01/08/03’s illustrious band:

Vulgate

Brought to you by the A Word A Day service and free-speaking American citizens across the map.

Vulgate (VUL-GAYT) noun.

1. Everyday, informal speech of a people.
2. Any widely accepted text of a work.
3. The Latin version of the Bible made by Saint Jerome at the end of the 4th century.

[From Late Latin vulgata editio (popular edition), past participle of vulgare (to make public or common), from vulgus (the public).]

Texans and Minnesotans aren’t the only vulgus who pronounce the names of their towns funny. Señor Editor is all too familiar, he says, with Indiana towns named Peru and Chili. Wouldn’t you think you’d pronounce those like the South American country and the tomato-and-bean dish (of which I made a big batch this past Sunday, and let me just say it’s fabulous)? Well, the locals don’t. That first one is PEE-roo, which Señor says puts him in mind of a kangaroo with a bladder-control problem. The second is CHAI-lye. Now whose bright idea was that?

Sister-san reminds me that at least in South Dakota we know whom to blame: the Verendrye brothers, according to my sixth-grade teacher Mrs. Ashley. (That’s Ver-ON-dray for the Dakota-impaired.) Francois and Louis-Joseph Verendrye were French-Canadian explorers who tramped and mapped a good portion of the region and in 1793 claimed the land that is now central SD for Louis XV, King of France. They left us with a state capitol that’s spelled Pierre but said Peer, not Pee-air -- which is what you call a dehydrated Frenchman, Father Media used to say.

However, my hometown of Belle Fourche, a French phrase meaning “beautiful forks” and referring to a fork in a river, retains its Francophone pronunciation of Bell Foosh. (And yes, I know what feminine hygiene product that rhymes with; rival football crowds used to remind us constantly.) Why be authentic about one but not the other? We don’t know. One of the many mysteries of the prairie, I guess.

In the interest of full disclosure, I am forced to admit that I didn’t remember all this South Dakota history from Mrs. Ashley’s class. I looked some of it up on the Internet. Sorry, Mrs. Ashley.

However, I do remember quite clearly the expression on her face the day she received a hurried whisper from another teacher, then turned to tell the class that President Reagan had been shot. Seated in the back row, I was closest to the classroom’s tiny black-and-white TV, and I reached out to turn it on without even asking permission. That event riveted our attention on civics and government like nothing else could.