The 12 days of Christmas click by as we advance to Twelfth Night — Epiphany Eve — and then on 1/6 to Epiphany itself, the day of the Three Magi, or Three Kings, conventionally each the king of a distant land, each with a characteristic appearance, each with a name, and each with his gift for the Christ Child in Bethlehem. In one tradition, Melchior (alongside Caspar / Kaspar and Balthazar) is King of Persia, the oldest of the kings (a graybeard), and the giver of gold (rather than frankincense or myrrh).
The thing is, I am Arnold Melchior Zwicky, son of Arnold Melchior Zwicky and grandson of Melchior Arnold Zwicky, the last of whom, oh yes, had brothers named Kaspar and Balthazar. I have the name, the age and the gray beard, but lack the kingdom and the gold. Yet for a brief period in January each year, I am Melchior as well as Arnold, I am resplendent, I am a king.
For this period, I rise above the fact that in my country all three parts of my name are seen as strange and foreign, none more than Melchior (for the rest of the year, when I have to clarify my middle initial, I say “M as in Michael”, leading many people to think that my middle name is in fact Michael, so they could call me Mike). Only this year did it occur to me that I should add Michael / Mike to my alter ego’s name Alexander / Alex Adams: ALEXANDER MICHAEL ADAMS, the weighty A. M. Adams, the amiable Alex “Mike” Adams, hookup name Alex, just Alex.
Now, two things. First , an alternative view of the royal Melchior, from a 2022 posting in which he’s depicted as, wow, not only young and virile but also as the (mythic) king of France. And then another 2022 posting that starts out being about okapis and somehow ends up with “M as in musk ox” for my middle initial (plus “O as in okapi” for the O of ARNOLD).
Meanwhile, Epiphany is coming and my royal robes need fluffing.
Royal Melchior. From my 1/7/22 posting “Royal Melchior”, this wonderful poster, plus commentary on it:
[2022 caption:] The Magus Melchior, roi des Perses, serving as advertising eponym and mascot for Royal Melchior vin mousseux (sparkling wine), in a poster (undated, but from early in the 20th century) by Leonetto CappielloThe royal Melchior in [this poster] is young, broad-shouldered, and virile, not the graybeard of traditional representations. Also powerfully royal: with a crown and pendant of gold, a basic garment in the crimson of royalty and nobility, and over all of it royal robes of France, with an ermine collar and a bleu de France fabric emblazoned with the gold fleurs-de-lis of French royalty. This Melchior is not just any king; he’s the (mythic) king of France.
Okapis and spelling alphabets. From my 8/12/22 posting “Mi okapi es su okapi”
[item 1: the okapi] I have to admit that part of what drives my attraction for the okapi is the delicious name; hey, I’m a linguist and a poet and something of a Zippyesque onomatomane (chant with me: okapi okapi okapi), respect my trip. But then there are the beautiful creatures themselves: elegant, powerful, and agile.
… [item 2: spelling alphabets, for clarifying letter names when spelling by radio or phone] a common American spelling alphabet: Able / Abel Baker Charlie … William … Zebra
… [item 3:] Now the funny story. Many years ago, conducting some business over the phone, I was asked, by the young woman at the other end (call her Alice, as in Alice Betty Charlotte), to spell my last name out (so she could take it down accurately; ZWICKY presents grave problems for people at several levels — and then AmE /zi/ for Z and /si/ for C are easily confounded in hearing). So I embarked on one of the standard spelling alphabets:
Z as in zebra
and then, forgetting momentarily what a standard keyword for W might be, went on with the ungulate theme:
W as in water buffalo
Alice giggled with pleasure, so I seized the moment, continuing with
I as in ibex, C as in cow, K as in kudu, Y as in yak
By then Alice was laughing out loud. When I finished, she implored, “Oh, do it again!”
So I did, and then we went on to contract our business. But by then, having done it twice, to my own delight (I think the everyday noun cow smack in the middle of the ungulate exotica is a particularly nice touch) as well as Alice’s, I had it memorized, and can rattle it off without thinking. Spelling for ungulates.
(Yes, I know, ibex and kudu as keywords aren’t much help to people who aren’t familiar with these exotic ungulates; the ungulate spellings are, frankly, more ornamental than utilitarian.)
More ungulation. Since then, I have reflected on how to do the rest of my name, Arnold especially (since I frequently have to spell it out), in ungulate spelling. One possibility:
A as in antelope, R as in reebok, N as in nilgai, O as in oryx, L as in lamb, D as in dromedary
(The lamb of Arnold is the cow of Zwicky.)
I almost never have to spell out my middle name; and in fact I almost never even mention it — because Melchior is just too weird for most Americans, even if I refer to the Three Kings. However, I very often have to supply my middle initial, and the name /ɛm/ of the letter M is supremely confusible with /ɛn/ for N, so I always just say “M as in Michael”, avoiding the Melchior issue entirely.
But but but … now I see that — isn’t it rich? isn’t it queer? — an ungulate spelling of Melchior would be a splendid opportunity to send in the okapis (I know you were wondering, where are the okapis, there ought to be okapis):
M as in musk ox, E as in elk, L as in llama, C as in camel, H as in horse, I as in impala, O as in okapi, R as in rhinoceros
(Apologies to Stephen Sondheim, who once asked for clowns to be sent in.)
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