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I already know this is way out of proportion. Rather like watching Wayne LaPierre attack a fly with a bazooka.
Over fifty years, story should no longer irritate me.
But it does.
Half a century ago, President John F. Kennedy spoke to the citizens of Berlin in what became a defining moment.
The buildup within the speech was the recitation of generally repeated rationalizations about the Soviet Union, followed in each case with "let them come to Berlin!" The finale was this:
All free men, wherever they may live, are citizens of Berlin, and therefore, as a free man, I take pride in the words "Ich bin ein Berliner!"
- President John F. Kennedy, June 26, 1963
He actually used that German phrase twice in his speech. The first was kind of a setup for the second. He compared the German words with a rough Latin equivalent, comparing by inference the importance of modern Germany to that of ancient Rome. Berlin was at the cutting edge of a global struggle for freedom. The Roman phrase meant, "I am a Roman citizen."
Two thousand years ago, the proudest boast was "Civis Romanus sum." Today, in the world of freedom, the proudest boast is "Ich bin ein Berliner!"
The German crowd gave enthused applause at the first reference, the words of comparison and praise. At the second they went crazy jubilant. The President of the United States had told them in the clearest, most forthright terms, that he stood with them in the face of a powerful enemy.
Eventually, years later, word began to spread. President Kennedy had misspoken. The translation was slightly off. The literal meaning of President Kennedy's dramatic words were "I am a jelly doughnut."
The story is said to have begun in the 1980s in a fictional novel. One of the characters recalls the mistranslation. In a review of the book, the New York Times repeated the fictional remembrance, this time as if it was fact.
And so the rumor began, repeated endlessly over fences and at dinner parties. Lloyd Bentsen was wrong. Dan Quayle was Jack Kennedy after all.
Had Kennedy's life not been ended one Friday afternoon in Dallas, he might have gone to Frankfurt, Germany, and said
"I am a frankfurter."
He might have stopped over in the German city of Hamburg.
"I am a hamburger."
Nearer home, he might have given a stirring speech in Virginia.
I am a virgin.
Pennsylvania. "I am a pencil."
Phoenix. "I am a fiend."
The jelly doughnut story was formalized, again in the New York Times, by journalist William J. Miller. Miller offered it as a sort of compensatory counterweight to an admission by Reagan speechwriters that some quotes attributed to President Reagan were simply made up. Balance is the prime journalistic requirement, preferred even over truth. It could have been worse, wrote Miller:
It's worth recalling, again, President John F. Kennedy's use of a German phrase while standing before the Berlin Wall. It would be great, his wordsmiths thought, for him to declare himself a symbolic citizen of Berlin. Hence, "Ich bin ein Berliner."
What they did not know, but could easily have found out, was that such citizens never refer to themselves as "Berliners." They reserve that term for a favorite confection often munched at breakfast. So, while they understood and appreciated the sentiments behind the President's impassioned declaration, the residents tittered among themselves when he exclaimed, literally, "I am a jelly-filled doughnut."
- William J. Miller, New York Times, April 30, 1988
The story lives on today. Every once in a while somebody's boorish uncle will repeat the funny story about the comically inept Kennedy. The occupant of the corner stool at the corner bar will sometimes slur out a contribution to the mirth.
I am taken by the phraseology of the New York Times editorial. The hardworking writers' comment on lazy staffers who let an American President make a laughingstock of the country. "What they did not know," they sniff, "but could easily have found out, was that such citizens never refer to themselves as 'Berliners.'"
What editors of the New York Times did not know, but could easily have found out, was that the story was untrue. It was not true in a limited sense. It was not a half-truth. It was not figuratively true. It was untrue from top to bottom. It was so opposite of the truth we can safely speculate that PolitiFact would have labeled it half-true.
PolitiFact does that, by the way. It is part of journalistic balance.
The other day, Eric Cantor stated that the deficit was growing. He referred to "the ultimate problem, which is this growing deficit." The ultimate problem with his statement is the deficit is not growing. It is shrinking, now at its lowest level in years.
PolitiFact rated Cantor's falsehood as Half True.
The reasoning was that, while today's deficit is much lower than the one President Obama inherited, and is reliably projected to keep going down for years, it might start to go up again in the future.
So, in spite of the fact that the Kennedy gaffe was not a gaffe at all, PolitiFact might have rated President Kennedy as half a jelly doughnut, or half a frankfurter. Or a partial virgin.
One linguistic expert after another, one German citizen after another, one fluent bilingual traveler after another, has explained German grammar to casual readers.
The word "ein" is omitted only when claiming to live at an address. "I live in St. Louis" as opposed to "I live in the St Louis" or "I am the Saint of Louis. You can call me Simon" When speaking figuratively about non-resident solidarity, the German "ein" must be used. It is not optional. Plenty of witnesses have offered personal experience of the Kennedy moment in Berlin. There was no tittering or polite laughter over any gaffe. There was no gaffe.
When, in a partial expression of unity with the United States, the leftist French newspaper Le Monde declared "We are all New Yorkers" they were not proclaiming each citizen of France to be a glossy magazine.
At a baseball game a few months ago, New Yorkers sang "Sweet Caroline", the signature song of rival Boston. It was a show of unity and identification. The rivalry between cities, as it turned out, was a sibling rivalry and the song was a joining of family in a time of tragedy.
Had someone in that stadium said "We are all Bostonians" nobody would have sneered that New Yorkers were referring to themselves as stylish shoes.
Speaking of which, let's consider once more the editorialists of the New York Times, those who snickered about Kennedy. They must think they are candy bars.
Nutty, of course.
Original post blogged on b2evolution.