Our American Cousin, the farce being performed when President Lincoln was shot at Ford’s Theatre, had some choice lines of bumpkin talk. One of them, “You sockdologizing old man-trap!,” was the play’s biggest laugh line, after which John Wilkes Booth fired the fatal shot. This is part of a complete episode.
Transcript of “Bumpkin Talk”
Hello, you have A Way with Words.
Hello, my name is Jack Eaton, and I’m calling from Jensen Beach, Florida.
I have been fascinated with Abraham Lincoln and the assassination since about the third grade.
And mentioning that, a shout out to my third grade teacher, Joyce Pelosi, who’s probably listening.
All right, Joyce.
I first read about the assassination, and there’s a phrase which is pivotal to the story, which when I first read it, made no sense to me, and 35 years later, still makes no sense to me.
You know, we’re talking April 14th, 1865.
Just after 10 p.m., the president, Mrs. Lincoln, Major Rathbone, and Clara Harris are sitting in Ford’s Theater watching Our American Cousin, starring Laura Keane, who is a theater idol of the day.
She’s on stage with Asa Trenchard.
They’re having an argument.
While this is happening, Booth is waiting outside the door of the president’s box.
And he knows the play, and he knows that the next line is a big laugh, the biggest laugh in the play.
And he’s going to use the sound of the laughter to cover the sound of the gunshot.
Trenchard calls out to Keene and calls her a sockdologizing old man trap.
And that was my reaction when I first read it. It made no sense. I’m like, why is this funny?
Sockdologizing old man trap.
I think the answer might lie in the play itself.
Because the play, as you said, is Our American Cousin.
And it’s sort of like Duck Dynasty meets Downton Abbey or the Beverly Hillbillies meets Downton Abbey.
Because it’s this American guy who goes over to see these long-lost English relatives.
And the long-lost English relatives are very uptight, sort of aristocratic.
And he’s this sort of, you know, countrified, rustic bumpkin from the United States who says stuff like cow juice instead of milk and that kind of thing.
So he’s always throughout this play using funny words like that that were kind of in fashion in the mid 19th century.
And so I’m thinking that it’s not particularly the word sockdologizing itself.
He could have used one of the other words from that period, like gosh bustified or catawampshus or something like that.
It’s just a sort of pseudo sophisticated speech in the mouth of somebody who’s really not so sophisticated.
Does that make sense?
OK. In the context of the play, does sockdologizing have a meaning?
Well, it means, in the context of the play, I’m not so sure.
Because a sock-dollager is like a definitive final blow.
The term may come from boxing.
Like, the sock-dollager is the punch that knocks you out.
Oh, okay.
That could kind of make sense.
I can see that if he’s, you know, calling a woman that.
Where, you know, if you’re a man-trap, you’re going to be the last one that he has, maybe.
Okay.
I hadn’t thought about that.
Okay.
But yeah, it could be that, and it could be that he doesn’t even know what the word means.
I mean, he uses words in that play like absquatulate, which means to leave.
And so I think it’s just the idea itself of putting two really, really different characters together and seeing what happens.
It’s sort of a basic comedic strategy.
Oh, okay. Well, that’s a better answer than I’ve gotten in 35 years.
Oh, well, thank you very much.
Outstanding. Well, Jack, we hope you go away happy then.
You might look up the play. It’s online, and maybe that will give you a better feel for it, too.
I will definitely do that.
Okay. Take care.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Bye.
Bye-bye.
You know, Grant, another thing that’s interesting about that whole story is, you know how we were taught in school that John Wilkes Booth leaps to the stage and then he says, six semper tyrannis, thus always to tyrants.
Some eyewitnesses said he said something different, like the South is revenged or something like that.
And also there are those immortal words, now he belongs to the ages.
We were taught that.
Remember when Lincoln dies across the street in the bed and that guy says, now he belongs to the ages.
But there was a fascinating article a few years ago in The New Yorker suggesting that the phrase was actually, now he belongs to the angels.
It’s a really interesting piece by Adam Gopnik.
If you’re interested in this kind of thing, I would recommend looking it up online.
Cool.
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