The Great Typo Hunt_ Two Friends Changing the World, One Correction at a Time - Jeff Deck [44]
As we left the park Benjamin reiterated that bringing these questions to the forefront could be healthy. “Everything we do raises contradictions. It’s the people who examine them and work to resolve them who’ll succeed every time. I have to say, you’ve hit some valid points, and I don’t know what to tell you, but let’s enjoy the beautiful day and not worry about it for now.” Thus we moved from questions toward a destination many chose for answers.
We entered the enormous barrel-vaulted nave of the cathedral. We passed the eight-sided baptismal font in silence and admired the wall of saints and sainthood candidates on the far wall. A display showed that artwork in miniature, with the addition of names. We leaned down to see who was who, and what I saw rattled my heathen bones. They’d identified Saint Francis of “Assissi” in the very Cathedral of St. Francis of Assisi. The extra s didn’t jump out at me like usual typos, didn’t merely offend my delicate sensibilities. No, this spawn of the Evil One screamed with a thousand banshee wails, for it knew I wouldn’t dare correct this error sitting on an ancient-looking placard on church property. Some things were sacred, and though I might be the only typo hunter around, I dared not presume to be a skilled enough artisan to exorcise this thing that transfigured a venerated saint into a paragon of error (not to mention what the extra s does to the pronunciation of the word; the Catholic Church would not approve).
Perhaps because I seemed so enraptured by the exhibit, Juan, one of the tour guides for the cathedral, approached us. Benjamin thought that he shattered the quiet and general sense of peace, but for me that peace had already been slain by a single s. A friendly older gent, Juan didn’t hesitate to fill us in on any cathedral trivia we had questions about, as well as things we had not yet thought to question, so Benjamin eventually warmed to the garrulous chaper-one. I also sensed that with Juan lay my best chance for seeing the error corrected. After we’d chatted long enough to confirm that he sincerely cared about the place and about educating its visitors, I gestured back toward the exhibit that named the people on the far wall. Immediately he began telling us stories explaining why these individuals had been chosen for the cathedral’s coveted Top 15. By taking a backward step after every new anecdote of Juan’s, I managed to get him to follow me.
Now I’d gotten him close to the exhibit, and then I stopped and stared at his name tag again. No! Betrayed at every turn in this my Gethsemane. By some inconceivable oversight, his name tag listed him as an official tour guide for the St. “Frances” Cathedral. The venerable saint’s sister? The typos had now gone mobile on us.* “I’m sorry to interrupt,” I lied. “But this is St. Francis Cathedral, right?”
He confirmed that it was, giving me a funny look, perhaps wondering what he’d said that had made me so incredulous. I explained by indicating his name tag, which had swapped its i for an e. “Well, you know, the Spanish have their own way of spelling things,” he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand, a slight eye roll, as if to add “those crazy Spanish.” A quick glance at Benjamin’s wide eyes confirmed my own reaction. The Spanish version was, in fact, Francisco. If we’d been talking about Saint Francis’s original Italian name, Giovanni Francesco Bernardone, that argument would have held more water. But no, the church took its name from old Giovanni’s Latinized name. It was a goof, a flub, and no cross-cultural shrug could deny it—or the exhibit error. I had now caught misspellings of both Francis and Assisi in the Cathedral Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi!
Juan had wandered off on another story, and as soon as I sensed the end of it, I pointed down