By Stewart Dobson
A typographical error in a recent publication promoting the resort would appear to be a good target for a little humor. You won’t see it here, though, because of a rule in publishing that dates back to Guttenberg and movable type. It says, loosely translated from the original German, “You’ll be sorry.”
I know, because I paid that price many years ago after making fun of a headline in a Delaware paper that announced a church-sponsored “Fried Children Dinner.”
As I recall, I might have observed, 1. that the headline writer was fried at the time; 2. that fried children are one thing, but I draw the line at Tater Tots; 3. that “Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water, but Jack fell down and broke his crown while Jill was cooked to order.”
Fried Children is hardly the biggest mistake ever made (frying children on purpose would be much worse) and ticket sales were good anyway, which suggests that either people realized it was a mistake or the price was right. Much more flagrant miscues have been done, and locally at that.
“Beat the cold with a hot buttered bum,” comes to mind. And just recently someone told me that a slip of the typing finger invited diners to try the crapcake special. Thanks, but no.
The all-time worst typo occurred back in the 1950s in the old “Eastern Shore Times” of Berlin – and this is absolutely true – when the publisher meant to wish, “Good Luck A & P” to the new food store. I’ll leave what happened to your imagination.
So, I did know better than to make light of the problems of others but apparently my stupid gene was ascendant that day.
Not long thereafter, the local high school drama class requested publicity for its production of the comedy, “The Curious Savage.” I obliged by placing the story prominently in the paper and giving it a big, fat headline.
Bear in mind that headline writing is not as easy as you might think, especially in the days before computer graphics programs that allow the writer to squeeze and contort type into the allotted space.
The problem was that in addition to trying to work in the play’s title, I had to fit in the school name so readers would know who was doing what. All this on deadline, of course. Finally, satisfied that I had done my best, and having others proofread the page, I boxed the paper and sent it to the printer.
On the following day, as I admired my weekly handiwork, I came across the headline with which I had struggled mightily:
Stephen Decatur students
put on ‘The Curious Sausage’ I later heard they broke all previous attendance records.
