Watch Out For Rampant Phopahs, Coupes, Violas

Back in the fall of 1990, according to a clipping that just came in, the Oregon Fish and Wildlife Journal ran an item about buck deer. They often elude a hunter, but occasionally one makes a mistake. "If you're in the right place at the right time, the phopah may yield to you a wall hanger."

Now a phopah is not an exotic animal found only in Oregon. Phopahs are found everywhere mistakes are made, only they usually are spelled "faux pas." Rhymes with "no, pa."

There is something about the French language that many writers find irresistibly alluring. The truism applies especially to writers who know no French. Their name is legion, for they are many.

Take the matter of "coup," pronounced coo, as in Bill and Coo, the romantic duo. The Associated Press reported a golf match a year ago that involved Bernhard Langer and Chip Beck. This is what happened: "Langer put the coupe de grace on Beck with a stunning eagle on the 13th hole."

Well, now, there is no such thing as a coupe de grace, unless we are talking about Grace's sporty two-door machine. The AP's sportswriter had the right sense of the thing, for a "coup de grace" is a final stroke of mercy. It is the shot fired by a hunter to put a wounded animal, like a buck phopah, out of its pain. Nothing very complicated here.

I venture no howling objection to throwing in a coup de grace when the phrase properly applies, but we ought not to use it wrongly. A writer for the Portland Oregonian described a home-remodeling project a couple of years ago. The owners ripped off some fake brick paneling and found usable bookshelves; they found fine leaded glass panels behind some plywood, "but peeling the carpet off the floors was the coup de grace."

In this context, coup de grace didn't fit. The remodelers had a "coup de bonheur," perhaps, a stroke of good luck, but why Frenchify the story? Beneath the carpet they found some fine oak flooring. All clear?

At least the Oregonian's reporter spelled it right. Many writers muff it. Another AP reporter had trouble at the trial of the Menendez brothers, accused of murdering their parents. A medical examiner testified that "the fatal, close-range shot to Jose's head was most likely a final coup de gras." Straighten up, AP! "Gras" means "fat" in French, as in "foie gras," fat liver. Pronounce it "grah," as in phopah.

I don't mean to pick on Oregon, but a bill from Falcon Cable TV in Portland provides another Horrid Example. The company offered its customers an "a la carte package." R.A. Ricketts of Terrebonne suggests that an a la carte package is an oxymoron, a Greek animal found in a combination of incongruous words. Maybe so. Oxymorons make excellent house pets, but they also may be stuffed and mounted.

Let me clarify the matter by reference to an ad that appeared in the Buffalo (N.Y.) News for Cafe Jordan, a four-star beanery on Franklin Street at Mohawk. There a customer may be tempted by a "prefix 3-course menu $18.95." Patrons do not dine on subs, of course, though "sub" is as pleasant a prefix as "con" or "trans," especially with pastrami. The Jordan's bargain is a "prix fixe," pronounced pree-feeks, fixed price.

In the same zoo with phopahs, coupes and cartes is the interesting "viola." Phyllis Lovegren of Indianapolis sighted it (and cited it) in the local Spotlight two years ago. In a letter to the editor a reader spoke of Congressman Andy Jacobs. Whenever voters react to a hot topic, the reader observed, "Viola! Here's Andy."

This rampant beast, with its low musical growl, appeared in September in the weekly Columbus (Ohio) Guardian. A feature writer was growling at a Barbie doll. Evidently (I am guessing at this), the doll has a pregnancy component. In one configuration, Barb looks as if she had swallowed a beach ball. But then, just like magic, a flat tummy may be popped into the fat tummy's place. "Viola!"

This is confusing, because the lady's name is Barbie, not Viola. The only Viola of my acquaintance appears in "Twelfth Night," where she falls in love with the Duke Orsino. She was reportedly not pregnant at the time. Other violas sit between the second violins and the cellos; they are rarely seen because the conductor is always in the way.

Moral: Writers who don't know their French will dine on phopahs. Sad to say, phopahs taste like crows.

(Copyright 1994, Universal Press Syndicate)