JIMPLECUTES!
Jimplecute is the name given to a fearsome critter most notably described by folklorist Vance Randolph, in We Always Lie to Strangers (1951). According to Randolph, the jimplecute is a sort of ghastly phantom, resembling a prehistoric monster, what, under the cover of darkness, attacks travelers on lonely moon-lit roads. The savage reptile has an insatiable vampiric appetite, which may only be quenched by the lifeblood of its victims. The jimplecute lunges out, unsuspectingly, at passersby, and, seizing them by the jugular, it proceeds to drain them of all vital fluid.1 Thus, the jimplecute (Verbumfalsus incomprehensibilis) joins the ranks of snallygaters, chupacabras, vampires, and other blood-sucking monsters. The previous synopsis is one often retold, although usually repeated verbatim from Randolph, as anyone who has ever attempted to find any other information on the jimplecute will assuredly testify. For, apart from Randolph’s details, virtually nothing is known of the aptly-named terror a way down south in Arkansas.
Still, as any diligent researcher will attest, there was oddly enough, to say the least, a newspaper entitled The Jefferson Jimplecute based out of the Lone Star State from the city of the same name, that is Jefferson not Jimplecute!
As gloated in its byline, "Independent in all Things--Noutral [sic] in Nothing," The Jefferson Jimplecute was a paper true to its name, if, of course, anyone knew what its name meant. Certainly, plenty have inquired but to little avail. There was a reader of Billboard magazine, L. Verne Slout, of Vermontville, Michigan (not confusing at all), who, in 1944, penned a letter to the periodical’s “Collectors’ Corner” inquiring to the origin of the term. The author of the section, Fred P. Pitzer, frankly admitted, “Here is a query that stumps us.“ Pitzer cast much doubt as to whether any other readers had an answer but posted Slout’s inquiry nonetheless.
Slout noted that The Jefferson Jimplecute allegedly once displayed “a sort of dragon or some such animal with several tails and many legs, which, perhaps, might be a Jimplecute” astride the newspaper’s title line. One can be assured as to the veracity of this statement. Slout attributed this piece of information to the all-knowing “they,” as in “they say.”
Moreover, Slout highlighted the ambiguity of the term’s meaning and origin, but he did concede one possible explanation. Slout elaborated that the term may have originally applied to “the ornate scroll work on circus band wagons and floats.”2
Scrollwork refers to the decorative process of illuminating something with a series of winding, intricate floral-like patterns. Such designs appear as if to radiate naturally outward from a fixed point and provide a sense of elegance to what would otherwise be unused, blank space. Scrollwork starts with a single curvature that is repeated to create a succession of markings coming together to form an elaborate and ornamental design.
Most other references, I have managed to track down to the jimplecute namesake simply allude to aforementioned paper or a comparably named newspaper in Illmo, Missouri, that is Jimplicute not Jefferson! There is, however, an 1856 novel entitled, Toiling and Hoping: The Story of a Little Hunchback, by Jenny Marsh, that makes a single use of jimplicute [sic?] as a term of endearment.5 Likewise, there is a 1857 blurb mentioning a schoolmaster, in Santa Fe, New Mexico, who instructed students to bring in sticks of wood to heat the room in a “jimplicute style.” The latter reference appears in The Weekly Novelette, a paper publishing serialized stories. Such papers were a precursor to dime novels and would publish reading material, in parts, on a weekly or semi-weekly basis. Prior to the advent of radio and television, such a medium helped establish the serialized storytelling format. While The Jefferson Jimplecute predates both usages, these references lend credibility that the word had at least a marginal existence outside the paper.
Still, it is likely that the term’s selection as a newspaper title is quite a story in of itself. There is a possibility, however unlikely, that the term Jimplicute may even be a joke on the entirety of the printed press. At the time of The Jefferson Jimplecute’s inception, in 1848, the typewriter would not come into fruition until 1878. The process by which newspapers of the day were printed involved metal pegs. Ridges forming letters were carved onto the ends of these pegs, known as type. The type would be arranged into words and sentences. Ink would be added to the top and paper would be pressed onto them. Simple right? Well, the end result was not always perfect. Occasionally, ink would smudged or wear thin. This in turn could easily result in some confusion. Jimplicute may represent such a similar confusion in type. For instance, take a look at the following printed word and see if you can gather what it is.
In the end, of course, maybe, the real lesson is that jimplecute's origins whether as design vernacular, a term of endearment, printing jargon, or what have you, like the jimplecute, itself, is probably no more than a good story. Perhaps, the real meaning of jimplecute is that there isn’t any and never was meant to be. The term itself being simply a signpost beckoning seekers on an endless, winding road of curiosity with no end.
Think about it, in our brief look into jimplecute, we have explored the basics of scrollwork, touch on the beginnings of serialized storytelling, reviewed the movable-type printing process and still had time to remark upon what pied type is. One can scarcely imagine what things, more wonderful, one could find should they take up the trail even further. Ultimately, the journey is all that matters, not the destination.
And if it be so, if jimplecute is no more than that, a vehicle for curiosity, a pathway to discovery, a leap into things lost and forgotten, than that is meaning far greater than its originators could have ever envisioned.
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1 Vance Randolph, ”Fabulous Monsters,“ We Always Lie to Strangers. Westport, Connecticut: Greenwood Press, 1974. 46-47. Print.
2L. Verne Slout and Fred P. Pitzer, “Collectors’ Corner,” The Billboard. 56, no 53, December 30, 1944, 29. https://books.google.com/books?id=hxoEAAAAMBAJ 3 Slout and Pitzer, 29.
4 Slout and Pitzer, 29.
5 Jenny Marsh, Toiling and Hoping: The Story of a Little Hunchback, New York: Derby and Jackson Publishers, 1856, 131.
https://catalog.hathitrust.org/Record/100591503
6 “They,” (Sayers of Stuff), in discussion with the author. November 2019.