“Don’t print what he said. Print what he meant.” Long time secretary for the former mayor of Chicago, Richard J. Daley, would often say this to the media after his boss had just “misspoken” at yet another event. Earl Bush was adept at “covering” the malapropisms of the working-class mayor, known affectionately as “Hizzoner,” who served the city from 1955 to 1976.
The accomplished journalist wrote a speech in which Daley was to say, “We shall reach greater and greater plateaus of achievement,” but instead “da mare” proudly stated, “We shall reach greater and greater platitudes of achievement.”
I imagine beat reporters shook their heads in confusion at press conferences as they tried to ferret out the meaning of Mayor Daley’s words. Perhaps in much the same way the ever puzzled but thoughtful Alice tries to understand Humpty Dumpty in Lewis Carroll’s Through the Looking-Glass.
Alice repeatedly asks the anthropomorphic egg to clarify what he means when he uses certain words and phrases. For example, Humpty says to Alice, “…there are three hundred and sixty-four days when you might get un-birthday presents…and only one for birthday presents, you know. There’s glory for you!”
Quite understandably, Alice says, “I don’t know what you mean by ‘glory.’”
He replies, “Of course you don’t—till I tell you. When I use a word it means just what I choose it to mean—neither more nor less.” The famous rhyme character, not without some contempt and condescension, declares that he, as the master of his words, may attribute meanings as he sees fit.
Language and the ability to communicate with words is a beautiful gift, but a paradoxical one at best—like life and truth—they are magnificent yet fraught with vexing paradoxes. In our relationships with loved ones, words can be used to disguise feelings, circumvent uncomfortable truths, or be transparent and heartfelt expressions of beliefs in which the speaker is firmly anchored. In other words, do we mean what we say? Say what we mean? Do words and phrases exist that have explicit, absolute, and incontrovertible meanings shared by all speakers and listeners?
Yes and no to all three questions. The last question is especially important. There are shared meanings without which we wouldn’t be able to communicate. However, we often miscommunicate, and what I may consider indisputable truths may have contradictory meanings for you.
There’s a bit of the mayor and Humpty in me. Malapropisms and narcissistic declarations find their way into my communications.
How? I’m a flitter. I wanted to write a short piece about the need for clear communication, but discovered, quite ironically, that obfuscation littered the piece. I flitted from idea to idea, disguising my feelings and discomfort with truths I wished to hide This version of the blog has been edited [several times, and maybe not enough]—and gone are the personal examples I cited for credibility, and the excessive discourse and exposition.
What’s left?
The truth about honest communication that means something—simple, brief words written or spoken with clarity and simplicity.
Hopefully, we can say, “Print what I say because that’s what I mean.” And I hope I mean what I say at least once a day.
by 
Great piece. Words are important.
Real communication happens when we have common understanding.
A lovely essay on parsing words. Zinnser would be proud. Me too.
Ah, the ever present challenge of fully expressing our thoughts so those who listen are able to fully comprehend our meaning. This challenge is further complicated by broader audiences, who may prefer short rather than long expression of thought.
Great piece and that is what ai mean gary
Your questions about our communications with loved ones are intriguing and the yes and no answers remind me of the yin and yang of it all. The dialogue between Alice and Humpty feels familiar and invites further exploration and communication,
adventuring down the rabbit hole of our lives. Write on, mon ami.
this subject makes me smile. I think I often forget that those to whom I am speaking have forgotten how to read minds. My daughter says, “She’s talking Mom.” because I often leave out an important part of my story.I leave my audiences much like Alice wondering what I meant. Some day I will master this art of communication. I am still young. There is still time and those around me are
patient and kind.
I agree that “Language and the ability to communicate are a beautiful gift,” and yes, such a paradoxical one. I like this piece because it has movement and a solid simplicity at the same time. It ends that clear assertion that what is left are words spoken with “clarity and simplicity.” It also opens small doors to the nuances and shades of what you mean by telling us stories, sharing humor, asking questions that only open ideas but don’t close them. I like all these things about words, that they can be a clear way to share me with someone else if I am brave enough, but that they are free and nuanced and layered as well.
And then, it is also a gift to have people who want to listen until they hear what I mean.