What’s in a name? That which we call Missouri, by any other word would likely still be mispronounced. (apologies to Shakespeare).
Some place names are easy to figure out. People moved to the New World from York or Hampshire in England, and where they settled became New York or New Hampshire. Or the name came from the desire to honor someone like Queen Elizabeth I, known as the Virgin Queen (Virginia) or Charles I’s wife (Maryland). But how did we get the name “Missouri”?
In 1673, Father Jacques Marquette and explorer Louis Joliet, traveled down the Mississippi River. When they reached another river that came from the northwest, Father Marquette noted on his map that a large tribe of native people called the OuMissouri lived upstream. That name was given to them by the Fox tribe, and in the Fox language means “people with big canoes.”
The mighty river which flowed into the Mississippi eventually was named after the tribe that lived along its banks. It became the Missouri River. Later, when settlers came, the area became known as the Missouri Territory and in 1821, when the territory became a state, it adopted the name Missouri.
When they made the decision, I wonder how they pronounced it … because arguments about how the name should be pronounced are still going on, most hotly among Missourians themselves.
In 2002, there was a poll conducted at the Missouri State Fair on the proper pronunciation of the state’s name. MissourEE won out over MissourAH, 74 percent to 26 percent.
A survey taken by the Automobile Club of Missouri shows that 66 percent of Missourians prefer the “ee” ending, and shows the different usage is split along geographic and age lines.
Neither survey settled the argument and you still hear the name used both ways – sometimes by the same person in the same sentence.
And if that’s not complicated enough, anthropologists suggest the name should have been pronounced “May-sue-ray” all along. Like we needed another option added to the debate. Happily, that one hasn’t caught on with anyone else. Silly anthropologists.
When you’re comfortable with traveling again, come visit us and discover the Show-Me State. You’ll leave singing our praises … however you choose to pronounce our name.
Written by Barb Brueggeman
As an enthusiast with a profound understanding of linguistic and historical nuances, I bring forth my expertise to shed light on the captivating journey of how Missouri acquired its name and the ongoing debate regarding its pronunciation. This article delves into the rich history, linguistic origins, and cultural intricacies that have shaped the identity of the state.
The narrative begins in 1673 when Father Jacques Marquette and Louis Joliet ventured down the Mississippi River. Their exploration led them to a river flowing from the northwest, inhabited by the OuMissouri, a Native American tribe known as the "people with big canoes" in the Fox language. The mighty river eventually took its name from this tribe, becoming the Missouri River. Subsequently, as settlers arrived, the region evolved into the Missouri Territory, and in 1821, it officially became the state of Missouri.
The fascination intensifies as the article touches upon the perennial debate over the pronunciation of "Missouri." Despite the historical context, the article reveals that even in 2002, there was a poll at the Missouri State Fair to determine the proper pronunciation. The battle between "MissourEE" and "MissourAH" culminated in a 74 percent to 26 percent victory for the former. This internal strife among Missourians persists, with surveys indicating a geographic and age-related split in preferences.
The complexity of the matter deepens with the inclusion of anthropological perspectives, suggesting that the name should be pronounced as "May-sue-ray." However, this alternative has not gained widespread acceptance, adding a whimsical layer to the already contentious debate.
In essence, this article not only unfolds the historical roots of Missouri's nomenclature but also highlights the dynamic linguistic landscape that continues to shape the state's identity. It showcases the enduring nature of discussions about pronunciation, revealing that even surveys and polls have not conclusively settled the matter. The author, Barb Brueggeman, adeptly captures the essence of this linguistic quandary, inviting readers to explore the Show-Me State and, perhaps, contribute to the ongoing discourse on its name.
