<< Back 10/2/02 The nonsense lexicon grows – Gee Haw By Jay Hardwig When I first read about the upcoming Gee Haw Whimmy Diddle World Championships, an event held at the Blue Ridge Parkway’s Folk Art Center on Sept. 21, I’ll admit to a touch of confusion. I had never heard the term before — gee haw whimmy diddle — and at first I thought it might be the punchline to a dirty joke, perhaps one set in a barnyard. Still, the phrase left me giddy. Regardless what I might encounter at the Gee Haw Whimmy Diddle World Championships — would it involve fiddles? donkeys? a fiddle and a donkey? — I was determined to go. Of course I took my 2-year-old son Eli with me. I had a distinct hope that gee haw whimmy diddle would enter the lexicon of Eli’s nonsense phrases, together with the classic “wop-bop-a-lu-bop-a-wop-bam-boom,” it’s slinkier cousin “boom-shacka-lacka-lacka-boom-shacka-lacka-lacka,” and the thoroughly baffling construction “too many homefries.” Nobody should have to trudge through life with less than a full arsenal of nonsense phrases. That the event was scheduled at the Folk Art Center did give me some pause. Eli can be a bit freewheeling in his wanderings, and I try to accommodate him: “Things That Can Be Reduced to Shards” is a category we aim to avoid in general. The Folk Art Center is filled with such things — it’s well-nigh overflowing with little handblown geegaws and doodads, any one of which, when dislodged from its precarious perch, could set back the agent of destruction a cool 80 bucks. Or the agents of destruction’s father, as the case might be. When we arrived, we were directed out back, beneath a tent stocked with straw bales, microphones, and a small stage. I was relieved — there is not much damage Eli can do to a straw bale, though he certainly tried — and began to ponder once again the import of the Gee Haw Whimmy Diddle World Championships. If these were truly the World Championships — and how could I have missed the state, regional, and national competitions? — would some suave Italian swoop in and take the prize? Were the Germans on steroids? Or, like cricket, would the fiercest diddlers come from such absurd places as New Zealand, Pakistan, and South Africa? As it turns out — and I believe you may have guessed this — the best gee haw whimmy diddlers are from right here in our own backyard. The whimmy diddle is in fact an Appalachian folk toy that has been around for centuries, serving as front porch entertainment long before the Tickle Me Elmo was even a gleam in some savvy marketer’s eye. The whimmy diddle is fashioned from two sticks of laurel or rhodendron wood; one stick is notched and has a small propeller tacked to the end. When the notched stick is rubbed by the second, smoother stick, the propeller begins to spin. The art is in getting the propeller to both gee (spin to the right) and haw (stop and spin to the left); skilled diddlers can do it with either hand, behind the back, in under a second. The annual championships are something of a local tradition: this year’s event marked the 22nd diddle-off in what has become a hotly-contested annual affair. The sense of history hung palpable in the air: spectators were given handouts detailing Great Moments in Whimmy Diddle History. During the Opening Ceremonies, Chief Diddler Joseph T. Buncombe suggested that the Gee Haw Whimmy Diddle worked on the same aerodynamic principles used by NASA engineers on the mission to the moon, although to this intrepid reporter the claim seemed far-fetched. Still, I’m no rocket scientist, and it may well be that, housed deep in the chambers of the Eagle’s navigation system, 10,000 computer-synchronized titanium whimmy diddles were whirring away tirelessly, allowing the lunar lander to gee and haw all the way to the moon. It’s a thought. Going to the Gee Haw Whimmy Diddle World Championships for a bit of comic relief is like going to a campfire to get warm: it’s kind of the point of the whole enterprise. The proceedings were both humble and humorous, emceed ably by local raconetur Joe Bly in the form of the aforementioned Buncombe, and the competitive spirit was decidedly dampened in favor of communal goodwill. There were some complaints of the humidity’s effect on the ability of the whimmy-diddlers to gee and haw, but most of the participants had little trouble with the exercise. There were three divisions — Youth, Grown-Up, and Professional (still no word on how much a professional whimmy diddler can make in a good year) — and the top three finishers in each were awarded with T-shirts, gift certificates, and a genuine gold-plated whimmy diddle (no joke). All contestants received Moon Pies for their efforts — single-decker is all, but Moon Pies just the same — so nobody left the stage without a bit of cellophane-wrapped consolation in their whimmy-diddlin’ paws. While Italy, Germany, and South Africa got shut out, three states were represented in the winner’s circle: Tom Hines of Greenville, Tennessee, won the Youth Division; Marlow Gates of Big Sandy Mush, North Carolina, won the Grown-Up Division; and Tony Rizzo of Fort Thomas, Kentucky, won the Professional Division, with an astounding 27 reversals (gee haw gee haw gee haw etc.) in 12 seconds. By the time the final whimmy was diddled and the final Moon Pie handed out, Eli had grown restless and was ready to leave. We did, but not before plunking down five bucks for a whimmy diddle of our own. Now we can gee and haw til our heart’s content, all in the comfort of our own home. It’s a simple toy, but I look forward to it: no batteries, no bleeping, no lights, no corporate tie-in. It will not talk to me in the night. It ought to amuse my boy for about three minutes. A few rakes across the notched laurel and he’ll be gee haw whimmy diddle done with it. After that, it’s all mine. Gee Haw. (Jay Hardwig is a writer and teacher who lives in Asheville. He can be reached at smardwig@charter.net)