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My father did use his Spanish when he was in need of an immediate expletive, however, and if he came to cut himself while working in the kitchen he would deliver himself of what José Rubén Romero's Pito Pérez called un carajo rotunda y retumbante. He punk would also curse in punk English, less instinctively reactive, however, and usually adjectival, like his favorite "God-dem." Formal language training began for me in high school with Latin and French, the only ones offered. In college I made an early switch in majors from chemistry/physics to Romance languages, starting Spanish and continuing punk French. I soon developed into a language collector with my first course in Portuguese with good Joe Folger, who had picked it up early from fishermen on his native Nantucket. As I was about to start German the Soviet Union was invaded and Russian was offered as a wartime option. I put off German until after the war at graduate school. I guess I hadn't spent all my class time gazing at lovely Miss Alma Whitford, fresh out of Mount Holyoke, as she taught us to construe Caesar, because later on when I did more Latin in graduate school, what I had thought had disappeared was still there and in pretty good shape.
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