You're saying these Long Island towns wrong — even the ones you think you know: ‘Butchered'
This will have you spit out your 'cawffee.'
It's a dead giveaway that someone isn't from Long Island if they bungle how to pronounce local communities – but it turns out even 516 and 631 lifers are doing it wrong.
Teams like the New York Islanders and Long Island Ducks even post videos of out-of-town players brutally mincing Wantagh, Patchogue and other Native-American names.
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6 The New York Islanders and Long Island Ducks post videos of out-of-town players brutally mincing Wantagh, Patchogue and other Native-American names.
Heather Khalifa for the NY Post
But you may not have to venture far to find folks messing up Massapequa and Ronkonkoma, which have been anglicized over the past few centuries. Their real pronunciations sound unrecognizable to the modern ear, according to former longtime Unkechaug Nation Chief Harry Wallace, an expert in Algonquian.
'Our language wasn't written in the sense of being translated into English or French — the sound is what they're trying to copy,' Wallace, based on on the island, told The Post.
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He compared how Algonquian is the root base of many different Native American languages, some of which were spoken on Long Island, much like the Romance languages, such as French, Spanish, and Italian, all of which stem from Latin.
However, during colonial times, much was lost in translation because the European settlers 'didn't know how to spell,' especially with hard consonants like the letter 'H,' which are vital to the Algonquian language, he added.
From there, readers would only see, but not hear, the real pronunciation. Ultimately, it turned into a telephone game that has been ongoing for a few hundred years.
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Wallace recognizes that there's no one official way to sound out some towns, such as Wantagh, which islanders say as 'wan-tah.'
And the local way of saying Patchogue as 'patch-hog' is pretty close to its origin, he said.
These, however, are some Native American-named local towns that even the most bona fide residents are getting wrong, according to Wallace.
Copiague
6 Algonquian is the root base of many different Native American languages, some of which were spoken on Long Island.
Copiague Chamber of Commerce / Facebook
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Townsfolk and the recorded voice on the Long Island Railroad alike sound out this Suffolk community as 'co-peg,' but really it should be pronounced closer to 'co-pi-ah-e' with a short 'I' and long 'E,' he explained.
'[Europeans] would elongate the A when they read it…and that's all they would hear after,' Wallace added of what translates loosely to grove or forest.
Massapequa
6 As with other Algonquin hard consonants, the real sound is 'Mass-a-peek' without the open vowels at the end.
Massapequa Park / Facebook
The town that has caught the eye of President Trump over as it fights to keep its Chiefs team logo in the face of a state ban on Native American mascots isn't straightforwardly pronounced 'Mass-a-pequa,' said Wallace, who opposes the school using the name.
As with other Algonquin hard consonants, the real sound is 'Mass-a-peek' without the open vowels at the end, he added, explaining that it means place of great water.
Cutchogue
6 While it's spoken today as 'cutch-hog,' Wallace said the real way is 'cutch-e-hoki,' spelled as 'kecheahki.'
Alamy Stock Photo
Unlike Patchogue, residents aren't remotely close to getting the pronunciation of the quiet North Fork escape spot on.
While it's spoken today as 'cutch-hog,' Wallace said the real way is 'cutch-e-hoki,' spelled as 'kecheahki.'
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In the same vein as Massapequa, it translates to mean great place.
Setauket
6 Wallace says it as 'Se-tau-ah-ki' and added its definition is place of streams, something the north shore enclave by the Long Island Sound is known for.
Alamy Stock Photo
Similar to Cutchogue, Setauket, spoken like Secaucus in New Jersey, is a world apart from its perceived pronunciation.
Wallace says it as 'Se-tau-ah-ki' and added its definition is place of streams, something the north shore enclave by the Long Island Sound is known for.
Ronkonkoma
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6 Its prototypical 'Ron-cahnk-ama' pronunciation — which Neil Patrick Harris projected on the LIRR 2 a.m. drunk train in a sitcom — should be 'Ronkon-koman.'
James Messerschmidt
That's right, Long Island's showstopper that's been a punchline on 'How I Met Your Mother' and an Artie Lange monologue on an insufferable Yankees fan 'has been butchered,' Wallace said.
Its prototypical 'Ron-cahnk-ama' pronunciation — which Neil Patrick Harris projected on the LIRR 2 a.m. drunk train in the sitcom — should be 'Ronkon-koman,' he explained.
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The town name derives from its kettle lake, formed by the glacier that carved North America, which was sacred to its native population.
One translation for Ronkonkoma is 'deep cavern place' in reference to the lake, which is tied to urban legends of hauntings and drownings attributed to a Native American-related curse — a story Wallace has explicitly called bunk on.
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The Hidden Dark Side Of Gifted Programs Revealed
I don't remember precisely when I first heard the word 'gifted,' but it must have been in early elementary school. I do remember being pulled out of my first-grade class and led to the fifth-grade classroom, where a teacher told me to choose a chapter book that was 'more at my level.' I appreciated the chance to choose from all sorts of new books, but it marked an early example of what would eventually be both a privilege and a curse: my foray into being 'set apart' academically from my fellow classmates. By the time I reached middle school, the gifted and talented program in my district had taken wing. The timing makes sense: In 1998, many American schools were provided with official K-12 standards for so-called 'gifted education' by the National Association of Gifted Children. While the NAGC first promoted advanced academic programming in the 1950s, its work in the late '80s and '90s represented a more structured approach to educating students who were found to be gifted. 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Alongside a handful of personal issues, my sudden sense of academic invisibility had triggered a crisis. My path felt unclear. Wasn't I supposed to get to college, breeze through with perfect grades, and immediately jump into an impressive career? When graduation rolled around, I got a dose of validation by heading off on a Fulbright teaching grant to Malaysia, but my life beyond that looked so blurry. It took a long time to admit that I didn't want to go to grad school, which felt shameful. Without academic validation or 'high achievement' on the table, would I be untethered forever? In the decade since, I've drawn connections between my most plaguing anxieties and my early education. It's taken practice to feel more comfortable with accepting professional criticism or admitting when I'm not sure how to do something at work. I see how my G/T years merged self-worth with accolades and grades, and I feel sad for the younger version of myself — along with other 'formerly gifted' peers — who internalized so many false measures of success. At times, adulthood feels like an ongoing battle to remind myself that I'm a valuable, worthy person, regardless of outward achievements. I'm not alone: In recent years, the 'formerly gifted kid' trope has become something of a meme, with TikTokers cracking dark jokes about their lingering sense of anxiety, perfectionism and perceived failure to live up to parents' and teachers' expectations. It's funny because it's true. Data shows that while gifted programs can result in better long-term academic outcomes and college success for some students, these benefits still reflect inequities. A 2021 study by Grissom and Redding found that small associations existed between participation in gifted programming and long-term achievement in math and reading, but there was no evidence to support a correlation between gifted kids and their general engagement with school. Most glaringly, even these small positive associations were skewed toward higher-income white pupils, with low-income or Black gifted students excluded from long-term academic gains. What's more, this research doesn't begin to explore gifted education's extended impact on social and emotional development for all participants. I don't regret my time as a gifted kid, but I do wish G/T had offered more care for students' mental health and more inclusivity for children who didn't fit the program's relatively narrow mold of exceptionalism. I wish I could unlearn the idea that outward praise equals true success, and measure excellence in the form of learning for learning's sake. Above all, I wish we'd had an environment where every single student was reminded how smart and talented they were, and given the tools to explore their gifts — no matter what form they took.
