Library of Congress Photo Archive on Flickr

The Library of Congress is piloting a Flickr project. A ton of their glorious images are up on Flickr. Copyright free! Go browse now.

"Jocko" usage note

The careful reader of monkey news will have noted that all the monkeys fit to print are named Jocko. By way of explanation, I direct you to the O-E-D and the D-E-V-O

Also Jacko. [a. F. jocko, erroneously made by Buffon out of engeco, properly ncheko, the native name of the chimpanzee in the Gaboon country, West Africa.]

The chimpanzee; sometimes used as a familiar name for any ape (perh. influenced by Jack or Jackanapes).

[1625 BATTEL Angola in Pinkerton's Voy. XVI. 332 The largest of them is called Pongo in their language, and the other Engeco. 1766 BUFFON Hist. Naturelle (1837) III. 590 Jocko, Enjocko, nom de cet animal a Congo, et que nous avons adopté. En est l'article que nous avons retranché.] 1777 P. THICKNESSE Year's Journey II. xl. 68 My monkey..rode postilion upon my sturdy horse... Jocko put whole towns in motion. 1778 Ibid. (ed. 2) II. xlv. 106, I have seen an animal of the Jocko kind, when chained to a spot, contrive to get his food, which was out of his reach, by an address which many human creatures would have perished for want of abilities to put in practice. 1847 SAVAGE in Boston Jrnl. Nat. Hist. V. 422 Their local name for the Chimpanzee is Enche-eko, as near as it can be anglicised, from which the common term Jocko probably comes. [1861 P. B. DU CHAILLU Equat. Africa xx. 359 In the Gaboon country the Chimpanzee is called Nshiego, in the interior it is known as the Ncheko. Ibid. 362 The Chimpanzee is called Engeco by Battel, 1625;..Enjocko, Jocko, by Buffon, 1766; Inchego, by Bowdich, 1819; Enche-eco, by Savage, in 1847; Ntchego, by Franquet, in 1852; Nchego, by Aubry Lecomte, 1854-57; most of which are variations again of the Camma name, which, according to our English mode of spelling, should be, as I have given it, Nshiego..the negro name for the true Chimpanzee.] 1863 HUXLEY Man's Place Nat. i. 14 Thus it was that Andrew Battell's ‘Engeco’ became metamorphosed into ‘Jocko’, and, in the latter shape, was spread all over the world, in consequence of the extensive popularity of Buffon's works.

DEVO: "Jocko Homo"

Amusing Paul Krugman

From an interview by Ezra Klein in the American Prospect:

EK: ...And it struck me that five, ten years ago, that there was a real difference between the sort of technocratic liberal that Paul Krugman was and the sort of populist labor liberal that Paul Wellstone was. There's been a convergence of those -- George W. Bush has expanded liberalism. Do you think that's right?

PK: Oh sure. You know, [under Bush], you realize who you actually have only technical disputes with, and that, more fundamentally, you share values. I think I said to Eric Alterman once that while people like you and me are having our disputes over trade policy, Sauron was gathering his forces in Mordor...

Drunken monkey redux

BAD MONKEY COMES TO TOWN

Jocko Is a Murderer, Thief, and Heavy Drinker, Say Ship's Officers.

A murderer, a thief, a drinker of much intoxicating liquor, and a general bad character got past the immigration officials yesterday when the big British freighter Inverclyde got to port. The bad qualities are combined in Jocko, a young orang-utan, property of the skipper. The ship's officers, however, unite in saying that Jocko has the qualities of a vagabond more than a crook.

When the vessel was in Singapore the Captain bought the primate from a native. When the Inverclyde got well out on the North Atlantic Jocko, having the run of the ship, took his abode in a coal bunker. It was from this retreat that he emerged when the Inverclyde got to her South Brooklyn pier yesterday morning. He was covered with grime and disreputable looking. Afraid to wet the animal lest he would catch cold, Percy Webster, the first officer, and Charles Hancock, the second officer, gave him what they called an oatmeal shampoo. Their simian friend sat contentedly on a hatch eating an apple while they rubbed dry oatmeal into his hair and the brushed it out and most of the coal dust with it, using a stiff brush.

Jocko commited murder on the high sees. There were on board Rummy the ship's cat, and Jitsy, a fluffy powder puff of a dog from Japan. The primate took a violent dislike to Rummy, and the latter, reciprocating, kept out of his way. All went well until one sunshiny day, when the monkey caught Rummy asleep on a coil of rope on deck. He seized the cat by the tail and threw him overboard before one of the seamen could interfere. Jocko and Jitsy became fast friends, and, despite the objections of the officers, the dog spent nearly all his time in the bunker of his friend.

Another one of Jocko's vices is theft. He can go througha pocket with the agility of a pickpocket. Once he stole the first officer's watch, and the ticking of it amused him so much that he allowed himself to be caught. The watch was recovered uninjured. As a punishment he was spanked with a hairbrush, and hence his aversion to hairbrushes.

"Jocko is a great fellow," said Webster. "He smokes a pipe and his fond of port wine and whisky."

Published: October 9, 1911
Copyright © The New York Times

Monkeyshines

MONKEY-SHINES STOP HARLEM TROLLEY CARS

Antics of One Jocko Prove Fatal to Spring Finery.

RAGE OF ORGAN GRINDER

So Excited He Had to Spell His Name Phonetically--Gave "Diablo" His Due.

For nearly half an hour the Third Avenue surface road was blocked last evening at the corner of One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street by a fantastically dressed monkey. The mischief maker was one of the trained creatures which are profitable accompaniments of hand organs, this one being the property of Raphjil Derago, phonetically spelled, who said that he and the monkey "crawled in somewhere on Mulberry Street at night."

While the monkey was still performing tricks which the swarthy Italian clearly had not taught him, he blurted out something that indicated that the monkey's name was Jocko, but left it to be inferred by the great crowd of newsboys and bootblacks near him at the time that his name would be jerked into Dennis if he ever laid hands on him again. Meanwhile, there was something doing among the prettily dressed women, who were victims rather than spectators of the monkey's antics.

Derago was wheezing out something that was recognized as "Dreamland," despite the jagged chords, on One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street, near Third Avenue, keeping busily at it despite the first few gusts of dust and rain of an approaching thunderstorm. The monkey was hopping about, cup in hand, trying to dodge the giant drops of rain, but catching all the pennies that he could. Suddenly he broke the cord--the cord that held him to his master's hand.
Just at that moment Car No. 1,230, going south, stood at the corner. It was of the closed variety, but all the windows had been opened. It was filled with women, many coming from Fort George, and wearing lightly-colored dresses and elaborately trimmed hats. In a jiffy Jocko was in the car.

It might have been better if the monkey had not chosen the heads and shoulders of the women to perform his antics on. This was what he did, ruining nearly everything he touched.
The women of course ran screaming from the car. Their place was taken by a lot of men and boys who tried to catch the monkey, who, still holding the cup, was climbing in and out of the opened ventilating windows at the top. In vain did several boys climb to the top of the car, in vain did Derago yell, beseeching the monkey to come down. Meanwhile more cars were coming on, more persons who were getting lots of fun without cost. It took nearly a half hour to capture the monkey, and when last seen Derago was turning the corner giving the "diablo" his due.

The New York Times
Published July 1, 1904
Copyright (c) The New York Times

She's just waiting for you to click her

Oh, hey. You just caught me blogging!!!

This is the how-to program I've been waiting for. I will never not know what the online blogopolis is ever again. This is more instructive than searching the google for all the information I need to achieve my dream. Fax them your emails now!!

Monkeys in the New News

While Monkey Blogging, regardless of the day of the week, is the uncontested territory of Shake Day, she has to date confined her attention to vintage Monkey News, and I hope will therefore not mind if I make an intervention on a contemporary Monkey Topic.

You all will have read about the tragic death of S.S. Bhajwa, deputy mayor of Delhi, who fell from his terrace while attempting to fend off a marauding band of Rhesus macaques. Those of you who have had extended sojourns in the subcontinent no doubt shared the sense of "there but for the grace of {fill in the blank} go I" that I had when reading this story.

I can't count the number of times I woke up in my flat in Benares to find that the monkeys had again drained all the water from our tank using one of the outside taps. I think that it must be a slightly smaller number than the times I walked out onto the terrace to the hooting of monkeys from across the alley, followed shortly by a taunting volley of feces. On those occasions, I usually could not resist the temptation to return fire (with pebbles), particularly if it happened to be a day when our water was drained, though I don't think it ever did anything other than make a ridiculous spectacle. I could easily imagine one of those exchanges getting out of hand, and I consider myself lucky to be able to share this with you all today.

TOTAL DEPRAVITY IN NEW-YORK

Dearest Blog,

I know what is wrong with America today, and it is this: too few monkeys.

The New York Times archive is chock full of monkey news: monkeys playing banjo, monkeys getting drunk, even kimono-clad socialites fighting over a monkey. Buried in this long, incompletely transcribed article is yet another glimmer from the golden age of monkey news.

Some notes on February 1871, when this observation was published. The telephone, light bulb, and phonograph had yet to be invented. Chicago had yet to burn. Gladstone was prime minister, Grant was president, and Stanley had yet to utter, "Dr. Livingstone, I presume."

I remain, your most humble and obedient servant,
Shake Day

TOTAL DEPRAVITY IN NEW-YORK
Scenes Inside a Notorious Resort Near "Murderers' Block."
A Queer Bar-room, a Wretched Show Above-Stairs, a Stupid Dance, Hideous Music--The Character of the "Guests"--Men of Position and "Respectability" Among Pugilists, Thieves, Gamblers, &c.--A Wretched Spectacle.

(c) New York Times
February 5, 1871, Wednesday

When sauntering through that portion of Houston-street which fringes the locality renowned as "Murderers' Block," I have often been attracted by one of the most ornate street lamps I have ever seen in any city, surmounting a most dilapidated door. The curiosity naturally created by the lamp being whetted to a keen edge by the information imparted by the policeman, who is always to be found on the adjacent corner, except when there is some breach of the peace in his neighborhood requiring his services, that "HARRY'S is a high old place," I was tempted awhile ago to fathom the mysteries hidden behind the cracked and wheezy walls from which the incongruous lamp projected. Thieving on the premises, I was told, was something "HARRY couldn't afford, and wouldn't allow, no how."

THE QUEEREST OF BAR-ROOMS
Thus reassured, I pushed back the door and entered to find myself in the queerest bar-room I had ever seen. I am not tall, but standing on tip-toe I could have easily touched the dingy ceiling with the point of my finger, but I didn't do so, partly for fear of the dirt, and partly for fear of exciting comment. The floor under my feet was unmistakably ancient, for it was composed of wide boards which had been worn into ridges by long use. The walls, which matched the ceiling as to cleanliness, were garnished with bills announcing a forthcoming benefit to one PATSY SHEPPARD, who was declared to be "famous," with several points of celebrated horses; but the principle embellishment was an engraving representing the "Great International Contest between HEENAN and SAYRES, at Farnborough, April 17, 1960," of which the most striking feature was the fact that of the hundreds of respectable gentlemen represented as viewing that exhibiion of modern savagery, only those on one side of the ring were looking at the athletes, while all the others stared persistently at the spectators of the picture. Turning from these decorations to the bar, I found it an odd compound of flashiness and solidity, with considerable originality thrown in as a balance. At one end were barrels, arranged in the old tap-room style, in the centre were cut-glass decanters of marvelous showinness, and at the upper end was nothing but odds and ends of every description of rubbish. This portion of the counter was further decorated by an arch of wood labeled "ticket office above the orifice. Rightly judging from this fact, that I had only arrived at the threshold of this curious place, I found upon inquiry that there was "show upstairs." Depositing the demanded twenty-five cents, I received a very greasy ticket which I left with an equally greasy gentleman at the head of a rickety stairway which I had reached by penetrating from the bar-room into a smally and grimpy room at its rear.

SCENES ABOVE STAIRS
The ticket-taker, of suspicious exterior, having said, "Show ain't on yet," I sat down at a table and looked about me, after having ordered a glass of beer, as a consequence of a girl hovering about me with a suggestive tray. The place bore no resemplance to the queer bar-room below, but it was much odder in its way. It was a large square room with a long arm reaching off on one side, and it was plain that the whole establishment had been recently renovated. In one corner was a small stage of semicircular form, flanked by a balcony, on which were a number of men who were called "a band," and who presently gave forth excruciating sounds, which I found it was the custom of the place to consider music. Opposite to the stage was an open furnace which had its purpose declared by the short counter adjoining, on which oysters were piled, and behind which stood a man dividing his time between taking those bivalves from their shells and teasing the most attenuated monkey I ever met with a false offer of a banana. Vis a vis with the oyster counter was a bar, with all the glitter of the most modern fashion, and this with numerous small tables and common oak chairs, make up the appurtenances of the dance-house, which was brilliantly lighted by gas-burners pendant from the ceiling, and the walls of which were decorated with cheap prints and uncouth rhymes inviting the visitors to free indulgence in the solaces of the place. There were also some precepts of politeness prominently displayed, the most prominent being: "Gentlemen are requested not to smoke when dancing with the ladies." I inferred that the highest breeding had not preceded me upstairs, which inference was presently strengthened by observing that the gentlemen did smoke while dancing with the ladies, notwithstanding the notice. Having made a general acquaintance with the room, I looked to its occupants, and at this moment, fortunately, HARRY himself took a seat at my table, and, mutual self-introductions following, I was able, with his help, to soon get on intimate terms with my surroundings. It was yet early in the evening, but there were about twenty women seated at the different tables, who were, I learned, the guests of the house, as they came in free by a private entrance from Houston-street. Some were jaded and worn with rough usage of years, and others seemed in the bright bloom of budding womanhood; but, although decorous in language and behavior, all had the indefinable sigh that proclaimed them forsaken by the respectable of their sex. In this fact I found the secret of the bar and oyster counter, of the stage and the exasperating band; all were there to attract the forlorn night wanderers of the thoroughfares, excluded from reputable places of amusement, and they in turn attract the men who pay the piper. Even at an early hour of a stormy night there are dozens of these sitting at the tables with the women, smoking and drinking, whom I know from their appearances claim to be reputable members of society, and most of whom would stoutly deny, out of doors, that they had ever been seen in such a place as this. As a ruse to draw out my host, as HARRY had by this time become, I express the opinion that his place is patronized chiefly by professional athletes, gamblers, or something worse, and am not surprised at his peremptory denial. Those fellows, he says, ain't worth standing room to the house, as a whole, except as they help to attract men in reputable pursuits. "HARRY" runs through all the professions, the mercantile and manufacturing world, as furnishing the basis of his prosperous business. Heads of great business houses, leading members of the liberal professions, bank and insurance officials, he declares to be occasional patrons, bu t the bulk of his customs is from the clerks on meagre salaries, who have little money, but less brains. Nobody comes to New-York, I am informed, without seeing the lion supposed to be couchant in places of vile resort, and no stranger comes to this particular lair without leaving some of his money behind him. There is a fascination to the average of mankind in meeting pugilists, gamblers and thieves in the company of questionable women, so I am not amazed at nor prepared to question the general facts advanced.

A SENSIBLE MONKEY
If I had been incredulous, my evening in the dance-house would have ended in conviction, besides bringing me, as it did, in contact with many curious facts and people. As I still sat and smaked, a young man of remarkably gorgeous apparel, whom I soon found to be a bank-clerk, approached me to express his conviction that the attenuated monkey, whose gyrations he had been profoundly contemplating, had more sense than he had. I had no sooner given my cordial assent to this proposition that the clerk proceeded to justify it by calling up a number of strangers to drink at his expense to the health of the monkey, now perched on picture over the bar, and looking with profound contempt at his eulogist. I came myself to have great respect for that monkey before the night was gone, for a dish of boiled eggs being put temptingly within his reach for him to delight the clerk and others by stealing one of them, he absolutely refused to gratify them by an exhibition of dishonesty. Further than that, he declined some proffered whisky with evident disgust, and finally coiled himself up under the oyster furnace, and went to sleep, as the most effective method of being rid of his disreputable company. It would have been to the credit of the bank clerk, and the scores of others infesting the dance-house, if they had followed the monkey's example and gone off to their beds. But not only neglecting so to do, they became more maudlin as the night advanced, and entered with greater zest into the rankness of the place, which was the real attraction.

THE "SHOW"
The stage performances went on regularly without anybody paying the slightest attention to them. A man who had apparently "crooked the pregnant hinges of the knee" until they had refused to ever by straight again, waddled out and croaked what was announced as "a comic song by the great American buffo," but nobody heard it....

Amusing Hygiene Habits

I observed some amusing hygiene habits this morning at the gym.

I was returning to my locker from the shower when I passed by the area with sinks where people dry their hair and shave. An man of about 65 or 70 was standing there naked with a hair dryer in each hand. He had each dryer aimed at one ass cheek. He was waving the dryers around in sync, seemingly trying to make sure his cheeks were totally dry.

I chuckled to myself about how unselfconscious and weird this behavior was and went on to my locker. When I went to the sinks to shave a moment later, the man was still there, still drying every inch off with the hair dryers. I began to shave in front of the long mirror in front of the sinks, while he stood behind and to the side continuing his routine. A moment later, completing his routine, he pulled back a butt cheek and pointed a dryer right at his bunghole and held it there for a few seconds! Hah! Too funny. He was really concerned with being dry. He then went away and I continued shaving.

A minute or two later, the same man rushed back into the shaving area, pointed his butt at the mirror, spread his cheeks, and, looking down and aiming with the mirror, gave his bunghole a long blast from an aerosol can of something or other and then hurried off. Fungus? Hemorrhoids? I guess I will never know.