Philosopy, Phiosophy (for Philosophy)

I was recently asked if I had ever blogged about typos of my own surname, which seemed like a commonsensical suggestion at the time, given that it's often misspelled by others. But it seems that some names are simply too common to make sense of the compound search that works so well with more unusual names. For instance, if I try searching on Reid and/or Reed (or Reede) and/or Read (or Reade), I generally get a bunch of records with all of those names (and sometimes the verb "read") spelled correctly for different entities. I did, however, find eight clear examples of the Reid + Ried typo in the OhioLINK database. Regardless of how it's spelled, the name apparently connotes someone with red hair, as well as one who lives in a wooded clearing, which, oddly enough, both tend to signify my own Scottish paterfamilias. We also found 31 cases of Philosopy and five cases of Phiosophy, which makes sense since it's far commoner to drop an early letter than a later one. The Reverend Thomas Reid was a man of philosophy who lived from 1710 to 1796, was a contemporary of David Hume's, and founded the "Scottish School of Common Sense."

(Portrait of Thomas Reid by Sir Henry Raeburn, 1796, from Wikimedia Commons.)

Carol Reid

Nora + Norah (for Norah or Nora)

Norah Woodson Ulreich, known to her reading public simply as Nura (a nickname invented by her husband, Eduard Buk Ulreich, because he "never calls people by their right names") was a children's author and illustrator born in Kansas City, Missouri, in 1899. I discovered her work for myself amid a privately owned "lot" of books I bought a few months ago on eBay. Her stories are sweet, but rather odd. In the two Nura books I now possess—All Aboard, We Are Off and The Mitty Children Fix Things—the (two different) female protagonists both end up somehow owning and knowing how to fly a plane, and giving the various children in these stories airplane rides. It makes me wonder whether Nura herself had a pilot's license, but I haven't been able to determine that: there really isn't a lot of biographical information about her online. Here's what I did find, though. Norah Woodson studied art at the Kansas City Art Institute and the Art Students League in New York City. She met her painter husband in Chicago (Eduard had been born in Austria in 1889 and moved to NYC with his family as a child) and the pair eventually settled into a studio apartment in Manhattan. They would sometimes create murals together for the WPA, signing them "Bukannura." They never had any children, however, as Nura explained that "a real one might engross her to the point that she could not paint imaginary ones," according to a Time magazine review of her 1934 book Under the Buttermilk Tree. While there may have only been one Nura, there are plenty of Nora's in the world, some of whom spell their name Norah. There were 14 hits on today's combination typo in OhioLINK, exactly half of which were records containing two differently spelt names for two different people. There were also 288 cases in WorldCat, in presumably the same approximate typo to non-typo ratio.

(Illustration from Nura's 1944 book All Aboard, We Are Off, from the Carol Reid collection. Here the children learn a lesson about moderation in all things as they visit a land where the people do nothing but read all day long!)

Carol Reid

Forcast* (for Forecast*)

Monday's blog entry prompted me to learn a bit more about my wannabe namesake of sorts, Carol Reed, who presented the nightly weather forecast on WCBS-TV in New York City from 1952 to 1964. Prior to that, according to a 1996 article in the New York Times, the weather report had been duly submitted to television audiences by "military veterans, tweedy professors of meteorology, and former personnel of the United States Weather Bureau [who] barely cracked a smile as they stood in front of wispy maps and droned on about fronts and pressure systems." Once Carol Reed hit the airwaves, though, sexy "weather girls" began to be in high demand. ("Attractive, chipper, and blessed with eternal smiles," these women "scrawled weather maps on Plexiglas, donned hats to match the forecast or rose yawning from bed in skimpy lingerie...") Wikipedia has clearly bowed to the political winds of change by listing her occupation as "weather person"; however, she was always known as "Carol Reed, the weather girl." Despite having not been "trained in meteorology," her sunny disposition more than made up for that lack. Never one to rain on her viewers' parade, she would invariably sign off by saying, "Good night and have a happy!" Sadly, Ms. Reed died of cancer at the age of 44 in Mamaroneck, New York. Given that there were 74 cases of Forcast* (for forecast*) in OhioLINK today, and a blizzard-worthy 1268 in WorldCat, we predict you'll uncover a scattering of these in your own catalogs as well.

(Publicity photo of weather person Carol Reed, from Wikimedia Commons.)

Carol Reid

Baltmore (for Baltimore)

Henry Louis Mencken was born on September 12, 1880. Known as the "Sage of Baltimore," Mencken was a "an American journalist, essayist, magazine editor, critic of American life and culture, and scholar of American English," according to his obituary in Variety on February 1, 1956. H. L. Mencken wrote The American Language, a multi-volume study of American argot and slang, in 1919. He coined the phrase "Scopes Monkey Trial" while satirically reporting on the famous 1925 Tennesee court case. His blunt, curmudgeonly approach is well-captured in "Libido for the Ugly," an essay about the urban blight of Pittsburgh and western Pennsylvania, in which he curtly concludes: "Out of the melting pot emerges a race which hates beauty." In surprising contrast, his memoir Happy Days, 1880-1892 is a fond look back at his early life growing up in Baltimore. One such childhood memory was the reading of Huckleberry Finn at the age of nine, which he later called ""the most stupendous event in my life" (and by which he apparently meant his entire life, not just the first decade). Treatise of the Gods (1930), a survey of the history and philosophy of religion, was Mencken's personal favorite, which he called "my best book, and by far." Mencken was not above perpetrating silly literary pranks either, such as the "Bathtub Hoax," a completely fictitious history of the bathtub, published on December 28, 1917, in the New York Evening Mail. In 1949, he wrote: "The success of this idle hoax, done in time of war, when more serious writing was impossible, vastly astonished me. It was taken gravely by a great many other newspapers, and presently made its way into medical literature and into standard reference books. It had, of course, no truth in it whatsoever, and I more than once confessed publicly that it was only a jocosity..." On a more somber note, Mencken was a fan of Friedrich Nietzsche and not exactly one of the Jewish people, although his views on the latter appear to have "evolved with time," says Wikipedia. After once having written that "the Jews could be put down very plausibly as the most unpleasant race ever heard of," he was later defended by Gore Vidal, who argued: "Far from being an anti-Semite, Mencken was one of the first journalists to denounce the persecution of the Jews in Germany at a time when the New York Times, say, was notoriously reticent..." Mencken was similarly ambiguous, if not downright ambivalent, about the fairer sex (a term I employ ironically, although I've always liked it for its own ambiguity, the word fair, of course, meaning both comely and justice-minded), as shown in the book In Defense of Women. His biographer, Fred Hobson, wrote: "Depending on the position of the reader, he was either a great defender of women's rights or, as a critic labelled him in 1916, 'the greatest misogynist since Schopenhauer,' 'the country's high-priest of woman-haters.'" He also inveighed against "Christian Science, social stigma, fakery, Christian radicalism, religious belief, osteopathy, anti-evolutionism, chiropractic, and the 'Booboisie,' his word for the ignorant middle classes." The Arkansas legislature once passed a motion to pray for H. L. Mencken's soul after he had referred to the state as the "apex of moronia." Despite his well-known opposition to marriage, votes for women, certain aspects of the American South, and the very idea of religion—Mencken himeself married a suffragist, from Alabama, in a church, and on a "hunch." There were seven cases of Baltmore (for Baltimore) in OhioLINK today, and 76 in WorldCat.

(Portrait of H.L. Mencken, by Oliver Richard Reid, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.)

Carol Reid

Typograh*, Typograpi* (for Typography, Typographical)

It seems rather odd that we typo grapplers have never featured these typographical errors here before, but better late than never. The makers of the soft drink Grapico almost had to admit error themselves back in the early part of the 20th century, not for misspelling the name of their product, but for implying it contained grape juice when it didn't. In 1929, Pan American (to whom J. Grossman's Sons had sold the business) legally lost the right to employ the word Grapico on their artificially flavored soda. In 1940, Alabama entrepreneur R. R. Rochell received the trademark on Grapico, enabling him to use the name anywhere in the United States. In 1955, the company introduced "Orangico" as well, troubling to include some orange juice this time, but it still didn't sell very well (perhaps because the name was too hard to figure out how to pronounce and/or was too reminiscent of orangutan). Buffalo Rock acquired the franchising rights to Grapico in 1981 and the Orangico tm was revived in 2005. Grapico is currently being produced in Columbus, Georgia, once again without any actual fruit juice in it—just like in the good old days! There are 14 cases of Typograh* and eight of Typograpi* in the OhioLINK database.

(1916 cover of the songsheet "Meet Me in the Land of Grapico" by jazz composers Peter DeRose and Ivan Reid, commissioned and published by J. Grossman's Sons, from the Mississippi State University Libraries, Special Collections. Copies of the song were sent free to customers who requested them.)

Carol Reid

September 24, 2007 - Autum, Autmn

Today marks the first working day of autumn, a bittersweet commemoration of the ineluctable slide from summer into winter. It's also the birthday of a loved one who passed away three years ago in August. For country kids like us, still brushing the hayseeds from our sleepy eyes come September, the spelling of a word like autumn could be a tricky proposition. Far better to fall back on fall. After all, what sort of weird word has an M and then an N right after it? You'd need a special mnemonic to remember that. Autmn and Autum are both "low probability" typos on the Ballard list. (In memory of and photograph by John D. Reid.)

Carol Reid

April 27, 2007 - Authur*

OhioLINK has 96 records containing the word Authur*, which appears on the "high probability" portion of the Ballard list of library typos (along with Authr*). In some cases, it's a misspelling of the word author, etc.; in others, it's a misspelling of the name Arthur. As someone who occasionally puns on my own last name (Reid), I am reminded of the children's book character Arthur Read (see Arthur's Lost Library Book, D.W. and the Library Card, Locked in the Library!, and Arthur Writes a Story). Arthur and I might both like to write stories someday, but since spelling counts, I'm sure neither of us wants to be known as an "Authurian" legend.

Carol Reid

Cordinat* (for Coordinat*)

My father used to sell firewood harvested from trees he had cut down while clearing lots. This was long before people owned answering machines, or had more than one telephone number, much less websites set up for small businesses. Instead of just saying "Hello?" we were all supposed to answer the phone by chirping, "Reid's Firewood Service. Fifty dollars a cord, twenty-five dollars a face cord!" We were like the in-house cord coordinators. A cord is a unit of measure for wood that, when "ranked and well stowed" (arranged so the pieces are aligned, parallel, touching, and compact), occupies a volume of 128 cubic feet, according to Wikipedia. A face cord is about a third the volume of a full cord, and is also known as a "rick of wood" in the Midwest. The word cord probably derives from the cord or string that is used to measure it. We cordoned off 12 cases of Cordinat* in OhioLINK today, and 563 in WorldCat.

(A full cord of wood, 8 August 2009, from Wikimedia Commons.)

Carol Reid

Esli* + Elsi* (for Elsi* or Esli*)

I said to someone the other day that my late great-aunt and -uncle had been called Elsie and George, and he replied that his next-door neighbors growing up had had the same names. It seems that Elsie, in particular, apparently once popular for girls, has pretty much fallen out of favor, despite its clearly being short for Elizabeth—much like Beth, Betsy, Liza, Lizzie, etc. (A Jewish pal tells me that their version of it is Elisheva.) Or perhaps, more directly, Elspeth, a Scottish name meaning "my god is bountiful" or "god of plenty." This makes sense, given that the famous Borden Dairy Company icon "Elsie the Cow" was created by a Scotsman named David Reid. She was quite the beloved bovine, for those of you who don't recall those Elsie-yon days. She played "Buttercup" in the RKO movie Little Men in 1940 and even appeared on the TV program What's My Line? And she was a huge hit at both New York State World's Fairs. The real live Elsie (she had gotten her start as a promotional cartoon cow) was an appealing seven-year-old Jersey with big brown eyes and the inspired if rather perplexing moniker "You'll Do, Lobelia." She was renamed "Elsie" and was introduced to the public (along with the amazing "Rotolactor") at the 1939 World's Fair. Elsie, who was once described as "a mixture of cow and housewife" (though she also had a "Boudoir" at the Fair), was blessed with a husband ("Elmer" of Elmer's Glue fame; he could be rather bullheaded) and baby named Beulah. Sadly, the original Elsie had been killed in a traffic accident in 1941, so another "Elsie" was found to take her place. Three more calves followed: Beauregard (who was born at Macy's department store!) in 1948, and the twins Larabee and Lobelia in 1957. There was only one case of Esli* + Elsi* (for Elsi* or Esli*) in OhioLINK today, and 19 in WorldCat, but let's milk this one for all it's worth. In other words: "E is for the Energy she gives us ... L is for the Lovely things she does ... S is for the Satisfying moments ... I is for the pure Ingredients ... E is for ..." (Does anybody out there know what E was for?) "Put it all together it spells ELSIE. She's the one that's all the world to me!"

(Commemorative tile on the ground near the Tennis Center in Flushing Meadows Park, from Wikimedia Commons.)

Carol Reid

Micheal, Micahel (for Michael)

We found 606 hits in OhioLINK for Micheal, many of which are clearly typos for the name Michael, although some are apparently the correct spelling of a personal name. (The WorldCat authority file shows 173 headings, or cross references, spelled this way.) Micheal + Michael reduces the count to 206. Micahel nets 73 as well (or 55 when searched with Michael). If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, filmmaker Michael Moore's many detractors may be of two minds about the man. There are at least eight "anti-Michael Moore movies" to date, done in the documentary style popularized by such films as Roger & Me, Bowling for Columbine, Fahrenheit 911, and Sicko. These derisively derivative parodies include: Michael & Me; Michael Moore Hates America; Quacking for Columbine; Fahrenhype 911; An American Carol; Celsius 41.11; Shooting Michael Moore; and Manufacturing Dissent. The last one's not too bad.

(Cover of Citizen Moore by Roger Rapoport, winner of ForeWord Magazine's Gold Award for Biography, 2007.)

Carol Reid

Chruch, etc. (for Church)

There are those who regard religion as a crutch, or as Karl Marx once put it, "the opiate of the masses." Some even see it as a gateway drug to chauvinism, bigotry, and terrorism. But when it comes to going to church, many people simply like the pretty steeple, the kneeling in the pews, the choral singing, and the praising of their Creator. Chruch is revealed 61 times in OhioLINK, rendering it a typo of "high probability." Chruches appears 11 times. And there are 16 cases of Curch and six of Curches (including some with "sics") in there as well.

(Illustration from the Charles Dickens classic A Christmas Carol of Tiny Tim with his little crutch, representing both a piece of wood and the peace of God, thanks to the Gutenberg.org website.)

Carol Reid

Preceed* (for Preced* or Proceed*)

Sometimes I feel big, see,

And sometimes I feel small,

Sometimes I feel adamant,

And sometimes not at all.

Seeds come with the seasons,

Though cede they not an inch,

A plante is often preferable,

But sedes do in a pinch.

C's also short for century,

A neat one hundred years,

While not a grade to celebrate,

It hardly leads to tears.

The C is round and curvy, but

Musicians like them sharp,

Just like the giant instrument

We all know as the harp....

Hey, I could go on all day here, probably, so let me just add that C is the third letter of the English alphabet, and the first letter of my own first name. Although my parents-to-be played around a bit with other possibilities (Alice? Rebecca?), I was actually sort of pre-C'd by default. Each of us being the eldest in our families, my mother, grandmother, great-grandmother, and I all carry some form of Carol in our names. Let's proceed now to precede (don't even get me started on supersede) and point out that there were an amazing 233 cases of today's typo in OhioLINK, and "too many records found for your search" in WorldCat. Please intercede on its behalf and see that it's spelled as it should be.

(Latin letter C, from Wikimedia Commons.)

Carol Reid

Recongition (for Recognition)

Today I'm going in a different direction than usual. I would like to thank Carol Reid for keeping this blog running. I do not think she gets enough recognition for her hard work, posting almost every week. She has done an amazing job coming up with interesting typos and fascinating information about people associated with them. If you are interested in helping her out, click on the link on the right side of the blog that says "Schedule yourself to write for the blog," and she will be more than happy to add you to the list.

Recongition is in the low probability section of the Ballard list. Although it does not appear very often in library catalogs, it is still worth cleaning up, and you might get your own recognition for your hard work!

Liz Bodian
Chicago Public Library

(Image of the blue ribbon I award to Carol from Microsoft clip art library)

Weathr* (for Weather*)

Partly due to the cool terminology and partly because they're just so amazing, there was a time when I dreamily considered working with clouds for a living and being a "weather girl" when I grew up. (I'm not sure whether I knew this or not, but apparently the first famous weather girl was also called "Carol Reed"!) Those mysterious Latin words, which almost resembled clouds themselves floating in chalk dust across the blackboard, sounded like names from an old mythology book (Romulus and Remus, Cumulus and Nimbus), and the clouds themselves were constantly shape-shifting and assuming the appearance of various Aesop-type animals. While these days, I never seem to know what's going on with the weather and will often get caught in it unprepared, I imagined back then that it would be nice to be able to tell folks what to expect outside when they got up in the morning. Whether it's rain or shine in your own neck of the woods right now, take a peek inside your catalog for our low-probability typo of the day, which turns up three times in OhioLINK, and 42 times in WorldCat.

(Halo in cirrocumulus near the city of Łódź, Poland, from Wikimedia Commons.)

Carol Reid

Oppresion (for Oppression)

"Born with a hatred of oppression," Matilda Joslyn Gage arrived on the scene in the early 1800s, a much more progressive and activist century than some of the present-day politically correct might realize. An "adopted" member of the Mohawk Indian tribe, Gage grew up in Cicero, New York (in a house on the Underground Railroad) and was a lifelong proponent of Native American rights, the abolition of slavery, and a woman's right to vote. Not an advocate merely of the ballot, she campaigned strenuously for women's suffrage, though she wouldn't live long enough to see it to fruition. Unlike some of her sister suffragettes, most notably those in the Women's Christian Temperance Union, she did not believe in suffrage simply because it would likely bring a needed feminine "morality" to the legislature. Instead, she regarded it simply as a "natural right," regardless of how women might choose to use it. Gage first became involved in the women's movement when she gave a speech at the 1852 National Women's Rights Convention in Syracuse. She later managed to get New York women the right to vote in school board elections, and in 1871, along with nine others, she stormed the polls demanding that they be allowed to vote. She supported Victoria Woodhull at that time and served as an elector for Belva Lockwood in her own bid for the White House in 1884. Gage was a prolific and scathingly funny writer ("It is sometimes better to be a dead man than a live woman") and was also the mother-in-law of famed children's author L. Frank Baum. (Her son and his wife had a daughter whom they named Dorothy Gage, but sadly the little girl died at five months old. This upset Gage's daughter Maud, the child's aunt, so much that her husband named his Wizard of Oz protagonist "Dorothy Gale" in her honor.) The "Matilda Effect" (coined in 1993 and meaning that if a scientist is known to be female, her work will receive less credit than if that fact were not known) was named for Matilda Gage. There were seven cases of Oppresion in OhioLINK today, and 77 in WorldCat.

(Matilda Joslyn Gage, 19th century photograph in the public domain, courtesy of Wikipedia.)

Carol Reid

Estabish*, etc. (for Establish*)

Estabish* (for establish*) was discovered six times in the OhioLINK database today, and Etablish* twice. Though, while searching for an appropriate topic for these typos, I stumbled upon a much more common one: Bish-Bash Falls for Bash-Bish Falls. (This almost irresistible mix-up is probably due to phrases like "Splish splash, I was taking a bath" and the jazz composition by the Benny Green Trio, "Bish Bash.") Google, in fact, returns 16,300 hits for the incorrectly spelled "bish bash falls" and only 15,100 for "bash bish falls." Even Wikipedia falls down on this one, spelling it almost as often the wrong way as the right way.* (None of this churning, however, turns up in WorldCat, where Bash-Bish Falls isn't even established as a geographical subject heading. OhioLINK does not contain the typo either. Kudos, catalogers!) Bash-Bish Falls, in Mount Washington, Mass., is one of the most beautiful—and treacherous—waterfalls in the country, and is named for an accused (if possibly innocent) Mohican adulteress sentenced to be cast over them in a canoe. Legend has it she haunts the watery premises to this day. In any event, and despite the mishmash of misspellings and misapprehensions, I am confident you can clean up here, just as long as you're careful. Feeling a bit nervous? Oh, pish posh!

* I wrote this post about a week ago and posted it today. As of now, the Wikipedia article stands corrected and the Google ratio (right to wrong) stands at 33,000 : 14,000.

(Bash-Bish Falls, from Flickr.)

Carol Reid

Hapiness (for Happiness)

Have you ever wanted to see a man in a skirt, with long hair and pendulous breasts? Well, this should make you Hapi. Also spelled Hapy, the Egyptian "genius of fecundity" actually looks a little ticked off about the whole thing, but perhaps he's carrying reed seeds in his balled-up fists. Regarded as the god of the River Nile, or more specifically, the annual flooding of same, his name translates to "Running One." He was also called "Lord of the Fishes and Birds of the Marshes" or "Lord of the River Bringing Vegetation." A pursuit of Hapiness in OhioLINK yielded 14 records, including three where the potential typo was qualified with a [sic], plus two containing possible "antiquated" spellings, which may or may not appear that way on the original. Happily, though, you won't have to lift any heavy clay tablets or unroll a scroll of dusty papyrus in order to find out.

(Statue of the god Hapi, 100-200 A.D., housed in the Vatican's Gregorian Egyptian Museum, from Wikimedia Commons.)

Carol Reid

Souvenier*, Souveneir* (for Souvenir*)

The word souvenir comes from the French for memory and means "memento or keepsake; an object a traveler brings home for the memories associated with it." The Eiffel Tower was the key to the 1878 Exposition Universelle and has served as a symbol of Paris ever since. In So Long at the Fair, the 1950 British thriller starring Jean Simmons and Dirk Bogarde, extraordinary measures are taken to prevent people from panicking in the streets, setting off an escalating chain of events, and fleeing the city. The title comes from the nursery rhyme that goes: "Oh dear, what can the matter be? Johnny's so long at the fair..." The mystery is not unlocked until the final moments of the film, which has a wonderfully Hitchockian flair. I won't say any more in case you haven't seen it yet, but here are a few other things I learned about the 1878 World's Fair. While the fair revolved around the tower, it also exhibited some other remarkable sights, such as the head of the Statue of Liberty, various inventions by Alexander Graham Bell and Thomas Edison, and even, per Wikipedia, "a human zoo, called a 'negro village,' composed of 400 'indigenous people.'" The exposition also gave rise to a series of meetings eventuating in the formulation of international standards and copyright law, the standardization of mail flow from one country to another, and the universal adoption of Braille. Souvenier* appears 28 times in OhioLINK and Souveneir* twice.

(Keychain of the Eiffel Tower, from Wikimedia Commons.)

Carol Reid

Errata: A reader writes in to correct an error by pointing out that the film was about the 1889 exposition, not the 1878 one. (There were expos in Paris during each decade of the last half of the 19th century and beyond.) Apparently, the "negro village" continued to be the main attraction in 1889, but the other details mentioned above pertain to the 1878 fair, not the 1889 one that introduced the Eiffel Tower.

July 24, 2007 - Inforam*

TMI alert: there are a great many variations on today's typo, most of which are "high probability," according to information taken from the Ballard list.

These include: Inforam*, Infomati*, Informait*, Informatin, Informaton, Informt*, Inforat*, Inforn*, Infomant*, Infoorm*, Infortm*, Infrom*, and Inorma*.

Illustration from the White House Museum website: "Sheep keeping the south lawn in proper trim as part of (rather dubious) wartime cost reductions, circa 1919 (Library of Congress)."

Carol Reid

Sequitor* (for Sequitur*)

A good non sequitur is like a good joke: both of them build up your expectations, then unexpectedly upend them. My back-up TV viewer had my back the other night when he hit the record button after watching the first few minutes of a 1936 gangster film called Bullets or Ballots. A character was trying to think of the name of "that publisher who was murdered, the one named... uh, the name..." (It was a front-page story in the newspaper since the victim had been the leader of the city's vice squad.) "A–B–C–D," the man mutters. "E–F–G–H–I–J–K... Bryant!" This is a riff on a mnemonic device that I often use myself, whereby if I can't remember a person's name, I just start flipping through my mental Rolodex, silently saying the alphabet to myself. Most of the time when I come to the letter the person's name (either first or last) begins with, it suddenly jumps out at me. It's kind of amazing how well this works. (Although my friend says he knows of no one else who does this, it turns out my sister does it, and I'm sure other people must do as well.) Another nice example of the non sequitur was to be had the other day at work when I overheard one of our students complaining that "all of the streets in downtown Albany sound alike! Eagle, Dove, [here one might have added Swan, Lark, Quail, Partidge, or Robin]... Hamilton," he concluded dourly. Like bullets or ballots, one can go either way with the foreign phrase non sequitur. But the right way for you to go is with a U. We found one example of this typo (or misspelled Latinism) in OhioLINK, along with 19 in WorldCat.

(1936 theatrical poster for Bullets or Ballots, from Wikimedia Commons.)

Carol Reid