2 May—If LitchfieldMonitor.com were published as a real newsprint rag in the flesh and had a real front page, the front-page news would be that last week the Connecticut House of Representatives, on a wildly non-partisan vote, decided that the lollipop would be Connecticut’s state candy. And the debate lasted only 10 minutes. Among other things, it proves that our elected representatives can agree on serious matters.

The lollipop legislation was part of H.B. 5498, which included other momentous sections, like naming a state pet. Mind you, it was thoughtfully humane of the state representatives to give that honor to shelter pets rather than lap dogs or pussy cats.

H.B. 5498 has been sent to the Senate for action before the CGA’s 4 May adjournment. I suspect the senators will treat lollipops as favorably as the representatives had done. And of course Ned Lamont, being a sweetie (especially to labor unions), will sign the legislation.

The lollipop bill was the project of a group of fourth-graders from Fairfield, who had come up with the idea last year, when they were merely—you guessed it—third-graders. Evidently they actually persevered and testified. And critics say public schools don’t encourage kids to do useful things.

Candy on a stick goes back to at least the Middle Ages. But, as the sweet-tooth kids reminded the pols, lollipops as we know them were probably invented by George Smith of New Haven, who started mounting hard candies on sticks in 1908. He named his creation after a racehorse, Lolly Pop, and trademarked the lollipop name in 1931.

The English term “lollipop” itself dates back at least to the late eighteenth century. It may have been derived from “lolly” and “pop,” (tongue and slap in Northern England). Or it may have come to us through the Romany (a.k.a. Gypsy) term for red candy apples on sticks, “loli phaba.” I’ll stick with English.

Sadly, last year, a bill designating pizza, the favorite food of the gods (and goddesses), as the official state food didn’t quite beat the clock in the Senate. Why wasn’t it raised this year? But maybe next year those Fairfield fifth-graders could do their thing . . .