The Fine Art of Profanity

Good fiction is full of larger-than-life characters – people much better or worse, smarter or dumber, or distinct from ordinary people in multiple ways.  Such characters seldom spring from whole cloth, but are products of the imagination, sometimes mixed with bits and pieces of people the author knows.  I feel fortunate that a long career in an interesting industry offered exposure to some pretty amazing real-life characters.

I try to limit profanity in my work, but I can't eliminate it.  Any realistic dialogue between sailors may contain a bit of strong language.  The key word is realistic; words should flow naturally, and strong language is best used to amuse rather than shock.  In the humorous use of profanity, my model is a guy I'll call Joe.

Joe's ex-wife, a genteel, well-spoken lady (which may account for her 'ex' status), once said Joe had, "a regrettable tendency to lapse into the vernacular of the waterfront." That's an understatement. Joe was to profanity what Michelangelo was to art. I've heard it said that profanity demonstrates an inability to articulate, but no one who ever experienced one of Joe's profanity-laced word pictures would buy that.

Joe struggled to leave his saltier language on the ship when he transitioned to management, but when excited or angry he couldn't contain himself.  Such as the time his new car was stolen. The next day during lunch hour, he visited the nearby police headquarters to check on progress. After the typical bureaucratic shuffle, he found the detective handling his case. Also on his lunch hour, the guy didn't even get up from his card game, but commented over his shoulder that Joe should go ahead and file his insurance claim because "nothing was likely to turn up." Apparently Joe began to "speak in the vernacular" and was invited to leave.

I was coming back from lunch myself when Joe hailed me and darted through traffic to join me in front of our building. He was venting, when who should arrive but a police officer, ticket book in hand. The cop admonished Joe for his reckless dash and began to write him a ticket for jay walking.  Joe's reaction was volcanic.

His diatribe questioned why the police could waste resources handing out tickets, but couldn't be bothered to find his stolen car. He then allowed as how it probably didn't matter, since the traffic cop was obviously one of the least intelligent members of the metropolitan police department. In fact, Joe concluded, the cop was "the dumbest bastard ever to sh*t behind a pair of Thom McAns." He did offer some solace by assuring the officer that his mental shortcomings probably wouldn't bar him from advancement, since the police department collectively, "couldn't track an elephant through ten feet of f*cking snow."

At that point, the red-faced cop handed Joe the ticket, bid him good day, and turned to go.

I have to say it's the only $500 citation for jaywalking I've ever seen.

I flatter myself that only my presence and not inconsiderable physical effort kept Joe from being charged with assault on a police officer, and quite probably resisting arrest.

My friendship with Joe spanned 25 years, and I can truthfully say I was never bored in his company.  Sadly, he's no longer with us, and the world is poorer for it.

I collected a lot of 'Joe-isms" over the years, and some of them will escape the lips of my characters, now and in the future.