Analyze the following: ‘Moxie’ by Jerome Shea 

When Moxie was first in your mouth, you didn’t know what you had taken in. But by then it was past worrying. Of course you could spit it out but, a good New Englander, you swallowed. Then the first charge hit. Dry—I remember that so clearly—not the silly dryness of a citrus drink, but that dangerous metallic aridity that bodes regurgitation. In fact, just when you hoped to upchuck but didn’t, the full, awful authority announced itself. Woody, it was: dry and woody and barky-biting, as if you had chewed in a frenzy on some effervescent elm. The experience was both sensory and moral, embodying every grandmother’s loving nostrum and every grandfather’s stern counsel. And then it was done. You had had your first swig of Moxie. Pale, you grinned at your father; ruddy, he grinned at you. It was a kind of Yankee bar mitzvah. 

Moxie is a strange word. I didn’t know you could actually drink it. Growing up as I did in Southern California, I was unaware that Moxie soda was such an institution in New England, or that drinking it was some sort of Yankee rite of passage. I’d never heard of Moxie Beverage Nerve Food until last week.

But I did a bit of research, and here is what I found:

Moxie Nerve Food was invented and patented in 1885. It was the first bottled, carbonated beverage made in America. The company made many wild curative claims. It tried distribution in other regions but never really took off except in the northeast.

Moxie was the nation’s first mass-marketed soft drink. Dr. Augustin Thompson was the inventor of the drink, but it was Frank Archer, Moxie’s marketing genius who was responsible for its amazing popularity during the early 20th century.

Now produced in New Hampshire, Moxie is most popular in New England. Moxie’s popularity in the region was given a boost in its heyday from endorsements by Red Sox slugger Ted Williams.

Moxie is now full of high fructose corn syrup just like every other Coke product – it was purchased by Coca-Cola in 2007 – but I guess it’d still be worth a try just once to see how strange the taste really is.

A lot of regionally-marketed products from the east coast, the mid-west, and especially the southern states never reached our shores out in L.A. in the days before World Market and Trader Joe’s.

Nostalgia and product loyalty are a powerful mix. Many people have personal, emotional bonds with products – mostly junk food – from their past. To this day, I go out of my way to buy Dr. Tichenor’s Peppermint Mouthwash Concentrate & First Aid Antiseptic. My dad swore by it, and so do I. It’s still made in his hometown of N’awlins, Louisiana. Horrible stuff,  but it does the trick.

I guess I missed out on a lot of things living out on the west coast, like Blue-Bell ice cream, Old Bay, Tasty-Kakes, Humpty Dumpty potato chips, White Castle…but then again, maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

Growing up in SoCal tends to give one the impression of living at the center of the universe. A noisy, crowded, expensive universe. If you couldn’t find something at Ralphs or Stater Brothers, it wasn’t worth the effort and who cares anyway?

**

The overall controlling trope which informs the above bit of prose as a sort of ‘coming of age’ fable or parable – is anamnesis, sprinkled with plenty of antithesis.

The word ‘moxie’ is itself a sort of onomatopoeia – does it sound like its meaning? To my mind, moxie is still a descriptive term for someone with a lot of ‘spunk’ and ‘get-up-and-go’; a guy with good ole American know-how who isn’t gonna take any guff. You know: moxie.

The closest thing I can come up with from my own childhood is a soft drink called Cactus Cooler, a soda which is nearly impossible to find anywhere else, least of all in my adopted state of New Mexico – where every brand of soda is referred to as a ‘coke’, anyway.

From what I can gather, the only difference between Moxie and Cactus Cooler is that Cactus Cooler actually tastes good. A refreshing, citrus-y mixture of orange and pineapple, Cactus Cooler is one of the first examples of ‘product placement’ I can think of. The brand was inspired by the mid-60’s prime time cartoon The Flintstones – the drink was the favorite swill of main characters Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble.

‘When Moxie was first in your mouth, you didn’t know what you had taken in. But by then it was past worrying. Of course you could spit it out but, a good New Englander, you swallowed.’ 

There is an element of distinctio – making explicit reference to how a word is used – regarding the use of ‘Moxie’ as a product, as opposed to a human attribute. ‘But by then it was past worrying’ is an odd turn of phrase, a trope itself. The line, ‘…but, a good New Englander, you swallowed…’ is both an asyndeton (omitting conjunctions between words), and aeteologia (giving cause or reason). This could indeed be considered argumentum ad verecundiam, an appeal to reverence for authority.

Then the first charge hit.

Brevitas exemplified in those five simple words. Also: enargia, defined by Lanham as “vividness” or “distinctness”. The statement is fairly unambiguous. This drink has a kick!

Dry—I remember that so clearly—not the silly dryness of a citrus drink, but that dangerous metallic aridity that bodes regurgitation. In fact, just when you hoped to upchuck but didn’t, the full, awful authority announced itself.

The em dash is used in this case like a colon or a set of parentheses; it indicates an abrupt change in thought when a period or a comma won’t suffice. ‘I remember that so clearly’: more anamnesis. The ‘silly dryness’ line could be anadiplosis (dry), and the juxtaposition of those two words is an anastrophe. How can something be “silly dry?” The description of the citrus-flavored drink is a case of ecphrasis (literally, “description”), and this whole passage might be characterized as an anatomy – an analysis of an issue and its constituent parts.

‘That dangerous metallic aridity that bodes regurgitation’ is a good example of emphasis as well as cataplexis (threatening punishment, misfortune or disaster). This sounds like a description of bile to me, which is kind of what I imagine Moxie tastes like, anyway: carbonated bile. Having recently experienced the joys of food poisoning myself, this next passage spoke to me: ‘… just when you hoped to upchuck but didn’t, the full, awful authority announced itself.’ This continues the theme of cataplexis, along with some hyperbole – the ‘awful authority announcing itself’ is a bit melodramatic. This could also be considered pragmatographia – a vivid description of an action or event.

The next passage begins a new subtheme – wood – which is used as a classic metaphor:

‘Woody, it was: dry and woody and barky-biting, as if you had chewed in a frenzy on some effervescent elm.’

Dendrographia is simply a description of trees (the effervescent elm). The next few lines follow this theme: the repititio of ‘woody’ (twice), ‘barky-biting’, and ‘effervescent elm’. I should probably include ‘upchuck’, too, for that matter. These word choices all play a part in a progressio, using enargia and metaphor to bring out the details. This could also be considered a zeugma (“yoking”) or congeries (word heaps).

This passage begins with a hyperbaton, “a turning back or about”. Hyperbaton is a figure of speech in which the normal word order is inverted (‘Woody, it was’). This is commonly known as “Yoda speak” named for the lovable character from Star Wars – himself a pop-culture icon.

‘…dry and woody and barky-biting, as if you had chewed in a frenzy on some effervescent elm.’

The term that best describes ‘Barky-biting’ is onomatopoeia (the making of words). Clearly, this word is made up, and even though the act it describes is illogical and rather bizarre (acyrologia, the use of inexact or illogical word), it creates a definite visual image in the reader’s mind, onomatopoeia. ‘Barky-biting’ could indeed reasonably be called an enigma. ‘Dry and woody and Barky-biting: polysyndeton, a deliberate method of slowing down a sentence for better effect. While researching this piece I found an on-line pet specialty site currently marketing BarkyBites© doggie treats! Another case of life imitating art, as it were.

The author’s description of chewing on a tree in a ‘frenzy’ is an outrageous image that uses both emphasis and energia (a general term for vigor, vividness, energy in expression), as well as pragmatographia (action). The next passage reads:

‘The experience was both sensory and moral, embodying every grandmother’s loving nostrum and every grandfather’s stern counsel.’

Both sensory and moral? Huh? Another odd turn of phrase (a trope)! A non-sequitur. Since when did drinking a soda become a moral obligation? And, once again, we have anamnesis: the ‘stern counsel’, the fond remembrance of sweet old granny’s nostrum. Had to look that one up:

Nostrum: 1) A medicine sold with false or exaggerated claims and with no demonstrable value; quack medicine; 2) A scheme, theory, device, etc., especially one to remedy social or political ills; panacea; 3) A medicine made by the person who recommends it; and 4) a patent medicine.

So, grandmother’s ‘nostrum’ is a significatio, or reinforcer, to play on the simile comparing grandma’s loving bosom to a safe haven of sorts; a sanctuary. One could also call this excuscitatio, a kind of emotional device, and of course, metaphor.

And then it was done. You had had your first swig of Moxie. Pale, you grinned at your father; ruddy, he grinned at you. It was a kind of Yankee bar mitzvah. 

Once again, we have a classic case of brevitas to start the passage: ‘And then it was done.’ Very simple and precise wording. This could also be considered a eucharista (giving thanks; a prayer of thanksgiving or gratitude). There is a conduplicato of sorts (had had) in the phrase: ‘You had had your first swig…’ which is actually more like an epizeuxis (repetition of words with no others between, for vehemence or emphasis).

‘Pale, you grinned at your father; ruddy, he grinned at you.’

This passage is a perfect example of asyndeton, which is the omission of conjunctions.

‘It was a kind of Yankee bar mitzvah.’

This is a humorously ironic, simile-laden conclusion to the piece. A bar mitzvah is of course the most important day in a Jewish boy’s life: when he comes of age! I’ve attended a few of these rituals in my time and it’s a pretty big deal. With that in mind, there is clearly some ironia (irony) being employed here; the author is comparing the ancient Hebrew coming-of-age tradition of bar mitzvah with taking a swig of Moxie!

So there you have it: a coming of age trope-fest about a soft drink I’ve never heard of!