Today I read a fascinating book about the Oxford English Dictionary (OED), which, I learnt, was, to
borrow a NewGen expression, "crowd-sourced". The title of the book is "The Professor and the Madman".
Call OED a Wikipedia of the 19th century, author Simon Winchester seems to say, for he says the tome of reference was the product of the labour of thousands of volunteers.
Dr William Chester Minor from Crowthorne was one of the most prolific contributors to the OED edited by Dr James Murray. The finer points of lexicography were of interest to both and they would exchange regular correspondence on the subject and the project they were collaborating on. Murray was all appreciation for his consistent efforts and valuable inputs.
Though this went on for a long time, they had never met each other in person. Murray had invited Minor several times to Oxford, but Minor always expressed his regrets. So the meeting never took place for two decades.
Apart from the fact that that they lived in places about fifty miles from each other, Minor seemed to be unwilling or unable to travel from Crowthorne to Oxford. He never offered any excuse or explanation for declining the invite.
If the mountain will not come to Mohamed, Mohamed must go to the mountain, as they say. So Murray fixes up an appointment and undertakes a train journey to Wellington College Station, the railhead nearest to the village where Minor resides. A liveried coachman man meets him at the station with a polished landau. After a twenty-minute ride through the lanes of rural landscape, they reach a long poplar-lined drive leading to a huge and imposing red-brick mansion.
A footman solemnly greets Murray in the portico and ushers him to the second floor. Standing behind a huge mahogany desk in a book-lined study is the host, his mysterious and intriguing collaborator. He bows gravely, introduces himself and then utters the equivalent of the "Dr Livingstone, I presume" words:
"A very good afternoon to you, sir. I am Dr James Murray of the London Philological Society, and Editor of the Oxford English Dictionary. It is indeed an honour and a pleasure to at long last make your acquaintance — for you must be, kind sir, my most assiduous help-meet, Dr W C Minor?"
A brief pause follows, a moment of mutual embarrassment. A clock ticks loudly. And then the man behind the desk says, "I regret, kind sir, that I am not."
He clears his throat and clarifies, "It is not at all as you suppose. I am, in fact, the Governor of the Broadmoor Criminal Lunatic Asylum. Dr Minor is most certainly here. But he is an inmate. He has been a patient here for more than twenty years. He is our longest-staying resident.”
How's that for starters? I'll let you into a bit more of the story, if only to whet your appetite.
After qualifying to to be a surgeon, the young William from Connecticut had joined the Federal army around the Gettysburg battle. While living in London in 1872, he started suffering hallucinations that Irishmen were stalking him. One night, rushing outdoors in delusional pursuit of his attackers, he shot a brewery worker on his way to work. He was consigned to the Broadmoor Criminal Lunatic Asylum.
His family, affluent as they were, supported the widow of the victim. She began visiting him at Broadmoor, and bringing books he wanted from London shops.
Sometime in the early 1880s, probably in one of her book parcels, Minor came across a printed appeal for quotations for what Murray called "the big dictionary". He needed about half a dozen quotations citing the different shades of meaning of each word.
The surgeon serving his term had a lot of time on his hands and a great need for some noteworthy accomplishment. So he volunteered. The rest is history, hardly known though.
The book has been made into a film. I can't wait to see it.
