This is what Sheri Miller said: “Nobody knows that we sometimes spend up to 12 hours working on a single word.” She is a director of research for the college entrance test known as ACT. She was being interviewed in June by a reporter for The Associated Press. After a pause she added:

“But if my son was taking the test, I wouldn’t want that one word to be vague.”

WAS taking the test? Ms. Miller’s plain vanilla verb attracted the critical eye of John E. Schaefer of Oak Harbor, Wash. In a letter to the Seattle Times, he suggested gently that the dear lady do some research on the subjunctive mode. In a note to me he asks, “Has the subjunctive become obsolete?”

For anyone in the writing business, this is like asking a chef about salt. Opinions are strongly held. The subjunctive is a verb form often used to express something that is contingent, possible, hypothetical, or simply contrary to fact. We use the subjunctive all the time in such familiar phrases as, “If I were you, I’d go to bed.” The king in “Camelot” fell into the subjunctive of wish – he wished “he were in Scotland fishing tonight.”

Dedicated subjunctivists will insist passionately that the “were” should be preserved in every such instance. The trouble is, sometimes “was” just sounds better to some ears: “If I was in your fix, I’d send her flowers.” Or, “I wish I was 6 feet tall.” Or, “The situation in Iraq might be very different if there was a strong leader prepared to replace Saddam.”

Right or wrong, the subjunctive plainly is a topic dear to the heart of our correspondent. How is one to reply? One hesitates to speak unkindly of an affection so deeply felt, but ah, sir, the subjunctive mode is a dead duck. Well, almost a dead duck. As far back as 1926 in “Fowler’s Modern English Usage,” the Venerable Fowler pronounced it moribund. Except in a few easily specified uses, he said, the subjunctive mode is dying.

Vestiges of the subjunctive remain. Go away! Manners be hanged! God save the Republic from the Democrats! The verb form also survives in hypothetical constructions: If wishes were horses, then beggars could ride. Professional grammarians identify such exotic fowls as the mandative subjunctive, the optative subjunctive, the formulaic subjunctive, and the present and past subjunctives. The only one that still matters significantly is the subjunctive of wish, imagination, demand or proposal: “I wish I were in Pocatello, now that summer’s here.”

Reader Schaefer is not alone in his concern for the vanishing subjunctive. Gayle Lockwood of Salem, Ore., asks about these examples: “If she was (were) older, she could attend the concert.” Or, “If she were (was) older, would she attend the concert?” Rebecca Kilpatrick writes to say that she has been bothered for weeks by “I felt as though I was (were) falling asleep.”

In each instance, “were” is the better choice, but be not discomfited. No one will call the language police if you decide on “was” instead.

Alfred Fippinger of West Palm Beach, Fla., writes to express a similar concern. He laments the decline of the distinction between “shall” and “will.” Here, too, the old ways are going to the bow-wows. It used to be that for the expression of simple futurity, “shall” was the auxiliary of choice in the first person: “We shall have champagne tonight … I shall have a hangover tomorrow.”

The construction also appeared regularly in expressions of determination or permission. “I shall return,” said MacArthur as he left the Philippines. “Shall we dance?” asked Fred of Ginger.

One more vanishing dichotomy comes to mind. This is the difference between “can” and “may.” (A vanishing dichotomy is classified by the Department of the Interior as an endangered species.) It used to be that “can” expressed physical or mental ability, and “may” expressed permission or authorization. Now Bryan Garner, who promises to become America’s successor to Britain’s Fowler, says that “a fussy insistence on using ‘may’ can give one’s writing a prissy tone.”

I believe the old distinctions – between were and was, shall and will, and can and may – are worth some mild measures of preservation. They may not be essential to precise communication, but in formal writing they dress up our prose.

James Kilpatrick is a syndicated columnist.