Words from the Old Days

“Slang is a language that rolls up its sleeves, spits on its hands, and goes to work.” —Carl Sandburg

Photo by Glen Carrie on Unsplash

This morning I read that my language is outdated if I use the term “mobile phone” instead of “smartphone.”

“Really!” I thought. “Mobile phones were invented yesterday. How can that term be out of date already?”

OK, OK, I realize mobile phones were becoming popular already in the early 2000s, but it seems like yesterday.

Let me tell you about truly old words, ones that come from my youth and early adulthood, before the dawn of cell phones or smartphones. But, I assure you, not before the appearance of the triceratops.

If you are under 40, you may not understand the paragraphs that follow. If you are over 60, you may wonder if those paragraphs include any old words at all.

In junior high, I watched a film about the airline industry and the glamorous stewardesses. I longed to be one. I thought it was a humdinger of an occupation. But at thirteen I already exceeded the 5-foot 10-inch maximum-allowed height. I was bummed. Now airlines accept applicants up to 6 feet 2 inches tall, but it’s too late. I no longer think it is a cool job. And, oh yes, the current term is “flight attendant.”

Speaking of cool, I know a whole passel of outdated words that are variations of it. Far-out meant strange-cool. Funky meant eccentric-cool. Groovy meant modern-cool. Nifty meant clever-cool. And out of sight meant impressive-cool. That’s an out-of-sight list, isn’t it?

We had special words for how we felt, too. If something was a bummer, it made us sad. If we dug it, we understood something. And if we could hang loose, we weren’t worried at all.

If something was a gas, it was very funny. If life was going well, it was copacetic. If we were excited about an event, we were stoked. If we were frightened about it, we would freak out.

If I was surprised by something, I sometimes said, “Jeepers creepers!” But never when my mother was nearby. She would have scolded me for swearing.

We had special words to describe people. A sexy woman was foxy. A scoundrel was a rat fink. A space cadet was empty-headed. A police officer was the fuzz. We called a divorced woman a divorcee, a word I rarely hear these days.

We were proud of our homes, which we called our pads. If our homes were in style, we had wall-to-wall carpets. And if we were really in style, they were shag carpets, with strands of pile long enough to hide a small dog. No one dreamed that the carpet would someday be torn up to return to the original wood flooring—and dozens of long-lost dogs would come tumbling out.

Our stylish refrigerators were harvest gold and avocado green. We made coffee in a percolator, with a wonderful glass bubble in the lid to show the perking. Maxwell House even had a television ad that built an entire tune around the sound of that percolator and called it “Percolabligato.”

(If you want to hear it, google “Maxwell House Percolator Ad.” You will be convinced you have entered a time machine.)

Popular products like percolators bragged about being sold coast to coast. Selling worldwide was the stuff of fairy tales.

If our cars were going fast, we were bookin’ it. They were equipped with footfeeds and emergency brakes. When my driver ed teacher called these two items the accelerator and handbrake, I thought he was speaking a foreign language.

In school, if an exam was easy, it was duck soup. If it was hard, it was a bear. If we thought we did well, we had it made in the shade. If we did poorly, we didn’t cut the mustard. If we did well at academics, but not at sports, we were eggheads.

There was no such thing as a training bra. Our mothers only bought us bras when we needed them. And they called them by their full name: brassieres. Use the word “brassiere” today, and your son or daughter will ask if you are using a fancy word for a barbecue grill. “It’s pronounced ‘brazier,’” they will say smugly.

Our church floor was pockmarked with tiny indentations from high heels—the term we used for stilettos. At thirteen, I was permitted to get one-inch high heels, the maximum allowed height according to my mother’s laws for adolescent footwear.

I teetered around on them for days in practice for my eighth-grade graduation, and I proudly imprinted my share of holes in the square vinyl tiles of the church balcony floor. For eighth grade graduation, all of us dressed our best, in glad rags.

Stilettos gave way to platform shoes so thick we didn’t merely teeter in them—we fell off.

In college, we absorbed the hippie culture, sporting thigh-high go-go boots or flowing peasant dresses.

We spoke of the power of peace over war as flower power. And we used the words peace and love as often as we possibly could, both as mantras and on the walls of our dorms.

Come to think of it, those two words have not yet gone out of style, although we do not use them as often as we did back in the 60s and 70s.

Of all the old words, the two I would most like to see return to popularity—and to practice—are those two timeless words: peace and love.

Adapted from Creative Aging by Carol Van Klompenburg, published 2023, available from Amazon.