A Tale of
Two Executions
The
catch-phrase, “Twenty-three, Skidoo,” was one of the most popular slang
expressions of the early twentieth century.
The Vaudevillian, Billy Van, introduced the expression in his act no
later than April, 1906.[i]
 |
| New York Clipper, Volume 4, Number 9, April 21, 1906, page 258. |
The
expression, meaning “to leave in a hurry” or “get lost,” combines, for
redundant emphasis, two earlier, separate slang words, each having the same
meaning.
“Skidoo” is
almost certainly from “skedaddle,” which first appeared in pre-Civil War Kansas
and Missouri as early as 1859 (and possibly 1857) and gained widespread use
following the Union army’s recapture of Munson’s Hill overlooking Washington DC
in October 1861.
“Twenty-three’s”
origins are less certain, but new evidence increasingly suggests that it was
derived from the final scene of Charles Dickens’ classic novel, A Tale of Two
Cities, in which the knitting women chant “twenty-three” as Sidney Carton’s
head falls as the twenty-third person beheaded on a particularly bloody day
during the “reign of terror” in revolutionary France.
The earliest
known example of “twenty-three” in print suggested the connection as early as
1899, and in 1906, during the height of the “twenty-three, skidoo” craze, several
more articles did as well.
I have found
one more reference, falling between 1899 and 1906, which makes the same
connection.
In 1902, the
city of Asheville, North Carolina was caught in the grip of a political
controversy related to proposed crack-down on stray dogs and the election of a
new dog catcher.
 |
| Asheville Daily Gazette (Asheville, North Carolina), September 27, 1902, page 4. |
The
controversy did not end when the city hired a new dog catcher.
 |
| Asheville Daily Gazette, October 16 1902, page 5. |
A critic of
the new plan compared the “reign of terror” on man’s best friend to the use of
the guillotine in revolutionary France:
A Successful Reform
From the tale of two cities, by Charles Dickens, chapter
XIII.
. . . As The Vengeance descends from her elevation to do it,
the tumbrils begin to discharge their loads.
The ministers of Sainte Guillotine are robed and ready. Crash! – A head is held up, and the
knitting-women who scarcely lifted their eyes to look at it a moment ago when
it could think and speak, count One.
The second tumbrel empties and moves on; the third comes
up. Crash! – and the knitting-women,
never faltering or pausing in their work, count Two. . . .
[(As Sidney Carton, the protagonist, ascends the platform)]
The murmuring of many voices, the upturning of many faces, the pressing on of
many footsteps in the outskirts of the crowd, so that it swells forward in a
mass, like one great heave of water, all flashes away.
Twenty-Three.
ANOTHER STORY ON ANOTHER SUBJECT
. . . The day of the massacre of the innocents arrived. The dog catcher became the dog killer. He had got 25 cents for each dog for
catching, he was to have a small additional amount for slaying them. Men, who in time past decreed the wholesale
slaughter of their own kind, hand now decreed that of man’s best and most
faithful friend. They had been
responsible for the dogs, and were ending that responsibility by death.
For the guillotine, this reign of terror was to have the
shotgun; for the knitting women, boys would hang on the fence to learn lessons
of humanity.
Mary Ann was standing just outside the stockade, and near the
place of execution. She saw it all. She watched and counted, even as the boys
hanging to the top of the fence watched and counted.
Most of the dogs, glad to get out into the light of day once
more, wagged their tails and barked joyously, looking up into the face of the
executioner as he pulled the trigger.
Often he did not aim well, and a second shot was necessary. After the killing was over, it was found that
one of the first to fall was still alive.
Mary Ann’s heart leaped into her throat. The assistant executioner was bringing out an
ornery little yellow cur, with a flea-bitten appearance, and good for nothing
whatever in the world, save to love Mary Ann.
The first day’s batch had been a large one, and the bloody
work had been going on for a long while.
As
Solomon [(Mary Ann’s dog)] fell the boys on the fence said “twenty-three.”
Mary Ann counted no longer.
She had had just one possession in the world.
Asheville Daily
Gazette (Asheville, North Carolina), October 19, 1902, page 10.
[i] Word
sleuth Barry Popik uncovered the earliest known example of the slang expression
“twenty-three” in print. See, “Twenty-Three
Skidoo (23rd Street myth), The Big Apple etymological dictionary,
citing The Morning Herald (Lexington,
Kentucky), March 17, 1899, page 4.