Latin or Italian?

There was an Italian radio station in Brooklyn, and as a boy I used to

listen to it all the time. I LOVed the ROLLing SOUNds going over me, as if I

was in the ocean, and the waves weren't very high. I used to sit there and

have the water come over me, in this BEAUtiful iTALian. In the Italian

programs there was always some kind of family situation where there were

discussions and arguments between the mother and father:

High voice: "Nio teco TIEto capeto TUtto..."

Loud, low voice: "DRO tone pala TUtto!!" (with hand slapping).

It was great! So I learned to make all these emotions: I could cry; I

could laugh; all this stuff. Italian is a lovely language.

There were a number of Italian people living near us in New York. Once

while I was riding my bicycle, some Italian truck driver got upset at me,

leaned out of his truck, and, gesturing, yelled something like, "Me aRRUcha

LAMpe etta TIche!"

I felt like a crapper. What did he say to me? What should I yell back?

So I asked an Italian friend of mine at school, and he said, "Just say,

'A te! A te!' -- which means 'The same to you! The same to you!' "

I thought it was a great idea. I would say "A te! A te!"

back-gesturing, of course. Then, as I gained confidence, I developed my

abilities further. I would be riding my bicycle, and some lady would be

driving in her car and get in the way, and I'd say, "PUzzia a la maLOche!"

-- and she'd shrink! Some terrible Italian boy had cursed a terrible curse

at her!

It was not so easy to recognize it as fake Italian. Once, when I was at

Princeton, as I was going into the parking lot at Palmer Laboratory on my

bicycle, somebody got in the way. My habit was always the same: I gesture to

the guy, "oREzze caBONca MIche!", slapping the back of one hand against the

other.

And way up on the other side of a long area of grass, there's an

Italian gardner putting in some plants. He stops, waves, and shouts happily,

"REzza ma LIa!"

I call back, "RONte BALta!", returning the greeting. He didn't know I

didn't know, and I didn't know what he said, and he didn't know what I said.

But it was OK! It was great! It works! After all, when they hear the

intonation, they recognize it immediately as Italian -- maybe it's Milano

instead of Romano, what the hell. But he's an iTALian! So it's just great.

But you have to have absolute confidence. Keep right on going, and nothing

will happen.

One time I came home from college for a vacation, and my sister was

sort of unhappy, almost crying: her Girl Scouts were having a

father-daughter banquet, but our father was out on the road, selling

uniforms. So I said I would take her, being the brother (I'm nine years

older, so it wasn't so crazy).

When we got there, I sat among the fathers for a while, but soon became

sick of them. All these fathers bring their daughters to this nice little

banquet, and all they talked about was the stock market -- they don't know

how to talk to their own children, much less their children's friends.

During the banquet the girls entertained us by doing little skits,

reciting poetry, and so on. Then all of a sudden they bring out this

funny-looking apronlike thing, with a hole at the top to put your head

through. The girls announce that the fathers are now going to entertain

them.

So each father has to get up and stick his head through and say

something -- one guy recites "Mary Had a Little Lamb" -- and they don't know

what to do. I didn't know what to do either, but by the time I got up there,

I told them that I was going to recite a little poem, and I'm sorry that

it's not in English, but I'm sure they will appreciate it anyway:

A TUZZO LANTO

--Poici di Pare

TANto SAca TULna TI, na PUta TUchi PUti TI la.

RUNto CAta CHANto CHANta MANto CHI la TI da.

YALta CAra SULda MI la CHAta PIcha PIno TIto BRALda

pe te CHIna nana CHUNda lala CHINda lala CHUNda!

RONto piti CA le, a TANto CHINto quinta LALda

O la TINta dalla LALta, YENta PUcha lalla TALta!

I do this for three or four stanzas, going through all the emotions

that I heard on Italian radio, and the kids are unraveled, rolling in the

aisles, laughing with happiness.

After the banquet was over, the scoutmaster and a schoolteacher came

over and told me they had been discussing my poem. One of them thought it

was Italian, and the other thought it was Latin. The schoolteacher asks,

"Which one of us is right?"

I said, "You'll have to go ask the girls -- they understood what

language it was right away."

From the book of Mr. R. Feynman