Are Lobsters Ambidextrous? (32 page)

FRUSTABLE 4:
How and why were the letters B-I-N-G-O selected for the game of the same name?

As you know, all Frustables start as Imponderables that we research—unsuccessfully. Although we rarely try to answer Imponderables with information gleaned from books, we couldn’t find live human beings who could help us solve this problem. We ended up finding many written citations about the origins of Bingo, but they seemed dubious to us.

Several readers found the same books we did, and it points out the problem with “believing everything you read.” If Writer A publishes false information, the mistruth is perpetuated if Writer B thinks of Writer A’s “facts” as sacrosanct. For this reason, we’re always suspicious of the stories of origins of products or enterprises that seem too neat and colorful.

In this case, written sources seem to agree that in December 1929, Edwin Lowe, described as either a toy salesman or a just-
laid-off toy salesman, was traveling in Jacksonville, Florida, or Jacksonville, Georgia, or outside Atlanta, Georgia, and stopped at a carnival, where he saw a game called Beano being played. The game was the same as the Bingo we know now but used dried beans for markers. When a winner was called, he or she yelled out “BEANO.”

Supposedly, Lowe was observing the game (depending upon the account, either at the carnival or after he tried out the game at home) and heard a young girl, excited at her victory, stutter “B-B-B-I-N-G-O” (depending upon the account, there are three to seven “B’s” in her “BINGO”), and a light bulb flashed above Lowe’s head. He rechristened the game Bingo and marketed the game within months.

We also know that Lowe consciously marketed the game as a church fund-raiser from its inception, and that he faced an early obstacle when a priest from Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, complained that with the twenty-four-card sets that Lowe initially marketed, one game often produced too many winners to turn a profit for the church. So Lowe employed Carl Lefler, a mathematician at Columbia University, to compose 6,000 different Bingo cards with nonrepeating number groups.

Having suffered through many other shaggy dog stories to explain origins of names, our guess is that Lowe actually changed the name from Beano to Bingo to avoid lawsuits from the gentleman running the carnival game, whose rules he borrowed. Actually, Beano had its roots in similar European games, such as the original Lotto, that date from the sixteenth century. But we’ll probably never know the truth for sure, certainly not if half our written sources say that Bingo was born in Florida and the other half in Georgia.

One other little bit of trivia about Edwin Lowe. Several years after his Bingo success, he marketed another game with a nonsense name that would earn him additional millions—Yahtzee. But once again, Lowe did not invent the game. A married couple created the game, which they called “Yacht Game,” and asked Lowe to print up a few as gifts. According to Milton Bradley, which acquired the E. S. Lowe Company in 1973,

 

Lowe liked the game so much he offered to buy all rights. The couple was not interested in receiving royalties, and they readily signed away their rights in exchange for a few copies of the game. Lowe went on to make a huge profit from the game whose name he changed to “Yahtzee,” but was never able to remember his benefactors’ last name.

 

Is there any better recipe for success than knowing what products the public will buy but (conveniently) forgetting to acknowledge their inventors?

 

Submitted by Daniel J. Harkavy of Buffalo, New York
.

A complimentary book goes to Ken Giesbers of Seattle, Washington (the first reader to send book excerpts). Thanks also to Richard Miranda of Renton, Washington; and Bill Gerk of Burlingame, California
.

 

FRUSTABLE 5:
Why do they always play Dixieland music at American political rallies when Dixieland isn’t particularly burning up the hit parade at the moment?

We were first asked this question by Jeff Charles, the first radio host who ever interviewed us for an
Imponderables
book. In the last six years, we have spoken to the Republican and Democratic parties, numerous jazz scholars, the New Orleans Jazz Club, and many other sources. No luck.

So we threw out the gauntlet to our readers. While there is no simple answer, you are brimming with ideas.

One point that just about everybody made, including Bruce Walker of San Pedro, California, is that Dixieland is upbeat, happy, American music:

 

The music has to be peppy, since they want to fire up the faithful to go out and slave away for Senator Foghorn, not go to sleep or go away crying. It has to be American music, since patriotism is a theme of almost all political campaigns.

 

Many readers noted that Dixieland has become a tradition at political rallies, and caters to the ever-present nostalgic cravings of Americans.

A television programming executive named Paul Klein developed the “least objectionable program” (LOP) theory, which posits that the prudent programmer puts on shows that offend the fewest number of people. Once glued to the set, only an “objectionable” show will drive viewers to change channels. Many
Imponderables
readers believe that the answer to this Frustable lies in LOM—that is, Dixieland is the “least objectionable music.” We enjoyed this discussion by Vladimir Kazhin of Towson, Maryland:

 

Much music carries with it certain intellectual and emotional baggage, and politics in America today is an attempt to be inoffensive above all else. For example: Classical music is considered too “highbrow,” too “arty”; jazz is considered too “earthy,” too sensual, as of course, is rock (still the devil’s music to some people); country is too “white”; soul too “black”; and new wave music is too “harsh,” etc.

I am not saying that there is any truth to these stereotypes, only that they exist, which is enough for most politicians. Dixieland doesn’t really have a big following: No one really likes it [on this we’ll have to disagree before the hate mail rolls in], but no one dislikes it either. In short, it is a nice, inoffensive, basically pleasant background music.

 

We received a fascinating letter from Russell Shaw, a journalist from Marietta, Georgia, who has a unique perspective—he covers both political campaigns and the music industry. Russell made all of the points discussed above but also offers a unique argument—that the popularity of Dixieland music at political rallies, despite its lack of radio airplay, might have a partly economic basis. Most music radio stations today employ niche programming, directing music at a particular age and/or demographic group:

 

When something is totally noncontroversial, it is likely to be warm and bland—the same frailties that if not present, would foster listener demand and a niche for a musical form like Dixieland on radio.

Yet even this inability to inspire passion has its assets. One of the ways consumers express passion in the entertainment market
place is to buy records, and attend concerts and clubs featuring their favorite kind of music. Since Dixieland rates low in the passion/demand continuum, there are few full-time opportunities for Dixieland musicians. They, like most of us, are more concerned about the eagle flying than the saints marching.

Hence, Dixieland attracts practitioners who perform almost as a hobby. Not being full-time musicians, they likely will not be union members, and thus come more cheaply than, say, a large orchestra. Dixieland also requires fewer musicians and less in fees. Many of the above principles also apply to the popularity of bluegrass at political events—especially here in the South.

 

We’d be negligent if we didn’t mention that Dixieland was nonexistent during the 1992 Democratic convention in New York City. Clearly, the Clinton/Gore campaign’s strategy was to emphasize the ticket’s youth and theme of “change” by showcasing the candidates dancing and singing along with the original recordings of Fleetwood Mac’s “Don’t Stop” and Paul Simon’s “You Can Call Me Al.” This musical watershed did not go unnoticed. On CNN’s “Capital Gang,” columnist Robert Novak named the absence of “Happy Days Are Here Again” from the convention as his “Outrage of the Week.”

We’d still love to know exactly when and where Dixieland first became associated with political rallies, but then we’re used to being frustrated.

 

Submitted by Jeff Charles, formerly of Minneapolis, Minnesota. Where are you now, Jeff?

A complimentary book goes to Russell Shaw of Marietta, Georgia
.

 

FRUSTABLE 6:
Why does eating ice cream make you thirsty?

Nothing much new to report. All of the reader responses to this question named one or more of the following culprits as the thirst inducer:

1. 1.
   Salt
   
2. 2.
   Sugar
   
3. 3.
   Butterfat (which is left on the tongue and in the mouth and throat after consuming ice cream). Only drinking eliminates the filmy fat coating.
   

The answer may lie in any one or all three of these alternatives. Yet one could name foods with greater concentrations of any of these ingredients that don’t make you as thirsty. Expert after taste expert we contacted in both sensory studies and the ice cream industry denied that this phenomenon even exists, and refused to single out any or all of the nominees as definitely causing thirst. To which we reply, “Then why do most ice cream parlors, such as Baskin-Robbins, have water fountains in them?”

We were so frustrated divining the truth that a letter from A. A. Spierling of Van Nuys, California, became our favorite discussion about this topic: “Ice cream doesn’t make me thirsty—riding buses does. I can consume a quart of fluids after riding two or three buses, going shopping, etc. Going by car doesn’t make me thirsty.” Good thing they don’t let you eat ice cream on the bus. You would have to carry a canteen with you.

 

Submitted by Kassie Schwan of Brooklyn, New York. Thanks also to Ricky E. Arpin, current address unknown; Lisa Kodish of Albany, New York; and Phil Feldman of Los Angeles, California

A complimentary book goes to A. A. Spierling of Van Nuys, California, for best evasion of this Frustable
.

 

FRUSTABLE 7:
Why are belly dancers so zaftig?

Our curiosity about this subject stems from our wondering why belly dancers, who spend their professional life manipulating their abdomens, don’t seem to have toned abdominal muscles. Professionals we originally contacted disagreed about the reasons why, but we heard from quite a few belly dancers, and they were in unexpected agreement.

As you may have guessed, we receive a lot of unusual mail here at
Imponderables
headquarters. But the first person ever to send us an 8 × 10-inch color glossy was Stasha Rustici of Berkeley, California. By training, Rustici is a social anthropologist,
whose interest in folkloric dancing drew her into practicing the ancient art herself. For the last fifteen years, she has been belly dancing professionally, traveling all over the world.

No doubt, her interest in this Frustable was piqued by the fact that although she may have other problems in life, being
zaftig
isn’t one of them, as her publicity still makes abundantly clear. She has a unique perspective on the subject, and answers our Frustable in both cultural and technical terms:

 

The standards of beauty differ from place to place in this world. Traditionally, in the areas where food is not plentiful, a plump woman is a sign of wealth. She can afford to eat! In these arid desert regions, this maxim holds true. I can’t tell you how many times a Middle Eastern person in my audience has told me I’m too skinny. Even Cairo, today, hasn’t the selection and availability [of food] that we enjoy in the West. So socioeconomically, plump is pleasing.

Although the lateral oblique muscles are active in this dance form, the rest of the abdomen and the diaphragm are not. In fact, the undulating spine movements, as well as the most ancient move of all, the undulation of the stomach muscles (commonly referred to as the “belly roll”) necessitate a supple, yet somewhat flaccid muscle structure. Furthermore, some additional weight reinforces the quality of this dance’s earthy movements, a dance whose “center of gravity” is at the hips. As you can see by the publicity photo, I’m not the standard of Middle Eastern plumpness. I can testify that it’s harder for me to achieve some movements that my more
zaftig
sisters perform easily. So physiologically, plump is pleasing.