Recently I was speaking on the phone with a pleasant, and well-educated, caller who, at one point, modestly cast off something she had just related, saying she was probably a Cassandra whom people wouldn't believe anyway.
"Isn't Cassandra the one no one believed?" she asked, though I could tell she already knew the answer.
"That sounds right," I agreed.
In all my years, that was the first time I had ever heard anyone use that expression, although I had read about it all my life.
Cassandra, you might recall from high school, was a figure from Greek mythology, the daughter of the king of Troy. She had this love-hate thing going with the god Apollo.
Although Apollo was, you know, an Apollo - we still use that word today for a good-looking guy - he tried to win Cassandra over by bestowing on her the gift of prophecy. She saw the strings attached to the deal, though, and just said no.
His next trick was to make it so that no matter how many times she foretold the future, no one would believe her.
After that, she prophesied doom and gloom at every turn, but no one listened. During the Trojan War, she predicted the fall of Troy; later, when the enemy Greeks left a big, wooden horse outside the gates of the city, she again forecast bad news.
Each time, she was disregarded and disrespected. As a result, the city learned about Greeks bearing gifts. Troy fell.
Ever since, any prophet of doom who is ignored is called a "Cassandra." I've heard it myself. OK, just once, but still.
Cassandra's brother was Hector, the greatest warrior for Troy. For centuries afterward, his name stood for valor and courage. Then, in the 1600s, a gang of street punks in London called itself the Hectors and, by association, ruined his reputation.
Today, "to hector" means to bully or intimidate. I've seen it in publications two or three times in recent months.
Despite his bravery and skill, Hector met his end during the Trojan War. Achilles attacked the unarmed Hector in revenge for the death of Achilles' friend. Achilles then tied Hector's body behind a chariot and dragged it around the walls of Troy; after that, he really got nasty.
Achilles, in addition to being a heel, was just about invulnerable. After he was born, his mother tried to protect him by dipping him into the Styx, the river than ran though the underworld. His only vulnerable spot was the right heel by which she had held him.
If only she had double-dipped! Years later, Hector's younger brother shot an arrow into that heel, proving that what goes around, comes around. It also left us with "Achilles' heel," a weak or susceptible point.
Greek mythology has left us with such a wealth of expressions, and so far, we've just surveyed the Trojan War. Countless characters have enriched our language in so many ways:
For instance, there was Tantalus, punished to an eternity of standing in water that receded when he tried to drink; above him, branches of fruit were always just out of reach. Today, "tantalize" means being teased by something but not getting it.
Another Greek who got his just deserts was Sisyphus. In Hades, he was forced to push a large rock up a hill, only to have it roll back down as it neared the top. Who among us has not faced a "Sisyphean task" - something endless, toilsome, pointless?
Proteus, a sea god, could change his shape, so anything that morphs or changes is described as "protean."
Many terms have survived the crazy worlds of mythology, some more common than others. Still, they're worth hearing about, even if, like Cassandra, they crop up only once in a lifetime.
Reach Glynn Moore at (706) 823-3419 or glynn.moore@augustachronicle.com.
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