I’ve always had a more-than-passing interest in regional accents and colloquialisms, and relish the fact that my current speaking voice is a mish-mash of the accents of all the places I’ve lived. I had a girlfriend in college whose South Jersey accent I would imitate so much, that I now frequently and unthinkingly say, years later: “Can I have a glass o’ wuhder?” After a few months of living in Baltimore, I had already assimilated into my speech patterns the untypeable Bawlmer pronunciation of the “long o” sound. After an equal amount of time in Albuquerque (you know, the town where even the gringos talk like they’re from south of the border), I picked up the local take on the “short i” sound, especially when I was dreenkeeng.
I can recall my sister saying at one point that our hometown of Erie, PA is one of the few places in the US that has no discernable accent — my pronunciation of the word “hundred” would argue otherwise (“hunnert”), but for the most part, she’s probably right. Unlike most other Great Lakes cities, Erie has somehow managed to completely avoid picking up that nasally quasi-screech that is so prevalent in Cleveland and Buffalo. Although extreme versions of it can be ear-shattering, for the most part, I find it to be a great, solid, blue-collar accent, indicative of the hard-workin’ towns that spawned it. Given that I spent a fair amount of time in those towns during my high school and college years (in an attempt to avoid the general malaise that envelops Erie), the Rochester accent really came as no surprise when I moved here.
The thing that did take me by surprise, however, was that wonderful annual festival that takes place this time of year. People kept talking about it: the Lihlahhc Festival. I kept thinking it was someone’s name: Lilock? Lyelock? Erie has streets and squares and festivals and dying strip malls named for War of 1812 naval hero Oliver Hazard Perry (“Don’t give up the ship!”); I just assumed this Lyelock dude was some sort of regional historic figure to whom tribute was paid on a yearly basis.
Then, I saw a news piece that really confused me: they kept showing footage of lilacs, and yet, they were talking about lihlahhcs. Was this a local in-joke on a grand scale that I had yet to get in on? I quickly whipped up a scenario: okay, so there’s this snooty festival concerning lilacs, and the blue-collar Rochesterians collectively mock its attendees by referring to it as “The Lihlahhc Festival.” Yes, that must be it.
But no, as the festival approached, I kept seeing more and more news pieces on “the Lihlahhc Festival.” This was not a grand garden party for women who wear pearl necklaces; this was your standard, draft-beer summer festival, replete with washed-up musical acts. I was really confused. By all logic, these people should be saying something like “The Lyelyack Festival.”
Even though I know “lihlahhc” is an acceptable pronunciation of the word, it still begs the question: How did this linguistic anomaly occur? It seems so strange, so out of character for Rochester... like drinking a Genny Cream Ale with your pinky extended.
