Houston
Limousine drivers are a strange breed. I know: I used to be one. I never actually called myself that, because I preferred the French word chauffeur. Semantics? Snobbery? No, I say, neither. The reason I preferred the word chauffeur is because a "limousine driver" often drives an airport minibus. Also, a limousine could actually be a bus.
Drivers, even limousine drivers, are often confused with, or are even called glorified taxi drivers. Probably the greatest reason of all for my not wishing to be called a driver is that driving is only what someone DOES, not what he IS.
The exact reason we use the word chauffeur is somewhat obscure. In the 1800's, coal- and wood-burning steam engines were becomming more and more common since their invention and development during the 1700's. An engine - er, or engineer, was a person designated to run the engine. Since the machinery needed a constant supply of fuel, another person, or persons, were assigned to ensure the engine or engines were stoked. The word for that job became "stoker," as in Frankenstein's author, Bram Stoker.
The French had a similar word, stocker, pron. "stow-kay", which meant to stock or store. This is not what was happening here. The action described produced quite a bit of heat. Chaud (pron. show) is the French word for heat, in the general sense. Chaleur means heat, as the humid heat of the day. Chauffer (sho-FAY) is the verb to heat up, as to heat up an object. A person who carries out this action is a chauffeur, literally a "heater-upper."
As man and machine progressed, so did the terms used for the things man invented, and the way he goes about using those inventions. An engine-er became engineer, and a person who was an engineer was then a person who operated or "drove" a train, along with his trusty stoker, now called a fireman, who tended the fire.
With the development of the motor vehicle, the self-moving (auto - mobile), the people who piloted them, ie, DRIVERS (without horses or cattle to actually drive) were also known as motorists - a more logical term. The French, too, saw the need for a name to call the person who operated this noisy, smelly, outlandish conveyance, and, early profanity notwithstanding, eventually called him for what he DID: he stoked or tended a fire-powered carriage. Therefore, he became a heater-upper, or chauffeur.
As the upper classes saw the need for speedy conveyances, some individuals declined to operate those dangerous, horseless contraptions themselves, and instead hired out someone to do the operating of the vehicle for them. The word chauffeur thus was applied to the hired help in this instance.
In the United States, drivers were also hired to pilot the automobile owned by another individual, but
they called themselves drivers. The French word crossed the Atlantic presumably when a few French immigrant drivers were sometime used, and these gentlemen also performed some customary valet or butler services as well.
The term driver is currently used for anyone who drives a vehicle - a bus, taxi, private car, etc. A chauffeur, in common present-day connotation, is expected to go beyond this simple operation and be knowlegeable of the city and environs, and also to assist where needed in a hundred ways or more, depending upon the situation.
Don't expect a cabbie or city bus driver to bring along a chilled bottle of champagne, much less to open it for you. A streetcar motorman or subway conductor won't make reservations for you at the theatre or restaurant. A chauffeur does these and many other duties as part of his daily routine, and is always up to the task when called upon to do the extraordinary.
Above all, a TRUE chauffeur is discreet and ensures the utmost privacy for the people he drives. If a chauffeur is privvy to personal, private information, this remains with the man, undivulged, until his death. So, in this sence, he is driver, butler, valet, personal assistant, and CONFIDANT.
This brings me to the title of this story.
One day I was driving some clients. They were having a night on the town, seeing the sights of New Orleans' fabulous French Quarter. Professional appearance and demeanor are important, even when the client is not around. I was standing near my stretch-Lincoln limousine on St. Peter St., right by the famous Pat O'Brien's, wearing my chauffeur's cap.
I enjoyed the funny comments coming from passers-by, such as: "Stay right here, I'll be back in ten minutes," or "Home, James!" I heard them all hundreds of times, but every time I did I'd smile as if this was my very first time. I often was asked who my client was, and always I respectfully declined to answer. I maintained this iron-clad policy of client-chauffeur privelege without ever divulging who it was that I had in my limo that night - or day.
On this particular evening, two good ol' boys, young guys about 18 or 19 years old came walking down the sidewalk. They eyeballed that long car - it was like something they never had seen down on the farm. If I wasn't convinced that these fellows were from some rural area, and this was their first taste of the big city, as soon as they opened up their mouths and said: "Gaw-leeee, lookee thaar!" it was a dead giveaway.
"Say, man," one of them walked up to me and asked: "So who ya GOT in that long car of yours, huh?"
This was just too much. I had to say something, so I did. I lowered my voice, putting a little twang into my voice, and said: "Can y'all boys keep a secret?"
That was it; they got really serious and drew near, looking around to make sure nobody else was listening.
"I got the Pope's wife in there!" I confided, whereupon I placed my index finger to my lips and went "Shhhhhhh!"
The dude who asked me the question initially, screwed up his face, as if something wasn't making any sense. He stood there, perplexed! He then replied: "Hey, look... I mean, I thought the Pope... I mean I thought the Pope..."
FLAP! went his buddy's John Deere cap, right on top of the first dude's head. "Come on. Clem! Less go! Jes' cain't take you nowher'!" The two walked off, arguing something or other about the Pope.
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