statesmanship" might now be thought a micro-aggression.  The suffix -ship was from the Middle English -schipe & -shippe, from the Old English -sċiepe, from the Proto-West Germanic -skapi, from the Proto-Germanic -skapiz.  The equivalent forms in other languages included the Scots -schip, the West Frisian -skip, the Dutch -schap, the German -schaft, the Swedish -skap and the Icelandic -skapur.  It was appended to nouns to form a new noun denoting a property or state of being, time spent in a role, or a specialized union, a popular use being the way a set of social duties associated with a particular role shape or develop one's character (fellowship, ownership et al).  Other suffixes used for similar purposes (property or state of being) include -ness, -hood, -itude, -th, -ity & -dom.

Meeting a statesman: Lindsay Lohan meeting with Recep Tayyip Erdoğan (b 1954; prime-minister or president of the Republic of Türkiye since 2003), Ankara, 27 January 2017.

The informal noun superstatesman is used to refer to someone especially successful (especially in international relations) while to say of someone or their actions that they possess the quality of being unstatesmanlike, it’s a criticism which implies they have not reached the expected standard (ie they’re acting more like a politician).  The term "elder statesman" generally is used either of (1) a respected political leader (not of necessity all that elderly but usually retired or at least withdrawn from the controversies of front-line politics) or (2), by extension, a prominent and respected person in any field who usually is retired or inactive with their involvement restricted to commentaries.  Statesman & statesmanship are nouns and statesmanlike & statesmanly are adjectives; the noun plural is statesmen (except in commercial use when Statesman is used as a product name in which case the plural should be Statesmans (although Statesmen seems not uncommon)).  The feminine noun stateswoman and the gender-neutral statesperson are more recent creations (both with the same derived adjectives on the model of those from statesman) and notably used less frequently.

The usually told joke is that a statesman is a “dead politician” and there’s some element of truth in that because the reputation of politicians certainly seems often to improve once they’ve had the decency to drop dead.  Unfairly or not, politicians often are characterized those dedicated to the pursuit of power, advancing their own interests or those of their party and making decisions that cater to short-term political gains (although they also have a great interest in accumulating money and many taxpayers would be surprised to learn just how much of their money ends up each year in the bank accounts of politicians; such is the array of “allowances & entitlements” (often opaque and sometimes secret) that the total is some distance from their notional annual salary).  Anyway, because the focus of a politician is on winning elections and pursuing the agendas of whomever is funding them (or offering to in their post-political life), the term “politician” usually carries negative connotations, implying opportunism, manipulation and a lack of concern for anything except self-interest.  Old Jack Lang (1876–1975; Premier of New South Wales 1925-1927 & 1930-1932) used to tell the young seeking a career in politics his best advice was "...in any race, always back the horse called self-interest; it'll be the only one having a go."

Two statesmen meeting to discuss matters of common interest: Dr Henry Kissinger (b 1923; US national security advisor 1969-1975 & secretary of state 1937-1977, left) and General Augusto Pinochet (1915-2006; dictator of Chile 1973-1990, right), Santiago, Chile, 1976. 

The term statesman carries usually positive connotations and is associated with someone in public life who has demonstrated wisdom, integrity and a vision which includes the interest of the public and this rare breed is characterized by their commitment to serving the greater good, often transcending narrow partisan interests in favor of broader national or societal goals.  It’s probably easier for a politician to be thought statesmanlike if they come into office having already established an illustrious reputation through pervious public service, such as Dwight Eisenhower (1890-1969; US president 1953-1961) who, before he entered the White House, was one of the nation’s most respected soldiers.  Actually, in the US where appointments to the cabinet don’t require election, it’s more likely one can be thought a statesman because one need never dirty one’s hands with the nasty business of electoral politics.  Serving as secretary of state for a scant twelve months between 1950-1951, General George Marshall (1880–1959; US Army chief of staff 1939-1945) is remembered as a “great statesman” because he looked the part and the Marshall Plan (the post-war re-financing of Europe with US dollars) bore his name although it was something he neither conceived, designed or administered.  Another of America’s chief diplomats, Dr Henry Kissinger, is still described by some as a “great statesman” (although many others prefer “war criminal”).  Certainly, politicians good and evil are aware that how they’re remembered is based on who gets to write the histories.  Late in World War II (1939-1945), when things really weren’t going well for the Nazis, Dr Joseph Goebbels (1897-1975; Nazi propaganda minister 1933-1945), well aware of the enormity of the crimes the regime (of which he was a prominent part) had committed and one of the few realists among a generally deluded lot, was said to have commented: “Either we are going to go down in history as the greatest statesmen of all time, or as the greatest criminals.”  Although that phrase has for decades been attributed to him, it’s not certain he used quite those words but his diary entries and collaborated contemporary testimony from others leave little doubt that was what was on his mind.

Adolf Hitler (1889-1945; Führer (leader) and German head of government 1933-1945 & head of state 1934-1945) had no doubt what qualities defined statesmanship.  In the prison diary assembled from the huge volume of fragments he had smuggled out of Spandau prison while serving the twenty year sentence he was lucky to receive for war crimes & crimes against humanity (Spandauer Tagebücher (Spandau, the Secret Diaries), pp 451 William Collins Inc, 1976), Albert Speer (1905–1981; Nazi court architect 1934-1942; Nazi minister of armaments and war production 1942-1945) recounted one of the Führer's not infrequent monologues, a small part of which mentioned the matter:

“Whoever succeeds me must be sure to have an opening for a new war.  We never want a static situation where that sort of thing hangs in doubt In future peace treaties we must therefore always leave open a few questions that will provide a pretext.  Think of Rome and Carthage, for instance. A new war was always built right into every peace treaty. That's Rome for you! That's statesmanship.” 

The Holden Statesman

1971 Ford ZD Fairlane 500.  The industry legend was the development budget for the original ZA Fairlane in 1967 was "three quarters of four-fifths of fuck all".  Like the basic vehicle, the styling updates were borrowed from earlier US Fords so the effort required was about as minimal as the budget. 

Holden was the General Motors (GM) outpost in Australia and in the 1950s and 1960s, for a variety of reasons (not wholly related to the dynamic qualities of the cars they sold), the operation had been highly successful, for many years enjoying a market share as high as 50% odd.  By the early 1970s, increased competition had eroded Holden’s dominance although it remained the market leader in most sectors it contested with one exception: the executive sedan.  Ford in 1967 had effectively re-defined this market by conjuring up a long-wheelbase version of the mass-market Falcon which overnight rendered obsolete some of the antiquated British competition and provided an attractively less expensive alternative to the bigger Fords, Chevrolets, Pontiacs and Dodges, imported via Canada to take advantage of the lower tariffs imposed on products from the Commonwealth (the successor regime to the old imperial preference scheme).  Although well-suited to Australian conditions, the US cars were becoming increasingly expensive because of movements in the exchange rate (the Bretton-Woods system (1944) of “fixed” currency rates was more an interacting series of “managed floats”).  So, developed very cheaply with only detail changes and some (what now seems modest) bling, the elongated Falcon was in 1967 released under the Fairlane name (used earlier in Australia for both a full-sized and intermediate North American import) and it proved an instant success, selling not only in large numbers but with a profit margin unmatched in the local industry.  Of course, one victim of this success was Ford’s own imported Galaxie, sales of which slowed to a trickle, demand now restricted mostly to governments which admired the "statesmanlike" presence the big machines lent the politicians being chauffeured around.  The Galaxies would remain available in Australia until 1973.

1968 HK Holden Brougham.

Holden couldn’t let such an obvious market be ignored but their first response seems bizarre and was treated as such at the time.  Instead of following Ford’s lead and stretching their platform to create a long wheelbase alternative, Holden took their previous top-of-the-line Premier and extended the trunk (boot) by eight inches (200 mm), increasing luggage capacity and presumably pleasing those carrying stuff like bags of golf clubs but that really answered a question nobody had been asking.  Named the Brougham (a name with a tradition dating back to horseless carriages but rapidly becoming popular with US manufacturers), ascetically, the long-tail really didn’t work because it rendered the shape fundamentally unbalanced and the market response was muted, Brougham sales never making a dent in the Fairlane’s dominance.  Time has been kinder and the Brougham now has a cult following among collectors, especially the early versions which used a 307 cubic inch Chevrolet V8 because Holden's own 308 hadn't reached production.  Ironically, the mildly-tuned 307 isn't one of the more highly regarded iterations of the small-block Chevrolet V8 but the allure of the name remains strong.  In the early 1980s, when the things were unwanted and could be bought for a few hundred dollars, one enterprising customizer built a two-door version and while some of the detailing was lacking, the basic lines worked surprisingly well but as Chrysler and Ford discovered in the 1970s, although the market for such things in the US was huge (the segment was called "the personal coupe"), in Australia it was was small and shrinking so it's as well Holden didn't try their own.

1971 Holden Statesman De Ville.

In 1971, Holden did respond with a long wheelbase executive sedan, this time called the Statesman.  Apparently, there had previously been only one short-lived car called a Statesman (joining a governmental-themed roll-call manufacturers had previously used including Senator, Diplomat, President, Ambassador, Envoy and even Dictator).  This time, the styling was outstanding and, especially if buyers could resist the lure of the then inexplicably popular vinyl roof, the Statesman was an elegant execution, details such as the split egg-crate grill especially admired.  The frontal treatment was also a clever design because the whole HQ range used a “nose-cone” making face-lifts much cheaper and the same approach applied to the tail, the tail-lamps used on the commercial range and the station wagons re-purposed.  Holden had learned well from Ford’s example.  Structurally, the Statesman following the Fairlane’s price points, the basic car aimed at the hire-car market and available with a six cylinder engine and bench seats to make it a genuine six-seater while the Statesman De Ville featured a higher level of trim and used either Holden’s 308 cubic inch (5.0 litre) or the imported Chevrolet 350 (5.7).  Just to emphasize how special the Statesman was, the Holden name didn’t appear either on the car or its advertising, the local operation instead seeking, and receiving, GM’s permission to used Cadillac’s famous wreath on the badge.  All the publicity material said "Statesman by General Motors" but few were fooled and eventually the trickery was abandoned.

The misstep Ford got away with: The 1972 ZF Fairlane (left) was criticized because it looked little different from the basic Falcon; the 1976 ZH (right) rectified that, an eight-year old US design this time providing the template.

The Statesman sold better than the Brougham but didn’t threaten the Fairlane’s dominant position in the sector, even though Ford in 1972 made the fundamental mistake when releasing its new version of not ensuring there was sufficient product differentiation; the new ZF Fairlane looked like a somewhat bloated XA Falcon but such was the inertia of the name and the solid reputation for reliability and resale value that fleet-managers and private buyers remained loyal and it wouldn’t be until 1976 that the problem of the Fairlane’s comparative anonymity was rectified and that by bolting on the styling from the 1968 Mercury; that’s how things were done then.  However, Ford in 1973 scored its other big hit by stretching the Falcon still further to create the LTD, a capable but gaudy machine which so appealed to governments and corporations that it for decades dominated those fleets.  Like the Fairlane, the LTD was a highly profitable package developed at low cost and noted for its bling such as the aviation style controls for the air-conditioning.  With the coming of the LTD, the imported Galaxie was withdrawn from the Australian market.

1976 Holden HJ Statesman Caprice: The increasingly baroque touches added during the face-lifts ("heavy-handed" the phrase used at the time) meant the later versions lacked the purity of the HQ, the delicate lines of which were the high-water mark of Holden's styling.     

Holden made no attempt to match the LTD, leaving the lucrative segment to Ford while the Statesman soldiered on although, matching the Fairlane, the slow-selling base model was dropped when the range was revised in 1974, along with the Chevrolet 350 V8 which had been fitted only to around 600 Statesmans (some of which were exported to New Zealand and South Africa with some unpleasing detail changes).  The structure of the range changed with the De Ville now the base car and a new model, the Caprice, sitting atop, the differences between the two all in bling, the mechanical specification identical, both using the Holden 308 V8 and the now more reliable Trimatic automatic transmission.  Through two face-lifts (HJ & HX), the Statesman was relatively unchanged during the troubled and difficult mid 1970s, most attention devoted to devising plumbing to lower emissions, something which worked but at the cost also of decreasing power and drivability; all that increased was the fuel consumption and the price.

1979 Holden Statesman SL/E.

However, in 1979, Holden surprised the market by splicing a new Statesman between the De Ville & Caprice: the Statesman SL/E.  Although mechanically unchanged from the rest of the range, the SL/E was advertised as the “sporty” Statesman, something made vaguely plausible by the huge improvement in handling rendered when the HZ cars were released in 1978 with what Holden called “radial tuned suspension” (RTS).  Unfortunately, the market found the idea of a “sporty Statesman” about as improbable as the conjunction sounds and the car was not a success, presumably because it was neither one thing or the other, the De Ville fundamentally the same only cheaper and the Caprice better equipped and more prestigious.  Whether the SL/E might have been better received had there been a genuine attempt to improve performance can't be known but power without an increase in emissions was hard to find in 1979 and Holden had the misfortune within a couple of months of the launch, the “second oil-shock” hit and V8 engines were suddenly again unfashionable.  Fortunately for Holden, the SL/E had not been an expensive programme, the wheels, badges and much of the bling borrowed from models already in production.

1982 Holden Caprice.

Still, the price of petrol not withstanding, by then, the next model Statesman was locked in for release in 1980.  The WB Statesman De Ville & Caprice existed because, cognizant of the uncertainty around the stability of the world oil market, Holden had replaced their mainstream range with the Commodore, a smaller (critically, narrower) car based on a European platform developed by Opel, GM’s German outpost.  The smaller machine was not suitable as the base for a Fairlane competitor so the decision was taken to update the HZ, even though the platform dated back to 1971.  What was achieved was commendable given the budget although the designers were disappointed that with the release of the new Fairlane & LTD in 1979, Ford had staged a pre-emptive hit with the six-window roof-line Holden had planned as their exclusive.  One genuine difference though was the Caprice’s hand-assembled grill, made from metal in an age when extruded plastic assemblies had long become industry practice but although much admired, it wasn’t enough to save the dated platform and the last Statesmans left the factory in 1985.  Holden did though flirt with a stay of execution because by 1982 it was clear the world would soon be awash with oil (what would come to be called the "oil glut"; the CIA's infamous 1975 prediction the world would "...by 1983 run out of oil" clearly wrong) and there were thoughts of a "low cost" version of the WB Statesman, resurrecting a proposal which seriously had been contemplated during the previous decade.  That was a response to the booming sales Ford was enjoying for it's bigger, wider Falcon range but the decision was taken to focus efforts instead on a bigger, wider Commodore, a vehicle released in 1988 which enjoyed great success.     

Publicity shot for 1983 Holden Statesman De Ville Magnum.

One quirk of the WB’s life however was that Peter Brock (1945–2006), a racing car driver who had created a successful business selling modified, high-performance Commodores, decided to resurrect the Statesman SL/E but this time make it genuinely “sporty”.  Labeled the Statesman Magnum, the car could be based on either the De Ville or Caprice according the buyer’s taste & budget and because Brock’s record-keeping was at the time a little haphazard, it’s not clear how many were built and it may not even have reached three figures.  Unlike the SL/E, the Magnum's 308 V8 benefited from the addition of the improved components Brock used on the Commodores: the cylinder heads, inlet manifold, air cleaner and exhaust system combining to produce a significant lift in output (power increasing from 170 to 250 hp (126 to 188kW) while, perhaps more relevantly for the target market, torque rose from 265 to 315 lb/ft (361 to 428Nm)).  Nor was the chassis neglected, Bilstein gas shock absorbers added all round while the front suspension geometry was revised and up-rated springs were fitted, the anti-roll bars thicker & stiffer.  Externally, most striking were the 16 x 8-inch Momo Polaris aluminium wheels while a variety of color schemes were offered, including the toning down of the chrome fittings to something darker and more menacing.  The press response was favorable, the already fine dynamics the platform had possessed since the debut of RTS now able better to be exploited with the additional power the Magnum provided, more than matching even the Chevrolet 350 fitted to some HQ Statesmans which had been offered only in a mild state of tune.  However, as the American industry had discovered in the 1960s, those who want high-performance vehicles prefer usually that they be in smaller packages and, as Ford two decades would re-discover when the Fairlane G220 was greeted with a polite yawn, those who wanted big luxury and those who wanted something smaller and “sporty” were two different populations, at least at certain stages in their lives.  In a sense though, Holden had the last laugh, the Statesman and Caprice later revived when the Commodore became larger and better suited to a wheelbase stretch and together they first out-sold and then outlived the Fairlane & LTD.

Magazine

Magazine (pronounced mag-uh-zeen)

(1) A publication that is issued periodically, usually bound in a paper cover, and typically contains essays, stories, poems, etc., by many writers, and often photographs and drawings, frequently specializing in a particular subject or area, as hobbies, news, or sports.

(2) A room or place for keeping gunpowder and other explosives, as in a fort or on a warship.

(3) A building or place for keeping military stores, as arms, ammunition, or provisions.

(4) A metal receptacle for a number of bullets or cartridges, inserted into certain types of automatic and semi-automatic weapons which, when empty, is removed and replaced by a full receptacle in order to continue firing.

(5) In broad or narrowcast media (radio, TV, social etc), a production consisting of several, usually short, segments in which various subjects are examined, usually in greater detail than on a regular newscast.  In the jargon of the industry: the magazine format.

(6) A device for continuously recharging a handling system, stove or boiler with solid fuel.

(7) A storehouse or warehouse (now rare).

(8) A collection of war munitions.

(9) A rack for automatically feeding a number of slides through a projector.

(10) In film-stock photography, an alternative name for cartridge.

(11) A city regarded as a marketing centre (archaic).

1581: From the Middle French magasin (warehouse, store), from the Italian magazzino (storehouse), from the Arabic مَخَازِن‎ (makhāzin) (plural of مَخْزَن‎ (makhzan) (storehouse)) noun of place from خَزَنَ‎ (khazana) (to store, to stock, to lay up); from the same Arabic source came the Spanish almacén (warehouse) and it's an example of European languages borrowing from an Arabic in plural form to create a singular form.  The original Arabic plural مخازن (maxāzin) was from the singular noun مخزن (maxzan) (storehouse; depot; shop).  A magazinette was  a small or short magazine (in the sense of a periodic publication), based on the notion of a novella or operetta.  Such things do still exist but the term has fallen from use.  In the early days of the commercial availability of semi-automatic firearms, at least one manufacturer did label those used with handguns "magazinette", the idea being they were a small version of the "magazines" supplied with larger weapons but the four syllable suggestion seems almost instantly to have been replaced by "clip".  The informal noun describing the industry publishing magazines was magazineland.  Magazine, magaziner & magazinette are nouns and magazinelike (and magazine-like) is an adjective (magazinesque seems to be non-standard); the noun plural is magazines.

Lindsay Lohan, Vogue magazine (Spanish edition), August 2009.

The original general sense of “storehouse” is almost obsolete except for military purposes and in naval history, magazines feature frequently because their detonation (usually as a result of attack but sometimes accidents too) was often the cause of ships being sunk, often with a high death-toll.  As used to describe books figuratively as “storehouses of information”, the form emerged circa 1640, the first application to a "periodical journal" was the Gentleman's Magazine in 1731.  Over the years magazines have appeared in a variety of formats with paper stock of different sizes and quality and have been as small as a single sheet or have run to hundreds of pages.  Although high-end publications were often lavish, it was only after the 1970s that the use of glossy paper became the industry standard after for years often appearing only on covers.  In the West, the the 1970s, 1980s & 1990s were the golden decades for magazines (and newspapers), the general trend of rising prosperity and the attractiveness of the medium to advertisers meaning growth of the sector was assured and the ease with which new entrants could appear was enhanced by the rise of desktop publishing, meaning entire editions could be composed with equipment which cost a tiny faction of what was required even a generation earlier.  There was churn because many came and went and the periodic recessions claimed some but during those decades the trend was more and not less.

The early days of the internet, when most interactions happened on desktops or laptops appears to have had little effect on the industry and may even have stimulated demand but it was in the early 2010s the near simultaneous arrival at scale of bandwidth, social media and smartphones which created a vicious cycle of (1) increasing volumes of content moving from established publishers to social media & (2) the advertising revenue following the viewers who followed the content.  The decade was littered with publications which either moved on-line or folded entirely but nothing compared with the sudden hit in 2020-2021 of the COVID-19 pandemic when titles which had for a generation or more been staples of the industry ceased to be.  However, some subsequently were revived and what seems to have happened is that many non-specialist titles (such as fashion magazines) have been re-invented as niche players designed to appeal to a small market with the interests and disposable income (the famous A1 & A2 demographic) which will attract advertisers.  A kind of pre-packaging of the audiences micro-marketers crave, this segment of the magazine business can be compared with narrowcasting and for some, the glossy magazine is something desirable and just another form of technology albeit one which can be a more pleasant and more convenient way to consume content and prices has risen so such things can also be flaunted as a status symbol, the sense of exclusivity sometimes not wholly illusory because some titles do restrict certain content to their print editions.  In the West, it's unlikely the glossies will ever again be the mass-market force they once were but as the revival of vinyl records demonstrated, where ongoing demand exists for something technically obsolete, provided a business model can be found profitably to provide supply, niches can survive and thrive.                        

The Economist's editors' choice of the ten covers which seemed best to define 2016.  At the time, 2016 seemed a ghastly year but worse was to come. 

However, being something that looks like a glossy magazine and sits in the shop on the shelf with other magazines does not guarantee that it is a magazine.  The English weekly The Economist (published since 1843) certainly ticks all the boxes for the criteria of what most people would think constitutes a magazine yet it has always described itself as a "newspaper".  That probably seems strange to many given the structure and nature of the content is more closely aligned with other specialist publications labelled "magazines" than with almost all "newspapers".  The explanation is relates to the the way the word "newspaper" was understood in 1843 and until 1971 it was printed in a broadsheet format (the change to the modern form in no way affecting editorial content).  Just to add some typically Economistesque precision, the editor in 2016 clarified the position further by explaining "perfect-bound" publications (the binding process used) were in 1843 called "newspapers".  If that sounds a highly technical point, so it should because economics remains, by definition and habit, the publication's meat & drink and economics is a technical business.  Whether it is or can ever be a science is one of those amusing arguments in which minds are never changed.

The Economist is renowned also for its cartoons and the dry, occasionally sardonic captions which accompany the photographs and illustrations used lend color or context to articles.  A rough guide to hell appeared on the cover of the 2012 Christmas double issue (December 2012).  Theologically dubious, as a piece predictive of the decade ahead, it proved remarkably prescient.

Politically, The Economist is best classified as belonging to "the fiscally conservative, socially liberal faction of the rational centre-right" and one perhaps surprising quirk revealed in a survey conducted by a US university was the high number of readers who turn first to the weekly obituary, the subjects of which are an eclectic lot: In addition to the expected popes, politicians & potentates, criminals, Cassanovas & courtesans and musicians, mandarins & megalomaniacs (there's some overlap with other categories), there are lives recorded which might otherwise be forgotten such as the man who spent decades gathering and storing all the typefaces used by the world's typewriters.  Nor are non-humans neglected, Alex the African Grey (science's best known parrot) & Benson (England's best-loved fish), both granted the valedictories they doubtlessly deserved.

Corduroy

Corduroy (pronounced kawr-duh-roi)

(1) A cotton-filling pile fabric with lengthwise cords or ridges.

(2) In the plural as corduroys (or cords), trousers made from this fabric.

(3) Of, relating to, or resembling corduroy.

(4) A method of building an improvised road or causeway, constructed with logs laid together transversely (used by military forces, those operating in swampy ground areas etc); the result was described originally as “ribbed velvet” and when intended for sustained use, earth was thrown into the gaps and compacted, thus rendering a relatively smooth, stable surface.

(5) To form such a “road” by arranging logs transversely.

(6) In ski-run maintenance, a pattern on snow resulting from the use of a snow groomer to pack snow and improve skiing, snowboarding and snowmobile trail conditions (corduroy thought a good surface for skiing).

(7) In Irish slang, cheap, poor-quality whiskey (based on the idea on the fabric corduroy not being “smooth”.

1776: Of uncertain origin.  There’s no consensus among etymologists but the most support seems to be for the construct being cord +‎ duroy (one of a number of lightweight, worsted fabrics once widely produced and known collectively as “West of England Cloth”).  Cord (A long, thin, flexible length of twisted yarns (strands) of fiber) was from the late thirteenth century Middle English corde (a string or small rope composed of several strands twisted or woven together; bowstring, hangman's rope), from the Old French corde (rope, string, twist, cord), from the Latin chorda (string of a musical instrument, cat-gut), from the Doric Ancient Greek χορδά (khordá) (string of gut, the string of a lyre) and may be compared with the Ionic χορδή (khordḗ), from the primitive Indo-European ghere- (bowel; intestine).  The adjective cordless (of electrical devices or appliances working without a cord (ie powered by a battery) dates from 1905 and was augmented later by “wireless” which described radios so configured.  Cordless is still a useful word now that the meaning of “wireless” in the context of computing has become dominant.  The curious use of cord as “a unit of measurement for firewood, equal to 128 cubic feet (4 × 4 × 8 feet), composed of logs and/or split logs four feet long and none over eight inches diameter (and usually seen as a stack 4 feet high by 8 feet long)” dates from the 1610s and was so-called because it was measured with a cord of rope marked with the appropriate measures.

Lindsay Lohan as fashion influencer: In burnt red corduroy pants & nude platform pumps, Los Angeles, December 2011 (left) and leaving Phillippe Restaurant after dinner with Woody Allen (b 1935), New York, May 2012 (right).  It's said that before he met Lindsay Lohan, the film director had never worn corduroy trousers and he still prefers brown, seemingly unable to escape the 1970s when he was perhaps at his happiest.

Until well into the twentieth century, the old folk etymology was still being published which held the word was from the French corde du roi (cloth of the king”), which seems never to have be used in France, the correct term for “cloth of the king” being velours côtelé.  It’s not impossible there’s some link with cordesoy, from the French corde de soie (“rope of silk” or “silk-like fabric”) because that form is documented in an advertisement for clothing fabrics dating from 1756.  The spelling corderoy appears in commercial use in 1772 but the modern “corduroy” became the standard form in the 1780s.  The origin of duroy is obscure and the earliest known use (in print) of the word appeared in the early seventeenth century; it may be from the French du roi (of the king), a 1790 trade publication in France including the term duroi (a woolen fabric similar to tammy).  So, although the case for cord +‎ duroy seems compelling, etymologists note (1) duroy was fashioned from wool while corduroy was made with cotton and there’s no other history of the two words being associated, (2) grammatically, the compound should have been duroy-cord and (3) this does not account for the earlier corderoy.

None of that of course means cord +‎ duroy was not the source and many English words have been formed in murky ways.  There’s also the possibility of some link with the English surname Corderoy (although there is no evidence of a connection); the name was also spelt Corderey & Cordurey, the origin lying in the nickname for “a proud person” (of French origin, it meant “king’s heart”).  Some are more convinced by a suggestion made in 1910 by the English philologist Ernest Weekley (1865-1954) who speculated corduroy began life as folk-etymology for the trade-term common in the sixteenth century: colour de roy, from the French couleur de roi (king’s colour) which originally was a reference to both a cloth in the rich purple associated with the French kings and the color itself. Later, it came to signify a bright tawny colour and a cloth of this hue.  Corduroy as an adjective came into use after 1789 and the use to describe roads or causeways improvised by means of with logs laid together transversely (usually to provide wheeled vehicles passage over swampy ground dates from the 1780s.  Corduroy is a noun, verb & adjective, corduroying & corduroyed are verbs and corduroylike is an adjective; the noun plural is corduroys.

1975 Mercedes-Benz 450 SEL 6.9 trimmed in classic 1970s brown corduroy.

By the 1960s most Mercedes-Benz were being trimmed in their famously durable MB-Tex, a robust vinyl which was not only easy to maintain but closely resembled leather, lacking only the aroma (and third-party manufacturers soon made available aerosols for those who found the olfactory appeal too much to forgo).  However, leather and velour (of mohair in the most exclusive lines) were either standard or optional on more expensive models and when exported to first-world markets beyond Europe (such as North America or Australia), MB-Tex or leather was standard and the fabrics were available only by special order.  A notable exception was the Japanese market where buyers disliked the way their prized “car doilies” slid of the hide; they always preferred cloth.  The velour was certainly better suited to harsh northern European winters and testers would often comment on how invitingly comfortable were the seats trimmed in the fabric.  To add to the durability, the surfaces subject to the highest wear (ie those at the edges on which there was the most lateral movement during ingress and egress) used a corduroy finish (the centre panels also trimmed thus, just for symmetry).

Velvet

Velvet (pronounced vel-vit)

(1) A fabric fashioned from silk with a thick, soft pile formed of loops of the warp thread either cut at the outer end or left uncut.

(2) In modern use, a fabric emulating in texture and appearance the silk original and made from nylon, acetate, rayon etc, sometimes having a cotton backing.

(3) Something likened to the fabric velvet, an allusion to appearance, softness or texture,

(4) The soft, deciduous covering of a growing antler.

(5) In informal use (often as “in velvet” or “in the velvet”), a very pleasant, luxurious, desirable situation.

(6) In slang, money gained through gambling; winnings (mostly US, now less common).

(7) In financial trading, clear gain or profit, especially when more than anticipated; a windfall profit.

(8) In mixology, as “Black Velvet”, a cocktail of champagne & stout (also made with dark, heavy beers).

(9) A female chinchilla; a sow.

(10) An item of clothing made from velvet (in modern use also of similar synthetics).

(11) In drug slang, the drug dextromethorphan.

(12) To cover something with velvet; to cover something with something of a covering of a similar texture.

(13) In cooking, to coat raw meat in starch, then in oil, preparatory to frying.

(14) To remove the velvet from a deer's antlers.

1275–1325: From the Middle English velvet, velwet, veluet, welwet, velvette, felwet veluet & veluwet, from the Old Occitan veluet, from the Old French veluotte, from the Medieval Latin villutittus or villūtus (literally shaggy cloth), from the classical Latin villus (nap of cloth, shaggy hair, tuft of hair), from velu (hairy) and cognate with French velours.  The Latin villus is though probably a dialectal variant of vellus (fleece), from the primitive Indo-European wel-no-, a suffixed form of uelh- (to strike).  Velvet is a noun, verb & adjective, velvetlike & velvety are adjectives, velveting & velveted are verbs & adjective; the noun plural is velvets.

The noun velveteen was coined in 1776 to describe one of first the imitation (made with cotton rather than silk) velvets commercially to be marketed at scale; the suffix –een was a special use of the diminutive suffix (borrowed from the Irish –in (used also –ine) which was used to form the diminutives of nouns in Hiberno-English).  In commercial use, it referred to products which were imitations of something rather than smaller.  The adjective velvety emerged in the early eighteenth century, later augmented by velvetiness.  In idiomatic use, the “velvet glove” implies someone or something is being treated with gentleness or caution.  When used as “iron fist in a velvet glove”, it suggests strength or determination (and the implication of threat) behind a gentle appearance or demeanor.  “Velvet” in general is often applied wherever the need exists to covey the idea of “to soften; to mitigate” and is the word used when a cat retracts its claws.  The adjective “velvety” can be used of anything smooth and the choice between it and forms like “buttery”, “silky”, “creamy” et al is just a matter of the image one wishes to summon.  The particular instance “Velvet Revolution” (Sametová revoluce in Czech) refers to the peaceful transition of power in what was then Czechoslovakia, occurring from in late 1989 in the wake of the fall of Berlin Wall.  Despite being partially in the Balkans, the transition from communism to democracy was achieved almost wholly without outbreaks of violence (in the Balkans it rare for much of note to happen without violence).

Ten years after: Lindsay Lohan in black velvet, London, January 2013 (left) and in pink velour tracksuit, Dubai, January 2023 (right).

The fabrics velvet and velour can look similar but they differ in composition.  Velvet historically was made with silk thread and was characterized by a dense pile, created by the rendering of evenly distributed loops on the surface.  There are now velvets made from cotton, polyester or other blends and its construction lends it a smooth, plush texture appearance, something often finished with a sheen or luster.  A popular modern variation is “crushed velvet”, achieved by twisting the fabric while wet which produces a crumpled and crushed look although the effect can be realized also by pressing the pile of fabric in a different direction.  It’s unusual in that object with most fabric is to avoid a “crumpled” look but crushed velvet is admired because of the way it shimmers as the light plays upon the variations in the texture.  The crushing process doesn’t alter the silky feel because of the dense pile and the fineness of the fibers.  Velour typically is made from knit fabrics such as cotton or polyester and is best known for its stretchiness which makes its suitable for many purposes including sportswear and upholstery.  Except in some specialized types, the pile is less dense than velvet (a consequence of the knitted construction) and while it can be made with a slight shine, usually the appearance tends to be matte.  Velour is used for casula clothing, tracksuits & sweatshirts and it’s hard-wearing properties mean it’s often used for upholstery and before the techniques emerged to permit vinyl to be close to indistinguishable from leather, it was often used by car manufacturers as a more luxurious to vinyl.  The noun velour (historically also as velure & velours) dates from 1706 and was from the French velours (velvet), from the Old French velor, an alteration of velos (velvet) from the same Latin sources as “velvet”.

US and European visions of luxury: 1974 Cadillac Fleetwood Talisman in velour (top left), 1977 Chrysler New Yorker Brougham in leather (top right), 1978 Mercedes-Benz 450 SEL 6.9 in velour (bottom left) & 1979 Mercedes-Benz 450 SEL 6.9 in leather (bottom right).  Whether in velour or leather, the European approach in the era was more restrained. 

In car interiors, the golden age of velour began in the US in the early 1970s and lasted almost two decades, the increasingly plush interiors characterized by tufting and lurid colors.  Chrysler in the era made a selling point of their “rich, Corinthian leather” but the extravagant velour interiors were both more distinctive and emblematic of the era, the material stretching sometimes from floor to roof (the cars were often labeled “Broughams”).  The dismissive phrase used of the 1970s was “the decade style forgot” and that applied to clothes and interior decorating but the interior designs Detroit used on their cars shouldn’t be forgotten and while the polyester-rich cabins (at the time too, on the more expensive models one’s feet literally could sink into the deep pile carpet) were never the fire-risk comedians claimed, many other criticisms were justified.  Cotton-based velour had for decades been used by the manufacturers but the advent of mass-produced, polyester velour came at a time when “authenticity” didn’t enjoy the lure of today and the space age lent the attractiveness of modernity to plastics and faux wood, faux leather and faux velvet were suddenly an acceptable way to “tart up” the otherwise ordinary.  At the top end of the market, although the real things were still sometimes used, even in that segment soft, pillowy, tufted velour was a popular choice.

1989 Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham D'Elegance in velour (left) and a "low-rider" in velour (right).  The Cadillac is trimmed in a color which in slang came to be known as "bordello red".  Because of changing tastes, manufacturers no longer build cars with interiors which resemble a caricature of a mid-priced brothel but the tradition has been maintained (and developed) by the "low-rider" community, a sub-culture with specific tastes. 

At the time, the interiors were thought by buyers to convey “money” and the designers took to velour because the nature of the material allowed so many techniques cheaply to be deployed.  Compared with achieving a similar look in leather, the cost was low, the material cost (both velour and the passing underneath or behind) close to marginal and the designers slapped on pleats, distinctive (and deliberately obvious) stitching, extra stuffing, the stuff covering seats, door panels, and headliners, augmented with details like recessed buttons, leather grab-handles and the off chrome accent (often anodized plastic).  By the 1980s, velour had descended to the lower-priced product lines and this was at a time when the upper end of the market increasingly was turning to cars from European manufacturers, notably Mercedes-Benz and BMW, both of which equipped almost all their flagships destined for the US market with leather and real wood.

The Velvet Underground with Nico (Christa Päffgen; 1938–1988) while part of Andy Warhol’s (1928-1987) multimedia road-show The Exploding Plastic Inevitable (1966-1967 and known briefly as “The Erupting Plastic Inevitable” or The Exploding Plastic Invisible).  Unusually, the acronym EPI never caught on.

The (posthumously) influential US rock band The Velvet Underground gained their name from a book with that title, published in 1963, the year before their original formation although it wouldn’t be until 1965 the band settled on the name.  The book was by journalist Michael Leigh (1901-1963) and it detailed the variety of “aberrant sexual practices” in the country and is notable as one of the first non-academic texts to explore what was classified as paraphilia (the sexual attraction to inanimate objects, now usually called Objectum Sexuality (OS) or objectum romanticism (OR) (both often clipped to "objectum")).  Leigh took a journalistic approach to the topic which focused on what was done, by whom and the ways and means by which those with “aberrant sexual interests” achieved and maintained contact.  The author little disguised his distaste for much about what he wrote.  The rock band’s most notable output came in four albums (The Velvet Underground & Nico (1967), White Light/White Heat (1968), The Velvet Underground (1969) & Loaded (1970)) which enjoyed neither critical approval nor commercial success but by the late 1970s, in the wake of punk and the new wave, their work was acknowledged as seminal and their influence has been more enduring than many which were for most of the late twentieth century more highly regarded.