Streatfield (for Streatfeild)

Noel Streatfeild (British author, actress, and daughter of the Bishop of Lewes) would likely have seen her surname misspelled Streatfield rather frequently over the course of her lifetime. But once you've seen it spelled right, it's quite easy to keep straight and just as memorable as her books—books which nearly always have the word "shoes" in their titles. (Circus Shoes, Theatre Shoes, Movie Shows ... extra points if you can name all nine!) Of the first, Ballet Shoes, published in 1936, Streatfeild wrote: "The story poured off my pen, more or less telling itself ... I distrusted what came easily and so despised the book." Readers, on the other hand, adored it. We found four cases of Noel Streatfield in our database today, which is four too many for this wonderful writer who has been bringing joy ("Mary Noel" was born on Christmas Eve, 1895) to bookish, artsy, shoe-loving girls for over half a century now. Streatfeild was appointed an Officer of the Order of the British Empire in 1983, and slipped her slippers three years later at the age of 91—leaving her followers barefoot and bereft. (I also discovered four other personal-name typos by searching on Streatfeild* + Streatfield* in OhioLINK.)

(Image of Noel Streatfeild found on the Web.)

Carol Reid

Preganc*, etc. (for Pregnan*)

The Miracle of Morgan's Creek is itself a miracle of mid-century Hollywood filmmaking. Preston Sturges's 1944 screwball comedy centers around a fun-loving and patriotic young lady (Betty Hutton) who goes to a send-off for servicemen shipping out the next day, and comes home married (to one she uncertainly refers to as "Ratzkiwatzki?") as well as pregnant. As in ... she had drunken, semi-anonymous sex with a soldier. In the 1940s. In America's heartland. (Did I mention it's a comedy?) Bosley Crowther of The New York Times called this film "audacious" and "delightfully irreverent" and wondered how Sturges "persuaded the Hays boys that he wasn't trying to undermine all morals," while James Agee went a step further in asserting that "the Hays office must have been raped in its sleep" to permit its release. Preganc* and Pregana* turn up eight times apiece in OhioLINK, along with a few of Pregant* to boot. (Fix this typo by moving the N's and C around. Then Netflix this movie before it gets rated NC-17!)

(Preston Sturges, pregnant with knowledge, from Flickr.)

Carol Reid

Deposti* (for Deposit*)

I wouldn't exactly call it a deep thought, but the Post-it Note is a rather nifty idea. Post-it Notes are practical and even sort of pretty, whether in the classic pale yellow or the more vibrant saturated hues they currently come in. Almost like a Christo exhibit writ small. Speaking of Christo, whose work often involves wrapping large objects, he once sent a package to the artist Ray Johnson, who was himself known for creating postal art. When Johnson unwrapped it, he found a photograph of the package and a note saying that, since the artwork had now been destroyed, he could keep the picture as a memento. (Christo's wife, Jeanne-Claude, coincidentally born on the same day as her husband, passed away in November 2009.) Artists and pranksters alike have employed Post-it Notes in their assorted endeavors, completely covering cars with them and depositing them throughout entire rooms. In 2000, a group of artists celebrated the note's 20th anniversary and Post-its have also been featured in various cultural venues, including the Museum of Modern Art. They're widely used in film storyboarding as well, and have a virtual analogue for computers. Deposti* turns up 27 times in OhioLINK, but if you're too busy right now, you can write this typo on a Post-it Note to remind you to check for it later in the day. (Of course, you should refrain from sticking them on library books.)

(Art Fry, inventor of the Post-it Note, with one on his forehead bearing a picture of a lightbulb, from Wikimedia Commons.)

Carol Reid

Elementry (for Elementary)

Today is the birthday of my favorite elementary school teacher and today's typo reminds me of an old joke. (Teacher sends a note home with one of her pupils. It reads: "Junior is trying... Very trying.") I'm not joking when I say there were 16 cases of Elementry in OhioLINK this morning, which makes it a highly trying typo, according to the Ballard list. A quick keyword search in WorldCat returned a hefty 180 hits on this one; I also found three in my own library's catalog. The fix is quite simple, though—dare I say elementary, my dear Watson, or whatever your name may be. If you put an A in the right place, and do it right away, you will definitely earn an A+ from me!

(There is such a thing as too many A's, though, at least in English, if not in the place pictured here... Elementary School in Chittoor, Andhra Pradesh, India. This school is adopted by Aashritha under the 'Paathshaala' project. From Wikimedia Commons.)

Carol Reid

Backround* (for Background*)

Today's typo is the kind caused by a "silent letter"—in this case, the letter G. We found 34 cases of Backround* in the OhioLINK database, making it a "high probability" typo on the Ballard list. Lewis Hine (1874–1940) was a sociologist and teacher at the Ethical Culture School in New York City. He taught his students how to employ the medium of photography to document social issues, taking them to Ellis Island to photograph the arriving immigrants. In 1907, he became the photographer for the National Child Labor Committee, where his pictures proved instrumental in ending the practice of child labor. He eventually came to regard photojournalism as his true vocation and his work was widely displayed. His talent was also put to use by the Red Cross, the Tennessee Valley Authority, and the Works Progress Administration. The Library of Congress currently holds 5,000 of his photographs; nearly 15,000 more are held by the George Eastman House and the University of Maryland. Sadly, Hine faded into the background toward the end of his life and died in abject poverty and near anonymity. However, if a picture is worth a thousand words, Lewis Hine will never be silent.

("Power house mechanic working on steam pump," 1920, from Wikimedia Commons.)

Carol Reid

Hitory, Hitorical (for History, Historical)

Archetypal activist Howard Zinn—author of several openly left-wing, revisionist, consciousness-raising history books—left us for good last week, borne on the wings of fellow writers Louis Auchincloss and J.D. Salinger. Achincloss had been launched into upper-crust Long Island society, and Salinger initially mixed it up in mid-town Manhattan, but Zinn was a Brooklyn boy, the son of working-class Jewish immigrants. His zeal for improving humanity, and his appeal to and love for the young, were as pure and driven as Salinger's were, yet he approached his own life differently, turning toward the masses and taking a hands-on approach to hand-wringing. The "People's Historian" taught political science at Boston University for 24 years and on his last day there ended class early so that he and his students could join a picket line. He was the recipient of many progressive awards—the Peace Abbey Courage of Conscience Award, the Thomas Merton Award, the Eugene V. Debs Award, the Lannan Literary Award, and the Upton Sinclair Award—although he also attracted his share of critics, scolds, and ideological opponents. He was a hit with radicals and a bit rhetorical, adored by the many students and others who both knew and read him throughout the years. (Matt Damon and Ben Affleck were personal friends of his and wangled some product placement for A People's History of the United States in the movie Good Will Hunting.) Rest in peace, Howard Zinn. I hope history repeats itself by giving us lots more people like you. The people's typo for today is Hitory, which appears 15 times in OhioLINK, along with six cases of Hitorical.

(Howard Zinn at Babylonmedia's international anti-authoritarian festival "B-Fest" in Athens, Greece, May 2009, from Wikimedia Commons.)

Carol Reid

Telvis* (for Televis*)

Elvis Presley was very telegenic, but in the last of three appearances on The Ed Sullivan Show, he could only be televised from the waist up, due to outrage on the part of the Catholic Church and various reporters who compared his style to that of "the blond bombshells of the burlesque runway." (Elvis scorned such attempts to rein him in; he even mocked the media by donning a harem outfit for one of his numbers on the show.) The King would have turned 75 last month, but to fans he will always be that hip-swiveling, lip-quivering, boundless ball of sexual energy and doe-eyed vision of post-pubescent pulchritude, which even back then had to be half-imagined. My favorite Elvis lyric goes: "I'm itching like a man on a fuzzy tree." (Go ahead and censor his nether parts if you will—who needs to actually see the fuzzed-out region after being given a phrase like that to chew on?) Elvis was both an audio- and a visual experience. He really knew how to tell it like it is. We found 17 cases of Telvis* locked up in OhioLINK today. Rehabilitate 'em by adding an E for Elvis.

(Screenshot of Elvis Presley in Jailhouse Rock, 1957, from the Library of Congress and Wikimedia Commons.)

Carol Reid