Introduction to the OED (Oxford English Dictionary)

by Gwen Williams
January 2000

One of my graduate school friends possessed what is known as the

condensed or compact version of the OED, which is essentially the OED in
miniature typeset. The condensed version text is so tiny that the OED comes
with its own magnifying glass. An official attached-by-a-chain magnifying
glass. At $350 for the condensed OED, I wondered how my friend managed
to scrape together the money to buy one. Of course we all had student
loans, part-time restaurant work, and Ramen Noodles in the cupboards.
Turned out he found it at a garage sale. He paid $50 for all but one
volume. I think ph-po was missing from the set. I couldn’t believe it. The
OED––for 50 bucks. I was jealous. Intensely so. Not of his tee-shirts, which
looked like they came from the same garage sale, but of his good fortune.
Throughout graduate school, I dreamed he’d grow tired of possessing it and
out of the goodness of his heart, bestow it to me. 1 Never happened.
Ever since, I’ve wanted to own the OED. I even went so far as to price
the full volume, full-sized set. When the Barnes & Noble employee gave me
the price over the phone, she gasped and declared that a decimal place must
have been off (it wasn’t). Yes, it is the price of 2400 packages of Ramen
Noodles. 2 In addition to the issue of an exorbitant price tag for the full
volume set, there was (and is) the issue of storage space. Thirty hardbound
volumes would have required not only another bookcase in my apartment,
but also another wall space in the apartment that didn’t (and still doesn’t)
exist.
Two summers ago my fascination with the OED increased when I spied
a paperback at a bookstore titled, The Professor and the Madman: A Tale of
Murder, Insanity, and the Making of the Oxford English Dictionary. I thought,
Murder? Insanity? and the Dictionary? The back cover blurb read,
The Professor and the Madman, masterfully researched and
eloquently written, is an extraordinary tale of madness, genius,
and the incredible obsessions of two remarkable men that led to
the making of the Oxford English Dictionary––and literary history.
The compilation of the OED, begun in 1857, was one of the most
ambitious projects ever undertaken. As definitions were
collected, the overseeing committee, led by Professor James
 Murray, discovered that one man, Dr. W.C. Minor, had submitted
more than ten thousand.
One man submitted more than ten thousand definitions to the dictionary.
Imagine ten thousand dictionary definitions. Imagine ten thousand of
anything. If writing a ten thousand word prose piece is an achievement, then
what is writing ten thousand––more than ten thousand––dictionary
definitions? That’s some serious serious etymologizing. I was astounded.
When I read the next sentence in the back cover blurb, “When the committee
insisted on honoring him, a shocking truth came to light: Dr. Minor, an
American Civil War veteran, was also an inmate at an asylum for the
criminally insane,” I was hooked.
Of course I bought it. Bookstore managers clap their hands with joy
when they see a customer like me walk through the door. At $13.00 plus tax,
I figured even if I couldn’t purchase The Book, I could at least own a book
about its history. And for any bibliophile, the book is a delightful read, full of
anecdotes and facts such as, “the total length of type [for the first edition]––
all hand-set. . .is 178 miles, the distance between London and the outskirts of
Manchester,” which roughly corresponds to the distance between
Bloomington-Normal and St.Louis.3 Winchester’s book also includes
excerpts of Murray and Minor’s letters and quotes from the 19th century
tabloids (about the murder, the murderer, the ‘call for words’). Readers also
learn bhang, brick-tea, brinjal, catamaran, cholera, delicately, directly, dirt,
disquiet, drink, duty, and dye were among Dr. W.C. Minor’s favorite words.4
It was then I became certain that someday I must figure out a way to
purchase that OED. Perhaps eat 2400 packages of. . . and 2000 cans of . . .5
I could perhaps swing an egg for breakfast. . .
In the midst of all those calculations (and I’m still calculating), I
discovered a few years ago that Milner Library had subscribed to the online
version of the OED. That treasure trove of histories and meanings of even the
most obscure of words (such as frisson) was available to me––for the best
price around: $0.00! Reading the format––digitalized text streaming through
fiber optic cables and readable through a GUI––is different than perusing the
onionskin pages of a leather bound book. And I can’t cart my Mac around
the apartment, never mind out to the mailbox nor to the convenience store
around the corner, but the purpose is the same: an etymological encounter.
1 In addition to brashly, and shamelessly, asking him to just give the OED to me, I also
repeatedly said things like, “Isn’t that a strain on your eyes,” “Don’t you think you’ll go
blind reading that small print,” and “I’ll take that garage sale trash off your hands, if you
want--doesn’t even have ph-po.”
2 At 50¢ per package. Or 2000 cans of Campbell’s Tomato Soup--at 60¢ per can.
3Simon Winchester, The Professor and the Madman: A Tale of Murder, Insanity, and the
Making of the Oxford English Dictionary (New York: HarperCollins, 1999), 220.
4 Ibid, 159.
5Which calculates into 6.027 years worth of lunches and dinners--provided I wouldn’t get
greedy and “double-up.”