During the late 19^th and early 20^th Centuries in places like Chicago, Las Vegas and New Orleans’s Storyville, it reigned supreme. Eric Powell, associate editor of Archaeology magazine, has described Storyville as a "rollicking 20-block area where prostitution flourished openly and [the] seductive sound called jazz was coming into its own." (To be sure, from the very beginning, there was always this marriage between music and fucking.). Women understood the appetites and longings of men, and satisfied them, sometimes with a melodic quality born of a musician, without any concern for feminist gibberish or protocol. They understood their equality was in direct proportion to the number of visits these men paid to their boudoirs. Sailors, traveling salesmen, and luminaries like P.T. Barnum and Babe Ruth often made their way to Storyville.

"Madams like Lulu White and "Countess" Willie V. Piazza became local celebrities, paying rent that lined the pockets of New Orleans' most respected businessmen and enriched institutions like Tulane University and the Archdiocese of New Orleans, neither of which shrank from owning property in the district," noted Powell. By some estimates these bordellos or brothels raked in one million dollars a month in profits.

"Connections to powerful clients that frequented their "sporting clubs" ensured Storyville’s madams a role in New Orleans politics," said Powell. This proved that contrary to some assertions, even then, fucking was no mindless, aimless or trivial occupation but rather an entrepreneurial strategy.

These women could even give the unglamorous man a leading role. Take the case of Ernest J. Bellocq. Historians describe him as a "hideous hydrocephalic who earned a modest living as a commercial photographer in New Orleans." Like Toulouse-Lautrec in France, he frequented brothels, although it is unclear whether he was able to partake in the physical delights. He did develop quite a collection of nude photographs, capturing the women in their many positions. One photo critic wrote that "Bellocq's portraits reveal a simple frankness and respect for his subjects that runs completely counter to pornography.

"They number among the finest works of photographic art this country has produced, and are the only true-to-life visual record of this extraordinary part of American history," the critic added. In 1970, the Museum of Modern Art in New York presented E. J. Bellocq’s works. And in 1996, Random House published "Bellocq: Photographs from Storyville, the Red-Light District of New Orleans." Which should be proof enough that fucking is traveling the path of most lost arts—captured in books, forgotten or discarded in real life.

THE more tangible evidence is last year’s ruling by the FCC’s Enforcement Bureau that sanctioned the use of the adjectival form of fucking over television and radio airwaves. The ruling came in response to complaints from individuals and organizations, most notably the Parents Television Council, that were enraged by entertainer Bono’s statement reportedly made during last year Golden Globe Awards that "this is really, really fucking brilliant." It’s unclear whether he was commenting on the event, on the fact that he was receiving an award, or was referring to himself and his performance as "brilliant."

None of this matters, of course, since the FCC decided that he had not broken any obscenity or profanity laws. The federal agency said Bono hadn’t described or depicted any sexual or excretory activities and organs. "The word ‘fucking’ may be crude and offensive," the enforcement bureau pointed out in its decision, "but, in the context presented here, did not describe sexual or excretory organs or activities. Rather, the performer used the word ‘fucking’ as an adjective or expletive to emphasize an exclamation. Indeed, in similar circumstances, we have found that offensive language used as an insult rather than as a description of sexual or excretory activity or organs is not within the scope of the Commission’s prohibition of indecent program content."

In other words, the bureau essentially said, "We’re fucking tired of these do-gooder parents who don’t want their children to hear one fucking dirty word. They think a fucking word is the same as the fucking real thing, which any fucking moron knows it isn’t. And since no one did the real thing or showed the real thing, then all these complaints are a fucking waste of our time. End of story."

No doubt Free Speech proponents, First Amendment advocates, and perhaps even the suits at the enforcement bureau think the ruling was dazzling, especially the way the law was parsed. But everyone knows the adjective is a poor cousin to the noun and the verb. Therefore, there is nothing to be celebrated by the FCC’s decision. We should all lament this flagrant abuse of fucking, and its relegation to some minor status.

Who doubts that the adjective is superfluous? Think of that scene in "The English Patient," during which the Count (played by Ralph Fiennes) is introduced to Katharine (played by Kristin Scott Thomas), the married woman with whom he would eventually have a hot and lusty, love affair. Upon meeting him she praised his ‘monograph.’

"I wanted to meet the man who could write such a long paper with so few adjectives," she says. The Count replies: "A thing is still a thing, no matter what you place in front of it: big car, slow car...broken car; it’s still a car."

The verb, on the other hand, is critical, filled with action. Fucking is an unmistakably, marvelous verb. Babe Ruth probably could recall in vivid and colorful language those days and nights in Storyville. And P.T. Barnum's imagination exploded as he traveled across a seductive feminine terrain. The Count in the English Patient remembered even as he tried to forget those days when all his eyes could see was Katharine’s naked body, even when she was fully clothed, as his tongued longed for the feel of her nipples and his hands the varied textures between her thighs that brought him unspeakable pleasures. But the FCC has shifted the country’s focus. Who will remember fucking—breathless, sweaty and satisfying? Too many people will think of it in the days to come in association with some monologue in star-studded awards’ program that was forgotten almost as soon as it ended.

TO be fair, even before the federal ruling, fucking was beginning to lose its direction, going the way of the insignificant. American society and its culture had devalued the art and its practitioners. Moreover, things private and perhaps mysterious about the feminine physique and its ability to shatter a man’s sense of balance and interior location with a slight brush or glance were broadcast over television and radio and published in newspapers. Tampax, bras, nylons, garters, and even feminine odors were the stuff of commercials and advertisement. John McWhorter, a linguist and fellow at the Manhattan Institute, argued in a Washington Post article published December 2003 that certain permissiveness began to invade the country around 1964. Once characters on television or in movies wouldn’t utter the word "damn" or "hell" or couldn’t even say the word pregnant—a woman was expecting.

"At least the Victorians' vocabulary taboos reflected mores that permeated society. Theirs was a world in which an author of a slang dictionary would have had trouble finding a publisher, people sequestered themselves under reams of fabric, illegitimate birth was a scandal, and sex was never spoken of in "polite society," McWhorter said.

This of course was the perception. But Victorian women understood the power of nuanced naughtiness and effectively used it as the prelude to fucking. Unlike women today, they didn’t don garish clothes or flaunt their exposed bodies, pierced and studded with gaudy rings and pins. As a result, men proved eager to discover what was buried under those reams of fabric. In fact, the exploration was crucial to the ultimate satisfaction. In other words, knowing too much dispelled the magic and neutered the moment.

But McWhorter is right that there have been changes. Groups like the national Organization of Women have entrapped the female body in pants suits, unisex shoes and other decidedly masculine attire. Unfortunately, there is HIV/AIDS. And business leaders intent on creating environments appropriate to their clients have invaded red-light districts like a third nuclear attack. Further, casual street language has taken residence in legitimate Standard English Dictionaries, skewing the notion of "standard." There are no secrets or mysteries. And as things look, there will be no turning back. The FCC has seen to that. Or has it?

MICHAEL Powell, the commission’s chairman, isn’t enamored with his agency's handling of the matter. He wants to overrule the enforcement bureau. The Parents Television Council is mounting its own campaign to appeal. Both believe that, in fact, the use of such language is indecent, and that the ruling is yet another step on that slippery slope where American society finds itself, headed for the gutter. They are, of course, correct in this assertion.

Last week, Congress got in on the act. Two representatives have introduced legislation that would increase by one hundred percent fines imposed on broadcasters who use obscene or profane language over the air. Currently the maximum fine is $27,000.

"A number of these stations are repeat violators. It proves the point that the fine under today's law just isn't enough," Rep. Fred Upton, R-Michigan, chairman of the House telecommunications panel, told the Associated Press. Upton introduced the bill to increase the fines. It was co-sponsored by ouse Energy and Commerce Committee Chairman Billy Tauzin, R-Louisiana, and the panel's top Democrat, John Dingell of Michigan.

"The $27,000 maximum fine is a joke and everyone knows it," said Brent Bozell, president and founder of the Parents Television Council. "The FCC must get serious about revoking station licenses for those who refuse to abide by standards of indecency."

The legislation would increase fines to $275,000 per violation or up to $3 million for continuing violations. Which is not a bad thing, and is likely to receive support given the recent history of the House around issues such as this. And with President George W. Bush touting abstinence programs during his recent State of the Union address, who doesn’t believe the legislation will be signed if it gets to the White House and he’s still there.

It is time to rein in the sleaze factor of American culture, not the least of which is this frequent use of profanity and obscenity as an acceptable form of communication regardless of the audience. It marginalizes standard English and makes imbeciles of even the most educated who believes relying on it sculpts him or her into a fashionable member of today's hip crowd. It doesn't, of course. T

The original sin may not be the earlier FCC ruling that narrowed obscenity and profanity only to the actual display of organs and the act. Or the miniscule fines imposed for violators. In the long run, it is this parsing of the law—if it’s an adjective it’s fine. A verb is another thing. After all, what's so bad about fucking—the verb--anyway? It didn’t need Bono. It didn't want a life as a reincarnated. This romp into the boudoirs, brothels, bordellos, sporting clubs, and houses of ill repute is disgraceful and wholly indecent. And this subjugation of fucking to some sideline superfluous, background music existence in a B-rated Hollywood production, rather than a fully arranged jazz orchestration in C sharp, shouldn’t be tolerated—not one fucking bit. Take back the verb! Return fucking to its action-filled role. Call the FCC now!