Hunh... I'd always thought the "damned Yankee" thing was a relic of the Late Unpleasantness.
Nope.
Joseph Plumb Martin, c. 1778 (or still 77? Rather lost track..)
"... The regiment that I belonged to, was made up of about one half New-Englanders and the remainder were chiefly Pennsylvanians*, - two setts of people as opposite in manners and customs as light and darkness, consequently there was not much cordiality subisting between us, for, to tell the sober truth, I had in those days, as lief to have been incorporated with a tribe of western Indians, as with any of the southern troops; especially of those which consisted mostly (as the Pennsylvanians did,) of foreigners. But I was among them and in the same regiment too, and under their officers, (but the officers, in general, were gentlemen,) and had to do duty with them to make a bad matter worse, I was often, when on duty, the only Yankee that happened to be on the same tour for several days together. "The bloody Yankee," or "the d—d Yankee," was the mildest epithet that they would bestow upon me at such times...."
(lest you take the speaker as some shrinking violet, the events described in the previous year or two of service...um... let's just say the images swimming in that man's skull I'm quite happy aren't in mine. *shiver*)
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* Backcountry Pennsylvania at this point is mostly German and Scots-Irish. Pennsylvania was the most welcoming place for those of their respective dissenting faiths at this point, and upon arrival were quickly shooed into the backcountry by the Quakers as a barrier against the natives, back away from decent folk. From there both peoples pretty much leapfrogged each other all the way down the Appalachians.
... is also where we get the Kentucky (née Pennsylvania) longrifle.
German tinkering meets Scotch-Irish cussedness.
Well where did you think the American rifle culture came from? :)
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I have a genetic predisposition to using the phrase "damnedyankee" anytime that Y-word comes up, even on the candles by that brand name!
You'll note that the expression is not just used, in Revolutionary times, by Southerners. Our Minnesota troops in the WBTS recorded their surprise at being called "Yankees" down south - they were Westerners, not Yankees. In sum:
To a foreigner, a Yankee is an American.
To an American, a Yankee is a Northerner.
To a Northerner, a Yankee is a New Englander.
To a New Englander, a Yankee is a Vermonter.
To a Vermonter, a Yankee is someone who still has an outhouse.
:) --steve
> To a New Englander, a Yankee is a Vermonter.
Or a Mainer.
My fambly started out in Penn. and then took it upon themselves to go back to the coast and take a ship down to Port of Charleston, where people were friendlier. They went West from there.
Swiss/German/Alasace Frog, Scots-Oirish, and a very minor amount of actual Dutch for people accused of being Penn-Dutch at times.
Hardheaded Calvinistic bastards, every last one of them. Most of the Survivors of the family lineage live in the Rockies and Texas now, although some went to Africa.
To this Montana born Texan, a "Yankee" is what happens sometimes when you don't have a girlfriend so ya gotta do it yourself. ;-)
Funny: My confirmation word is/was "palin".
You know Tom, for a small investment, you could outsource your problem to a Yanker.
One time we were picking guitars under the trees out at Luckenbach some weekday afternoon and a Yankee came back with a decent retort when teased a bit:
When asked what the hell he was doing coming all the way from NYC to pester us and play hillbilly guitar wrong, he said "Just figured I'd come see some of the stuff we won in that war."
Usually when we teased Yankee folk they were sort of faux-apologetic or made excuses about fishing, hunting, or sightseeing. That feller made us laugh.
AS to hiring a "yanker", I'll pass, thank ya very much.
Okay, now that's funny.
Did you adopt him? It'd be a shame for a feller like that to have to stay a Yankee forever. :)
One of the perks of being born in California is you don't have to deal with the North/South issue or racism. The concept of judging people by race never even entered in to my parents consciousness.
Tom, if you look up yanker, you'll find it's still a do it yourself job. You just change hands.
How to tell if you are a Yankee:
Look at the Third National. (If you don't know what that is or don't have one handy, you are probably a Yankee...) Does your state have a star there? No? Then you are a Yankee.
If I ever get back to Georgia, I'm gonna nail my feet to the ground.
-T.
PS: As Gunsmith Bob is fond of pointing out, "Game ain't over at halftime." ;)
No adoption but he said he'd likely come back. Buddy of mine sorta "runs" the picking circle out there and he hadn't mentioned him being back. Was easy to spot as of foreign extraction as he was playing one of those rainsong guitars made out of composites. Goes to show you can sell some yankees about anything but I guess it would be handy if you liked to pick in the rain a lot. Didn't sound worse than an ovation, just wrong in a different way, but I spose at least it doesn't slide off your leg all the time like an ovation does.
Don't really mean to ague with a lady, specially one armed and so close to home, but half the states of the confederacy currently don't have stars on their state flag. It's about the same rate as those in the New England area.
I do like the idea of adopting a New Englander. Maybe some sense could be talked in to enough of them.If not, I still got grandma's frying pan from the coop.
Michael - Tam's referring to the CSA Third National Flag
Took us a few tries to get the flag right. The first one they wouldn't shoot at our boys 'cause they thought we was them, and the second time they thought our boys were surrendering.... which was hardly fair.
Sometimes you just have to spell things out I guess.
;)
Well yea. California was even on the field yet.
One of the things I like about Cincinnati is its rich history in the abolition era, though I'm not sure which side of Tam's ledger it would put me on.
When I was a wee cog with an international corporation, one of my tasks was managing the HR system in my region. A slightly bigger cog running the show was based in Atlanta. We all met there to discuss the roll out of the new 19.2 modems.
On the way to lunch we had a bit of dialog.
Me: Roger, isn't Atlanta like one of the notches on the bible belt.
Roger: Yep
Me: Well, in Cincinnati, it's an hours drive just to get to a pg-13 strip club, yet here, driving along yet another Peach Tree St., it seems like every 5th business is a strip club.
Roger: Sherman's march burned all the respectable businesses.
Me: Roger, none of these buildings are over 20 years old.
Roger: History is funny like that.
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