The sounds of words
22/11/23 00:15
I grew up in Montana and believed that I didn’t have an accent. It seemed to me that I spoke the way everyone else around me spoke. There is an upper midwestern accent that is sometimes recognized because it can be easily understood by English speakers around the world. Although Montana is on the Western end of that region, the regional accent applies to most people who grew up there.
Before the breakup of the Bell companies, they often sought out operators who were from the upper midwest. The accent aided in communication, whether the person on the other end of the line was from New England or the deep south. In those days, most phone systems had a number that you could call to get the official time. The voice that reported the time was always female with a midwestern accent. It wasn’t by accident. It was part of the system’s attempt to make the service understood by as many people as possible.
Brown College in Minnesota became well-known as a place for students to study to become professional broadcasters. Students in their 5th quarter operated the student radio station and got lots of on-air experience.
I further developed my upper midwestern accent during my time serving as a pastor in Hettinger and Reeder North Dakota. Since I was employed half time as a pastor, I had time to pursue other interests and to support my family, I always had a job on the side. One of the jobs that worked well with my main vocation was as the early morning on-air radio host of a small, 1000 watt local radio station. Each morning, I’d turn on the transmitter and the first thing that was broadcast was my voice: “Good morning Ladies and Gentlemen. You are listening to radio station KNDC broadcasting from Hettinger, North Dakota at a power of 1,000 daytime watts under the authority of the Federal Communications Commission in Washington DC. We now begin our broadcast day.” I read the national and local news from the teletype machine. I played records. I read the markets. I recorded advertisements to be played by all of our on air personalities. I was live for three hours each morning. I was also refining my midwestern accent.
A few years ago a friend in South Dakota told me that I had a North Dakota accent. When I asked him what that was he had me say North Dakota and South Dakota. I had to admit that I pronounced Dakota differently depending on which state I was addressing. Of course, I never became a full-time professional broadcaster and I have preached in many different locations, but I’ve delivered more sermons in South Dakota than any other state. I guess I have an upper midwest accent.
As we travel around, I am aware that there are certain words that don’t always communicate the intended meaning when I say them in particular places. Once Susan and I were someplace in the south, perhaps North Carolina and she ordered a pecan waffle in a waffle house. The waitress couldn’t understand what she was saying. We say pecan this way: “puh-kaan.” Knowing that we were in the south, we tried, “pug-can,” but that didn’t work. Finally the waitress understood what she wanted and said, “O honey, you mean pee-kan!” We’ve laughed about it ever since and each time we travel in the south, we say we’ve got to go back to a waffle house just to order a pee-kan waffle.
Another word that I have noticed is pronounced differently in different parts of the world is caramel. We say it in two syllables:
ˈkɑːr.məl/ caramel
/k/ as in cat
/ɑː/ as in father
/r/ as in run
/m/ as in moon
/əl/ as in label
Our daughter who lives in South Carolina says the same word with an additional syllable:
ˈkær.ə.məl/ caramel
/k/ as in cat
/æ/ as in hat
/r/ as in run
/ə/ as in above
/m/ as in moon
/əl/ as in label
I joke about the fact that my name sounds like it has two syllables in the deep south. I say “Ted.” In the south, I’m often called “Tay-ed.”
The number of syllables can make a difference in poetry. Add or subtract a syllable and the rhythm of the verse can be all wrong. I noticed that the other night at our poetry group. I had written a poem with the word coyote in it. I spent 25 years of my life in South Dakota where the team name of the University of South Dakota is Coyotes. In South Dakota, we say the word with two syllables:
kaɪˈoʊ.t̬
/k/ as in cat
/aɪ/ as in eye
/oʊ/ as in nose
/t̬/ as in cutting
Out here in Washington, most people say the word with three syllables:
kaɪˈoʊ.t̬i/ coyote
/k/ as in cat
/aɪ/ as in eye
/oʊ/ as in nose
/t̬/ as in cutting
/i/ as in happy
If my poem is submitted in writing, some readers will feel that the rhythm is all off and that there are too many syllables in one of the lines, but when I read it, it seems just right. I said to the poetry group, “I’m from South Dakota. We don’t have any coyotes there that can speak Spanish, so we end the word with a ’t’ and don’t add the final ‘i’.” There are some words and some pronunciations that I’m unlikely to learn. One of the things about having passed 70 years is that I can be a bit dogmatic about a few things and get away with it. I guess how to pronounce coyote is one of the things about which I’ve gotten dogmatic. One of my teachers and mentors once responded to a student who accused him of being dogmatic by saying, “Damn right I’m dogmatic, and when you are 74, you can be dogmatic, too!”
Whether or not it has anything to do with dogma, I do have certain ways of saying certain words. After all, I spend seven winters in Nordakota. I’ve earned the right to say the word the way the locals do.
Before the breakup of the Bell companies, they often sought out operators who were from the upper midwest. The accent aided in communication, whether the person on the other end of the line was from New England or the deep south. In those days, most phone systems had a number that you could call to get the official time. The voice that reported the time was always female with a midwestern accent. It wasn’t by accident. It was part of the system’s attempt to make the service understood by as many people as possible.
Brown College in Minnesota became well-known as a place for students to study to become professional broadcasters. Students in their 5th quarter operated the student radio station and got lots of on-air experience.
I further developed my upper midwestern accent during my time serving as a pastor in Hettinger and Reeder North Dakota. Since I was employed half time as a pastor, I had time to pursue other interests and to support my family, I always had a job on the side. One of the jobs that worked well with my main vocation was as the early morning on-air radio host of a small, 1000 watt local radio station. Each morning, I’d turn on the transmitter and the first thing that was broadcast was my voice: “Good morning Ladies and Gentlemen. You are listening to radio station KNDC broadcasting from Hettinger, North Dakota at a power of 1,000 daytime watts under the authority of the Federal Communications Commission in Washington DC. We now begin our broadcast day.” I read the national and local news from the teletype machine. I played records. I read the markets. I recorded advertisements to be played by all of our on air personalities. I was live for three hours each morning. I was also refining my midwestern accent.
A few years ago a friend in South Dakota told me that I had a North Dakota accent. When I asked him what that was he had me say North Dakota and South Dakota. I had to admit that I pronounced Dakota differently depending on which state I was addressing. Of course, I never became a full-time professional broadcaster and I have preached in many different locations, but I’ve delivered more sermons in South Dakota than any other state. I guess I have an upper midwest accent.
As we travel around, I am aware that there are certain words that don’t always communicate the intended meaning when I say them in particular places. Once Susan and I were someplace in the south, perhaps North Carolina and she ordered a pecan waffle in a waffle house. The waitress couldn’t understand what she was saying. We say pecan this way: “puh-kaan.” Knowing that we were in the south, we tried, “pug-can,” but that didn’t work. Finally the waitress understood what she wanted and said, “O honey, you mean pee-kan!” We’ve laughed about it ever since and each time we travel in the south, we say we’ve got to go back to a waffle house just to order a pee-kan waffle.
Another word that I have noticed is pronounced differently in different parts of the world is caramel. We say it in two syllables:
ˈkɑːr.məl/ caramel
/k/ as in cat
/ɑː/ as in father
/r/ as in run
/m/ as in moon
/əl/ as in label
Our daughter who lives in South Carolina says the same word with an additional syllable:
ˈkær.ə.məl/ caramel
/k/ as in cat
/æ/ as in hat
/r/ as in run
/ə/ as in above
/m/ as in moon
/əl/ as in label
I joke about the fact that my name sounds like it has two syllables in the deep south. I say “Ted.” In the south, I’m often called “Tay-ed.”
The number of syllables can make a difference in poetry. Add or subtract a syllable and the rhythm of the verse can be all wrong. I noticed that the other night at our poetry group. I had written a poem with the word coyote in it. I spent 25 years of my life in South Dakota where the team name of the University of South Dakota is Coyotes. In South Dakota, we say the word with two syllables:
kaɪˈoʊ.t̬
/k/ as in cat
/aɪ/ as in eye
/oʊ/ as in nose
/t̬/ as in cutting
Out here in Washington, most people say the word with three syllables:
kaɪˈoʊ.t̬i/ coyote
/k/ as in cat
/aɪ/ as in eye
/oʊ/ as in nose
/t̬/ as in cutting
/i/ as in happy
If my poem is submitted in writing, some readers will feel that the rhythm is all off and that there are too many syllables in one of the lines, but when I read it, it seems just right. I said to the poetry group, “I’m from South Dakota. We don’t have any coyotes there that can speak Spanish, so we end the word with a ’t’ and don’t add the final ‘i’.” There are some words and some pronunciations that I’m unlikely to learn. One of the things about having passed 70 years is that I can be a bit dogmatic about a few things and get away with it. I guess how to pronounce coyote is one of the things about which I’ve gotten dogmatic. One of my teachers and mentors once responded to a student who accused him of being dogmatic by saying, “Damn right I’m dogmatic, and when you are 74, you can be dogmatic, too!”
Whether or not it has anything to do with dogma, I do have certain ways of saying certain words. After all, I spend seven winters in Nordakota. I’ve earned the right to say the word the way the locals do.
