Who Was Who: 5000 B. C. to Date Biographical Dictionary of the Famous and Those Who Wanted to Be — Reading Companion

The Mock-Editorial Persona

The editor, Irwin L. Gordon, adopts a fussy, litigious persona. He thanks contributors while trusting they will "show their good feeling by purchasing a copy," and promises that proofs will be sent to subscribers. The note that the work is "fully protected by the libel laws" and that "under no circumstance will duels be fought" reveals a comic anxiety about retaliation. This voice recurs in the entry for L. (a mother-in-law), where an editorial note disclaims responsibility for accuracy. The editor becomes a character—pompous, defensive, and slyly commercial.

Abbreviations as Social Satire

The list of abbreviations redefines familiar acronyms with cynical wit. G. O. P. becomes "Hic jacet" (here lies), equating the Republican party with death. H. R. H. is "chief advertiser for cigarettes, mustard and kid gloves," reducing royalty to product endorsers. LL. D. are "American millionaires," and I. stands for "Roosevelt." The abbreviations mock credentialism: A1 means "can open charge account," C. O. D. means "no credit." This section functions as a key to the book's worldview, where status is a matter of credit, advertising, and mortality.

The Louis Dynasty as Repetitive Gag

The entries for Louis I through XV form a running joke. Each king introduces a cliché of French culture: Louis I "introduced cafe's into France," Louis II "introduced chorus girls," Louis III "introduced champagne," and so on. The formula—"Continued the works of his predecessors"—reduces centuries of monarchy to a chain of novelty imports. Louis IX, "a good Louis," is deemed "very unpopular in Paris" for not patronizing his ancestors' innovations. The cumulative effect is a deadpan absurdity that deflates historical narrative into a list of gimmicks.

Diction of Deflation

Gordon's diction consistently lowers the lofty to the mundane. Thomas Lipton is "a knighted Irishman who advertised tea with Shamrocks, and one of the men of his race who did not enter politics or the police force." Lorelei is "a beautiful German lady who always hides herself when the tourist goes down the Rhine." Mrs. Lot "had an inquisitiveness which became practical" and is "one of the salt of the earth." The entries avoid grand claims, instead offering anticlimactic details, puns, and bathos. Even the ambitious are reduced: Lehar seeks "to find another widow."

The book rewards readers who enjoy sustained parody of reference works. Its humor depends on recognizing the conventions of biographical dictionaries—the abbreviations, the formulaic entries, the editorial apparatus—and seeing them turned against themselves. The entries are best read as a sequence, where patterns emerge and accumulate. The editor's voice, at once officious and sly, provides a consistent thread through the alphabet of the dead and the would-be famous.

Skimming these deadpan entries, I remember my grandfather’s shelf of old annuals, their pompous brevity masking private failures. It felt like glimpsing a party from the wrong side of a window. That same ache returned while reading Mr. Punch's After-Dinner Stories — Text and Context, whose gentle absurdity lingers long after the joke fades, leaving only a quiet, familiar loneliness.