New York, June 2 A few days ago men and women concerned for the maintenance of the New York Public Library gathered at a symposium of literati who pondered the question of English-English and American-English. The traditional wisecracks were trotted out (“England and America are two countries separated by a common language.” . . . “The most difficult task confronting an American is to learn English”). But real concerns were voiced centering on the great paradox. It is that in an age when roughly speaking everybody listens to the same people, whose accents and enunciation are interchangeable parts, what was expected simply didn’t happen. We were all supposed to end up talking like Walter Cronkite. But differences have persisted; a Yorkshire-man has maybe even more difficulties than a century ago in communicating with a South Carolinian.
If it’s a problem as between the United States and Great Britain, the internal problem is of a graver order. Suddenly before, really, we sat down and gave it our corporate attention—the United States seems to have become not a polyglot sub-nation on its way to joining the community but something else. The first we have always been. Mr. and Mrs. Igor Trotsky arrive at Ellis Island speaking only their native tongue. flash. One generation later. Igor is complaining to Sonya that the kids are speaking only in English, forgetting their native tongue.
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