In the murder/mystery shows that I watch, eyewitnesses are asked to describe a suspect or bystander to a crime. They respond, “Average height, average weight…” And none of the inquiring officers ever says, “WHAT!? IS? AVERAGE!” But that vague description always bothers me: What is average? In my Shorter Oxford English Dictionary (sixth edition) there are 5 definitions of average. The definition noted as an adjective is, “Estimated or calculated as an average; medium; of the ordinary standard or kind; typical.” So, the definition of average is … average. Sigh.
My height is 6’ 1”; my youngest brother was once 6’ 5” tall. (He has since shrunk, though I have not.) My other two brothers were 5’ 10” and 5’ 8”, respectively. I suppose — I am not “mathletic” — that if you tossed all those heights into a bowl and mixed them up, the resulting stew would be the average height of the 4 sons of Izetta Woods. As I have indicated, my math skills are limited; I can add, subtract, multiply and divide — short division, not long — but more complex “arithmetics” are beyond me. I still have a certificate from Indiana University Southeast noting my academic excellence, and my 3.93 GPA for that semester. I know that “GPA” means “grade point average,” but I have no idea how it is calculated. I would have been just as thrilled to have received a certificate saying, “You Done Good, Son.”
In the month before my eldest child was born, a man climbed into the front window of the apartment her parents were renting, walked down the hallway and into the bedroom where we were sleeping. He stood at the foot of our bed, eyes locked with my bride, who was desperately and quietly digging her elbow into her sleeping husband’s side. I woke, the man fled, I chased him on my motorcycle with a sword strapped to my back, but he got away. The police asked my bride to describe the man, since I am blind without my glasses. As she did, I drew a picture of the man, one that frightened her with its accuracy, but one the police officers chose to eschew: there was to be no “All Points Bulletin” issued for the theft of a purse. But they did have available to them a very realistic description and picture of the bandit. Not once did the word “average” enter the exchange between the police officers and the offended couple.
When the murder/mystery writers choose average over a specific description, I speculate about what the recorder places onto the record. Under height, is it between one number or another, or is it written as “average?” Does that same notation apply to weight? Of course, hair, skin and eye colors are usually specific. But if no specific height or weight is named, what are we to look for? Something ordinary? My “Dictionary of Clichés” defines the term “run of the mill” as “ordinary; normal; routine.” The term referred to products from a gristmill, knitting mill or mine before they have been graded according to quality. Can we replace the term “average height” with “ordinary height?” Would it be helpful in the reporting of a crime to say that the suspect was just a “run of the mill” person? That description is just as helpful as “average.”
My beloved English professor, Dr. Richard Brengle once complained that, with all the magnificent words available to us in the English language, so many of us chose a banal expression: “Have a nice day.” I would have loved to hear his opinion of writers who default to an average description.
cjon3acd@att.net