An ongoing dispute between my dear friend Pete Koutoulas and me has become a humorous (or humourous, if you prefer) endeavor, most likely with no end in sight. Perhaps it’s because we both realize (or realise, if you prefer) that it simply cements our friendship by showing that we can have different opinions without jeopardizing that relationship.
As this story continues, the reader will understand why the two passages above were included in parentheses.
A number of years ago I submitted a column to WinCity Voices relating to something architectural. I don’t recall exactly what the story was, but in the submittal, I spelled the level of a building as storey.
Pete, in his editorial hat, immediately contacted me to point out that the word was misspelled.
(In fact, as I type this on my computer, spellcheck has underlined in red three words which are spelled in their British English — not American English — form).
I explained to Pete that, during my years practicing architecture and writing numerous articles, forms, proposals, descriptions, contracts, etc., that I had begun to use the spelling storey to identify a level of a building as opposed to story, a tale, prose.
To be perfectly honest, I also do it because it seems to raise questions in the minds of readers, which seems to always be a good thing.
Recently, in my column about the proposed judicial center, I once again resorted to the use of storey.
As I read over the story in Voices, I noticed that the spelling had been changed and jokingly chided Pete about it. In our subsequent discussion about the appropriateness of my spelling, I pointed out that both spellings are accepted in the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, Webster’s New World College Dictionary, and the Oxford Universal Dictionary.
I’m confident I could find it similarly noted in any number of other dictionaries, but these three are the ones which I have close at hand.
Pete’s response was that the preference of WinCity columns was the “AP style,” which only lists story as the acceptable form to be used as the noun for both instances.
Though I didn’t respond to Pete as precisely as this, I don’t give a tinker’s damn about AP style.
(I also don’t know if a tinker’s damn is any different from any other kind of damn, but that’s for another discussion.)
I guess AP style is fine for newspapers to adopt, but for an independent discourse, it shouldn’t necessarily be the prevailing determination.
Pete also pointed out that the word storey might be construed by the readers as a misspelling. True enough, but if a reader were to comment about it, it would not only indicate that the reader was paying close attention to the article, but it would give me the opportunity to explain why the spelling occurred as it did.
It turns into a learning moment.
I’m not a purist, but I think that some of the things our English brethren do makes more sense on occasion (not often, but sometimes) and differentiating the spelling of story and storey makes perfect sense to me. I am probably in the minority on this one, but then again maybe the logic of it will result in more people utilizing (utilising) it.
I may, in the future, have additional columns relating to architectural issues. If so, I shall again submit them with storey as needed. And Pete will undoubtedly let me know that I’m wrong, and our cordial dispute will continue as will our friendship.
But I’m right about this one.
Pete responds
Chuck and I agree on nearly everything, which is either a tribute to our friendship or evidence that one of us has not been paying close enough attention. So when we do find a disagreement, I feel honor-bound to cherish it, frame it, and hang it where guests can admire it.
Chuck is correct that storey is a legitimate architectural spelling, and I concede this point with all the grace of a man being dragged by grammar into a ditch. Until Chuck used it, however, I had managed six decades of reading without once tripping over a building level while sipping Earl Gray.
That leads me to suspect that, here in the former colonies, storey mostly lives in architectural documents, dictionary footnotes, and the hearts of people who believe vowels should have passports.
The real root of this disagreement is that both of us are stubborn as army mules, though I prefer to think of myself as editorially consistent and Chuck as architecturally immovable. Chuck spent his professional life dealing with storeys; I have spent much of mine dealing with stories, and I have the gray hairs, commas, and occasional nervous twitch to prove it.
Never miss a thing with our FREE weekly newsletter.
A troublemaker might point out that Chuck has also written a fair number of stories over the years — probably even more than I have — but I refuse to let relevant facts barge into a perfectly good argument without knocking first.
An architect clings to his conventions; a writer clings to his stylebook. One draws firm lines on blueprints; the other draws firm lines through perfectly innocent extra letters.
Besides, I’m the editor. This is not a moral argument, a linguistic argument, or even a particularly noble argument. It is simply the only argument I have that comes with office supplies.
Checkmate, Chuck. Or, if you prefer: cheque-mate.
