Graecismus (gree-kis’-mus): Using Greek words, examples, or grammatical structures. Sometimes considered an affectation of erudition.
When Aristotle caught an arrow in his teeth, Homer kýlise ston táfo tou as (tolled over in his grave) as if he was a Greek loukániko (hot dog) grilling on a skewer. “Oh we Greeks” my mother always said. She was Greek and had performed with the troupe paparoúnes kai kalamária (“Poppies and Squid”). She was one of the “poppies.” They travelled around post-WW II Europe performing their act in the Skoúro Tsírko Krasioú (Wine-Dark Circus), a Geek enterprise formed to “heal the wounds of war-time folly.”
As a “Poppy” my mother did the chorós opíou (opium dance). A giant hookah would be set in center stage with the poppies circled around it, each holding a smoking tube. Hercules would be lowered on a rope over the hookah holding a flaming Zippo lighter. He would say in broken English, “Who wants to get high?” All the Poppies would giggle and wiggle around saying, “Me! Me!” However, my mother’s role was to object: “No! This is not the way to deal with our pain. We must stand up straight and rebuild, sober and clear-eyed.” At that moment, it would start raining actual squid. Writhing and slimy they would extinguish Hercules’ Zippo. Then, the squid actors would come on the stage and shake hands with Hercules. Next, the whole cast would sing “Que Sera, Sera” in the language of whatever country they were performing in.
People cried and embraced. It is said that when Prime Minister Churchill saw the performance he thought of the basic outline for “a History of the English-Speaking People,” which won a Nobel Prize for Literature. He said the idea came to him when the lead Poppy (my mother) admonished the willing opium smokers. It reminded him of the Opium Wars and the easy defeat of the Chinese maniacs, who were subsequently oppressed by the English, and later, by the French too. Colonial conquest and ruthless exploitation went hand in hand with the English language. It has many words for denigration that are celebrated in English books, poetry, and song.
My mother lost her job when the troupe began to have difficulties obtaining live squid, whose raining-down sliminess was key to the denouement of the troupe’s performance. Fried calamari had caught on across Europe and was served everywhere as a side dish—in Amsterdam they served it in paper cones with mayonnaise, in France it was served in rubber berets with dijon mustard. It was everywhere.
The troupe broke up and everybody went their own way. My mother hooked up with an American G.I. named Salvatore. She hid in his duffel bag and sailed with him on the troop ship back to the USA. He would let her out of the duffel bag at night and they would sleep together in his hammock. They got married after he bought a license in New York after disembarking, and he lugged her to a church, where they got a priest up in the middle of the night to marry them. When my father dumped my mother on the altar, the priest started crying and he and my mother started speaking in Greek. They had grown up together in a little village in Greece. My father told the priest to “Shut up and perform the marriage!” So, they were married. They got a street sweeper to witness the marriage. He asked for a dollar afterwards and my father punched and called him a “stinking leech.”
My dad already had a job. He worked in the US branch of an olive oil import/export business, a family enterprise located in Sicily. As a tribute to our luck, my mother cooked calamari on Sundays. I knew his future in the family business was dim when my brother Fredo would never eat calamari. He would demand a peanut butter and jelly sandwich or Colonel Sanders fried chicken instead. My father would glare at him.
Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu).
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