No More Learning

Girls: No.
RZ: Do they play jump rope?
Girls: No.
RZ: Do they play on the rings?
Jacqueline: Oh, Rosemary, you must be kidding!
To Jacqueline, this division was so clear that my questions seemed absurd.
It was most interesting in Jacqueline's case that she saw baseball as a boy's
sport because she played it constantly and was in great demand as a team
member. As she explained it, "Girls can play it, but it's a boy's game. "
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? ? In her approach to boys, Jacqueline was a combination of the seduc-
tive and the aggressive. At the age of ten, she had considered herself mar-
ried for over a year to her boyfriend, Brian. Brian's younger brother, Jimmy,
performed the wedding ceremony in which a "diamond" ring from a bubble-
gum machine was given to Jacqueline by her "husband. " This wedding cer-
emony was in keeping with the image of the ideal little girl. Yet Jacqueline's
more aggressive behavior was at the other end of the spectrum. She would
chase and tackle Brian, covering him with kisses as she wrestled him to the
ground. Often this was done with the help of her girlfriends, accompanied
by delighted laughter from the girls and screams of help from Brian.
How does the image of the ideal little girl mesh with this real little
girl, aggressive and demanding in her behavior toward her boyfriend? And
how do we resolve the seeming contradiction between the little girls' classi-
fication of boys' and girls' games and their actual participation in the games?
What do we do about Sara, who expects men to open doors for the weaker
sex but founds women's lib groups? Perhaps rather than expecting a blend-
ing or a merging of the ideal and the real, we should attempt to see the in-
tertwining layers in the children's lives. We need not expect simplicity and
consistency. We will not find it.
CONSERVATISM AND CREATIVITY
Much work in children's folklore has focused on its conservative and tradi-
tional nature, the manner of transmission, from child to child, without the
aid or knowledge of adults. It also has to do with the remarkable continu-
ity and stability of narrative texts.
Children's folklore is part of the insular world of the child. In com-
ments about my research, principals, teachers, and parents would say,
"Children's folklore, interesting. But does it exist? " or "Rope jumping? Do
children still do that? " As Mary and Herbert Knapp said in One Potato, Two
Potato, "Most adults simply assume that today's children don't play tradi-
tional games any more" (Knapp and Knapp 1976, xi). Iona and Peter Opie
remarked on the adult's ignorance of children's folklore: "The schoolchild's
verses are not intended for adult ears. In fact part of their fun is the thought,
usually correct, that adults know nothing about them. Grown-ups have out-
grown the schoolchild's lore" (Opie and Opie 1959, 1). The body of
children's folklore, shared so enthusiastically among children and unknown
to adults, certainly strengthens the bonds between children and sets off a
safe territory, free from adult restraints.
Stone and Church in Childhood and Adolescence discuss the period
of middle childhood, which encompasses years six to ten: "The middle years
41
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? ? are perhaps the age adults know least about. One reason for this is that dur-
ing the school years children turn their backs on adults and actively shut them
out from much of the world of childhood. Beyond the family-centered
school-based life of earlier years, children join a separate, neighborhood- and
school-based society of their peers, forming groups along lines of age and
sex" (Stone and Church 1957, 202). The desire to protect and sustain the
group fosters the conservatism of children. Innovation in dress, manners, and
speech is suppressed. The urge to be like other children is the motivating
factor in choosing what cereal to eat for breakfast and what clothes to wear
to school. 2?
Alice Bertha Gomme attributed a mystical force to this conservatism
in children's folklore. As she says, "There must be some strong force . . .
potent enough to almost compel their continuance and to prevent their de-
cay" (Gomme 1964 [1898], 2: 514). Lady Alice identified this as "the dra-
matic faculty of mankind. "
In addition to the continuity of form, there is also a conservatism
within the corpus of children's folklore. In the course of my research, I en-
countered only one or two selections of folklore that were not part of my
own repertoire when I was a child growing up in Napa, California, in the
1950s. There was one item that appeared new on the scene and enjoyed wild
popularity for a few months. It was used as an insult or taunt:
God damn you
Mother-fucker
Titty-sucker
Two ball bitch!
When the girls in my study decided that swearing was bad, they changed
this to "Oh, you M-F, T-S, T-B-B! " Gradually, even the abbreviated version
was dropped by the children. At the time, I suggested that a radical new el-
ement in children's folklore might attract excited attention for a time. But
the values and aesthetics of the group would militate against radical change,
splintering off sharp corners to maintain the rounded body of oral tradition
(Zumwalt 1972, 50). John McDowell, in writing of the poetic quality of
riddles, uses the metaphor of the rounded body: "They are like the polished
stones, rounded off through the incessant action of a brook's water, as their
continuous rehearsal on the tongue of the folk endows them with an increas-
ingly graceful and rounded contour. At the same time, this grace of form
ensures their perpetuation, rendering them pleasurable and memorable"
(McDowell 1979, 57). This rounded body of folklore, this enduring form,
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? ? has to do with the content of the folklore. The conservatism of the children,
then, is highlighted in their folklore repertoire.
In accord with the Opies, Sutton-Smith attributes the retention of
children's games to the conservatism of children. As he notes, between the
ages of six and nine, children have "relatively unorganized personalities" and
participate in a "very precarious" group life (Sutton-Smith 1972a, 45). The
games provide the children with a reliable structure, a means of control in
their otherwise powerless state. As Sutton-Smith says, "The children's con-
servatism (their jealous regard for the rules of the game) has its basis in their
need for structure in social relationships. . . " (Sutton-Smith 1972a, 45-46).
Through guarding the games and assuring a tradition of continuity, the chil-
dren exercise control over a portion of their world. One might add that while
they are controlling this portion of their lives through playing a game, the
children are simultaneously being controlled by the game. So they have the
freedom to choose and the constraints of the choice in the same moment.
Their world of play is a microcosm of the adult world.
Along with the duality of freedom and constraint, there is conserva-
tism and innovation. As Sutton-Smith remarks, "In seeking to understand
children at play . . . we must hold in mind the dual fact that children are
innovative as well as conservative. . . " (Sutton-Smith 1972a, 65). Mary and
Herbert Knapp also stress this: "While children are remarkably conserva-
tive in preserving their traditions for generations, they are also very flexible
in adapting their lore to present concerns" (Knapp and Knapp 1976, 14).
This dual orientation was present in William Wells Newell's Games
and Songs of American Children (1963 [1883]). 21 Chapter four of this work
is entitled "The Inventiveness of Children" and Chapter five, "The Conser-
vatism of Children. " Newell refers to "the legacy of other generations and
languages" present in children's folklore. He poses the rhetorical question
"Should we then infer that childhood, devoid of inventive capacity, has no
resource but mechanical repetition? " (Newell 1963, 22). To answer this, he
discusses children's fantasy play: A solitary girl transforms the city park into
a place filled with make-believe companions; two young girls conduct elabo-
rate lessons at their imaginary boarding school. Newell also mentions the
creativity of secret languages. Children's "love of originality finds the tongue
of their elders too commonplace; besides, their fondness for mystery requires
secret ways of communication" (Newell 1963, 24). He gives the reader in-
structions for "Hog Latin," a secret language of New England: "It consists
simply in the addition of the syllable ery, preceded by the sound of hard g,
to every word. Even this is puzzling to older persons, who do not perceive
that 'Wiggery youggery goggery wiggery miggery' means only 'Will you go
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? ? with me'! Children sometimes use this device so perpetually that parents fear
lest they may never recover the command of their native English" (Newell
1963, 24). Forever inventive, when they tire of this secret language, Newell
says, the children simply create a new one. 22
While recognizing the force of innovation, Newell is pulled back to
the lodestone of tradition. In the conclusion to the chapter on "The Inven-
tiveness of Children," he remarks that the majority of children's games have
existed for centuries with "formulas which have been passed from genera-
tion to generation. " "How," Newell asks, "are we to reconcile this fact with
the quick inventiveness we ascribe to children? " (Newell 1963, 27). The in-
ventiveness, Newell tells us, yields localized games-the fantasy play of the
lone child, the "gibberish" of a group of children-which fade when inter-
est lags. Traditional games have passed the test of time-they have survived-
because they have an appeal broader than that of passing innovation: "The
old games, which have prevailed and become familiar by a process of natu-
ral selection, are usually better adapted to children's taste than any new in-
ventions can be; they are recommended by the quaintness of formulas which
come from the remote past, and strike the young imagination as a sort of
sacred law" (Newell 1963, 27). In his notes to the first edition, Newell
singled out the emphasis on tradition in his work: "It is devoted to formu-
las of play which children have preserved from generation to generation,
without intervention, often without the knowledge of older minds" (Newell
1963, i). Newell found "something so agreeable in this inheritance of thought
kept up by childhood itself" (Newell 1963, 12). The imminent disappear-
ance of these rhymes is "a thousand pities" (Newell 1963, 12).
One might caution here against an overly arbitrary division between
inventiveness and conservatism. While Newell posits a division between these
two types of play, children do not-for is it not possible to play a traditional
game with innovation, to chant rhymes centuries old with fantasy of the
moment? Thus even these two forces in children's folklore twine together
in complex interplay. As one individual in her reading of my work has
pointed out, "Innovation has also survived the test of time. " Just as chil-
dren share in traditional games, so they share in fantasy play. In this sense,
innovation has the same depth in children's folklore as tradition. It was
present in the past, it adds intricacies to the traditional games of the mo-
ment, and it will remain a force in the culture of childhood.
Yet still in accord with Newell on this point, might we find "some-
thing so agreeable" in the tradition of children's folklore, and something so
pleasing in the creativity? The challenge is to broaden our grasp, to encom-
pass the complexity of children's folklore-to reach for the text and the con-
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? ? text, the ideal and the real, the tradition and the creativity. Still, in our en-
deavor to encircle all this, we must not expect fully to succeed. There is the
magical in children's folklore that will never be captured. And here we might
learn from the anthropologist who went to Dublin, Ireland, to study a lep-
rechaun. In 1957, as the story goes, a mechanic from the Vauxhall Factory
captured a leprechaun in Phoenix Park. People came from all over to see the
leprechaun, and among these was the anthropologist. For four or five days,
the anthropologist observed the leprechaun. On the fifth day, the leprechaun
took on the appearance of a tiny, shriveled root and died. 23 So with children's
folklore, the voice on the wind, the creativity of the moment, cannot be fully
captured. The fluid world of the child eludes the static state of the printed
word. Their mirthful nature will not be pinned down by our sobriety. That
is fair; it is part of the rules of the game. The children have, after all, warned
us that they do it all "just for the fun of it! "
NOTES TO CHAPTER Two
1. Darwin's twentieth-century descendants in the social sciences are wont to
connect Social Darwinism with others. John Friedl in The Human Portrait says, "Al-
though Darwin did not mean for his theory of evolution to be applied to human so-
cial and cultural change, it was proposed by many social scientists that cultures evolved
in a struggle for survival, just as animals did. This doctrine, inappropriately called 'so-
cial Darwinism,' was ultimately used to justify white supremacist policies of Western
nations . . . " (Friedl 1981, 116). In spite of Friedl's sympathetic interpretation of
Darwin's work, Darwin did not wait for others to create social Darwinism. The seeds
were present in Journal of Researches into the Natural History and Geology of the
Countries Visited During the Voyage of H. M. S. Beagle Round the World (1852). It
blossomed in his masterwork, On the Origin of Species (1859), and took firm root in
Descent of Man (1871). It is well to keep in mind the reality of our historical ante-
cedents in theory. For a discussion of the Forerunners of Darwin: 1745-1859, see
Bentley Glass 1968.
2. The cultural evolutionary orientation was opposed to the theory of
degenerationism. Archbishop Whately, the major advocate of the latter theory, repre-
sented the savage as the end point of the fall from grace. From this perspective, to pro-
pose an evolution from savagery was blasphemy. There could be no development from
the savage state, since that ran counter to the biblical account of creation. The savage
represents not the childhood of the race but the depths of degradation. For a detailed
discussion of the theory of degenerationism, see Margaret Hodgen's Doctrine of Sur-
vivals (1936). For a discussion of evolutionary theory, see Frederick Teggart's Theory
and Processes of History (1977 [1941]), and Kenneth Bock's Acceptance of Histories
(1958). See also Dundes's "Devolutionary Premise in Folklore Theory" (1969a).
3. Karl Pearson (1897) Chances of Death, London: Edward Arnold.
2:53-54.
4. Alice Bertha Gomme's two-volume work, The Traditional Games of En-
gland, Scotland and Ireland, was originally published as part one of George Laurence
Gomme's intended but not completed Dictionary of British Folklore. Volume 1 was
published in 1894; Volume 2, in 1898.
The Dover edition is an unabridged republi-
cation of this important work. See Dorothy Howard's introduction to the Dover edi-
tion for remarks on Lady Alice's cultural evolutionary theory.
5. Alice Bertha Gomme's treatment of "Round and Round the Village" is an
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? ? example of her thorough scholarship. First she presents the music, then she provides
nineteen versions with informant and geographic designations. There follows a descrip-
tion of how the game is played with accompanying diagrams. Lady Alice includes di-
rections for each version. She then provides a four-page chart that lists the segments
of the rhyme with coordinates for geographical area and version. This facilitates what
she refers to as the analysis of the game rhymes. And finally she discusses the game in
relation to the custom of perambulation of boundaries, with citations to other perti-
nent sources. This is just one game in her two-volume work, which considers more
than two hundred games.
6. For differing interpretations of Aarne-Thompson Tale Type 328, "Jack and
the Beanstalk," see Humphrey Humphreys's "Jack and the Beanstalk" (1965 [1948],
103-6); William H. Desmonde's "Jack and the Beanstalk" (1965 [1951], 107-9); and
Martha Wolfenstein's "Jack and the Beanstalk: An American Version" (1955, 100-
113). For the solar mythological approach, see the summary of Angelo De Gubernatis's
interpretation in Dorson (1955). All of the foregoing articles are reprinted in Dundes's
Study of Folklore. See also Dundes's "Projection in Folklore: A Plea for Psychoana-
lytic Semiotics" (1976a, 1510-11).
7. For an examination of the origin theory as it relates to narrative, see Brian
Sutton-Smith's "The Origins of Fictions and the Fictions of Origin," American Eth-
nological Society Proceedings, 1984, 117-32. In relationship to cultural evolutionary
theory, it might be that a culture has a simple technology, but that is not the same as
a simple cognitive system. The Australian aborigines-who from the nineteenth cen-
tury to the present have been the choice of the evolutionary anthropologists as the sim-
plest, most primitive culture-do, indeed, have a simple stone-tool technology. But they
have a kinship system so complex that it is a point of dispute still among kinship ex-
perts as to how to describe it. The result of the myriad of ethnographies written dur-
ing the nineteenth and the twentieth centuries has been to present the complexity of
cultures; and this complexity is apparent even though the cultures might be described
in these same ethnographies as simple, savage, or primitive.
8. See Dundes's foreword to the 1978 edition of Children's Humor for an ap-
praisal of Martha Wolfenstein's contributions.
9. In the winter of 1971, I began a collection of jump-rope and hand-clapping
songs that I gathered from children at an elementary school and from children living
in an apartment complex in Santa Cruz, California. One year later, I broadened the
scope of the project to include the children in two other elementary schools. At this
point, I was still limiting my search to jump-rope and hand-clapping songs. Then, as
serendipity would have it, I recorded some "nasty jokes" from my three major infor-
mants. As I listened to the jokes, I heard the same message threading through the jokes
that bound together the jump-rope and hand-clapping songs. From that point on, I
attempted to study the full gamut of children's folklore.
10. Collected from a six-year-old Caucasian girl in Santa Cruz, California,
February 1971. The informant had learned this two years earlier when she attended
school on the Navajo reservation in Window Rock, Arizona. She used it as a jump-
rope song and she said that the girl jumping rope ran out on the last line.
11. Collected from an eight-year-old Caucasian girl in Santa Cruz, California,
in 1971.
12. Collected from a six-year-old Caucasian girl in Santa Cruz, California, in
1971.
13. Collected from an eight-year-old Caucasian girl in Santa Cruz, California,
in 1971.
14. I used this rhyme to taunt my older sisters when I was a child growing up
in Napa, California, in the 1950s. I also heard it chanted endlessly by my informants
in Santa Cruz, California, in 1971-72.
15. Collected from a six- and an eight-year-old Caucasian girl in Santa Cruz,
California, in 1971. The two learned this from an eight-year-old boy.
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? ? 16. Collected from a ten-year-old black girl in Santa Cruz, California, in 1972.
17. I performed this rhyme with my two sisters when we were young. The two
participants join hands and swing their arms back and forth on the first two lines.
On the last line, they attempt to twist around, back-to-back, while still holding hands.
A favorite time to perform this was at the kitchen sink while doing the dishes.
18. I learned this as a child; I also collected a version in 1983 in Columbia,
South Carolina, that is exactly the same, except that the baby is urged to eat "like a
lamb. "
19. Collected from an eight-year-old Caucasian girl in Santa Cruz, California,
in 1972. The rhyme is performed to accompanying pelvic thrusts. On the first "la,"
the pelvis is thrust to the right; on the second, to the front; and on the third, to the
left. As my nine-year-old informant said, "On 'boom dee ay,' you stick your butt out
in the back. " The final word, "underwear," is executed with a pelvic thrust to the front.
20. The tradition and continuity in children's folklore is illustrated in The Lore
and Language of Schoolchildren. Iona and Peter Opie record several versions of the
jump-rope song "Not Last Night but the Night Before," spanning the years from 1835
to 1959. (See Opie and Opie 1959, 23. ) Clearly in their examples, variation does oc-
cur in the text, but the overall form remains intact throughout the years.
21. Gary Alan Fine refers to the dual concerns of conservatism and innova-
tion as "Newell's paradox. " Fine suggests a partial resolution for the division of these
two forces. This involves viewing children's folklore from three analytical perspectives.
In the first (which he calls thematype analysis), the folklore is analyzed according to
theme or structure. In the second (which he calls ecotype analysis), the folklore is ana-
lyzed according to the social environment. And in the third (egotype analysis), the
performance of the folklore is highlighted. Fine notes, "Any item of folklore can be
analyzed from any and all perspectives, although most folklore approaches focus on
only one" (Fine 1980d, 180).
22. For a Japanese version of pig latin, see Thomas W. Johnson (1975, 232-
33) See also Berkovits's "Secret Languages of Schoolchildren" (1970).
23. Folklore Archives, University of California, Berkeley. Collected by Susan
Rush from Penola Campbell in Oakland, California. The informant first heard this
legend in 1968 when she was living in Ireland; it was told to her by her husband, who
had lived all his life in Dublin.
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? ?
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? ? 3 THE TRANSMISSION
OF CHILDREN'S FOLKLORE
John H. McDowell
The transmission of children's folklore naturally falls within the broader
question of the transmission of folklore in general. Every conceptualization
of folklore must contain a theory, whether explicit or implicit, regarding the
transmission of folklore, since folklore is universally recognized as an inher-
ently social phenomenon. While these issues have not always received the
attention they deserve, folkloristic theories of transmission nonetheless
abound in the literature. To gain a grasp on these theories, I suggest the fol-
lowing two categories: theories viewing folklore transmission as a
superorganic, mechanical process; and theories emphasizing its serendipitous
and emergent character.
Folklore transmission viewed as a mechanical process figures promi-
nently in those theories of folklore taking their inspiration from the philo-
logical roots of our discipline. Jakob Grimm, in his studies of Germanic and
Indo-European languages, identified systematic laws of phonological shift
that operate, for all intents and purposes, outside the immediate arena of
concrete speech events. The Grimm brothers considered folklore "only a
higher and freer speech of mankind," and hypothesized that laws similar to
sound shift laws could be discovered to account for the persistence of tradi-
tional items and their variants through time and space (see Crane 1918).
Their theories accounting for Mairchen as broken-down Indo-European
myths are perhaps the main fruit of this orientation. The realm defined by
their compelling aphorism, das Volk dichtet, "the people, as a whole, com-
poses poetry" (Kittredge and Sargent 1904), transcends the sphere of
grounded human interaction.
This superorganic orientation persists in the work of the historic-geo-
graphic folklore scholars. Kaarle Krohn (1971, 98) argues that "it is the
mechanical laws of thought and imagination that prevail in the rich varia-
tion of oral tradition. " In a sequence of chapters entitled "The Influence of
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? ? Faulty Memory," "The Impulse Toward Expansion," and "Laws of Trans-
formation," Krohn discusses a series of "laws of thought" capable of pro-
ducing the observed differences among variants of a migratory folklore item.
But these laws are strictly conjectural, founded on the examination of texts,
rather than on the examination of living folkloristic "cultures. " Folklore
transmission, in this frame of reference, becomes an impersonal process to
be inferred and reconstructed on the basis of exclusively philological evi-
dence. The status of these "laws of thought" is quite analogous to that of
Grimm's laws of consonant shift, founded on the impersonal forces of lan-
guage change.
Krohn sought to embody the "mechanical laws of thought and imagi-
nation" in two models, portraying the spread of folklore materials in the
manner of waves on the water emanating from a central source of distur-
bance, and in the manner of a stream welling forth in a certain direction.
C. W. von Sydow rejects these models, introducing elements of an alterna-
tive theory of folklore transmission. Retaining the same essential goals as
those held by Krohn, von Sydow introduces the concepts of active and pas-
sive bearers, mutation, and oicotypification. "The dissemination of a tale,"
von Sydow contends, "is desultory to a high degree. " "Only a very small
number of active bearers of tradition equipped with a good memory, vivid
imagination, and narrative powers do transmit the tales. It is only they who
tell them. Among their audience it is only a small percentage still who actu-
ally do so. Most of those who have heard a tale told and are able to remem-
ber it, remain passive carriers of tradition, whose importance for the con-
tinued life of the tale consists mainly in their interest in hearing it told again"
(von Sydow 1965 [1948], 231).
The commitment to folkloristics as a philological inquiry is evident
in the key construction here, "the life of the tale. " Yet at the same time,
von Sydow delves beyond the impersonal forces of language and culture
drift to enfranchise the individual performers and audience members in his
general theory of folklore transmission. Krohn had spoken of bilingual
border populations, and "temporary visits by hunters, fishermen, crafts-
men, merchants, sailors, soldiers, pilgrims, and other wanderers" (Krohn
1971, 59), but von Sydow's concept of active and passive bearers locates
folklore transmission directly in the immediate context of the folklore per-
formance.
Von Sydow introduces the term mutation to refer to specific alter-
ations of narrative materials as storytellers constantly reinterpret a narra-
tive tradition. The language he uses here creates a juxtaposition between the
superorganic framework of folklore transmission, and a more situated, hu-
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? ? man-oriented approach: "An original motif may be superseded by a new
mutation, but a new mutation may also yield to the older form, being un-
able to assert itself at its expense. If a motif is particularly popular, this very
fact may induce various narrators to mutate it in different ways" (von Sydow
1971, 234). The process envisioned here is still somewhat mechanistic, yet
the term mutation admits an element of caprice, since the precise moment
and direction of a mutation cannot be foreseen with any certainty. The con-
cept of mutation presupposes recognition of the immense range of poten-
tial inherent in any act of folklore transmission.
One possible result of mutation in the folklore transmission process
is "a certain unification of the variants within one and the same linguistic
or cultural area on account of isolation from other areas," a result referred
to by von Sydow as oicotypification (von Sydow 1971, 238). He observes
that oicotypification might result "from the circumstance that one mutation
has prevailed over the rest so as to become the oicotype of the tale within
the area concerned" (von Sydow 1971, 238). In this manner, the demands
of scientific generalization are reconciled with recognition of the autonomy
of each individual instance: the individual cases, autonomous in themselves,
nonetheless are thought to pattern into configurations describable in terms
of scientific laws. In the end, von Sydow remains a voice of loyal opposi-
tion within the camp of philologically inspired folklorists.
In recent years, folklorists have developed approaches to folklore
transmission amenable to the groundwork laid in von Sydow's critique of
overly mechanistic models of transmission. The work of these scholars
readily incorporates von Sydow's notions of active and passive bearers, lo-
cating folklore transmission within finite communicative contexts, and mu-
tations, pointing to the unique, unpredictable quality of any given instance
of folklore transmission. Perhaps the key word is emergence, indicating a
fortuitous result achieved through the continuous interaction of all relevant
components in a given folklore performance. According to Richard
Bauman, "The concept of emergence is necessary to the study of perfor-
mance as a means towards comprehending the uniqueness of particular
performances within the context of performance as a generalized cultural
system in a community" (Bauman 1977a, 37). The theory of folklore trans-
mission residing in the performance-centered approach is one concerned
with "the interplay between communicative resources, individual compe-
tence, and the goals of the participants, within the context of particular
situations" (Bauman 1977a, 38).
In a theory centered on the creation and re-creation of folklore
through performance, the term transmission becomes extremely problem-
5I
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? ? atic. The very notion of the "item" of folklore, with its demonstrable "life
history," is no longer entirely tenable. The folklore text, formerly thought
to embody the empirical foundation for folklore studies, becomes, in this
light, a pale and in many ways a misleading reflection of the performance it
purports to record (McDowell 1982).
If it is no longer possible to hold that folklore is "transmitted" in
the manner of a mechanical signal, then how are we to speak of that criti-
cal moment when folklore enters into an interactional format, finding ar-
ticulation in the speech or action of one individual, yet leaving a trace in
the short- or long-term memory of another, eventually to spring forth as a
performance that in some sense repeats the original? How are we to ac-
count for the persistence of form and content in folklore over time?