Fun With Names! Adult Warning!!

Adult warning! This essay contains many words… words are the essential stuffing of this essay. Without them the page would look like an Arctic hare in a snowstorm. They are lined up in magical ways to tell stories. If you are offended by words like: wiener, drool, tugai, hoe and B.S. - suck it up or stop here; I did not write this for wimpy adults! If, on the other hand, you are a kid, or you just enjoy a good chuckle, read on.

People are often referred to by some name other than the ones bestowed by their parents at birth. This practice seems to be universal. I believe these names serve a useful social purpose as long as they are not pointed, cruel or abusive. No one who wears glasses deserves to be called Four Eyes without their permission. No one with a limp wants to be pointed out as Step and a Half, unless of course they start the practice. Few people want to be called Fatty; a name that thankfully, I was never called. Fat Head, yes. Stretch, yes. Fatty, never.

The word ‘nickname’ was originally coined for names that had been ‘nicked’ or cut short. Herb instead of Herbert. Now we have expanded the meaning to include all ‘other’ names. Bud, Pops, Toots, High Pockets, or Late for Supper. This might be a good paragraph to have at or very near the start of the essay.

One poor chap I worked with was known as Wiener in his school days/cruel days. He told me about one summer evening when he was 40 years old. A knock came on the front door and Leon’s wife went to answer. “Is Wiener here, we went to school together?”

“Who?” Slack jawed, she looked over at Leon who was getting up off the couch. “Your nickname was Wiener?”

They divorced. They really did.

In Teslin, Yukon years ago, the local RCMP Constable was known as Shiny Bob. The court stenographer found it amusing when the accused would whine to the Judge, “I was not doing nothing when that Shiny Bob caught me, your Honour.”

In other circumstances, hearing our nickname can be familiar and endearing, indicating a special relationship. My name with the Grandkids is Sampa. I love it! Even when I hear it a thousand times a day. “Sampa, let’s play ‘Talent Show’”, “Sampa, I want to go climb trees.” “Sampa, where is Granny?” “Granny, where is Sampa?”

Albert Faille, the famous Northerner was forever heading up the Nahanni into Headless Valley in search of the Lost McLeod gold mine. He was called Red Pants because one long winter, alone in the bush, he sewed new trousers for himself out of a red Hudson Bay point blanket.

Political junkies out there will have heard of Dief the Chief, and Iron Lady Thatcher Not all, I think many people under about 30 might not have, , but only a few people have met Raymond ‘Ucky’ McEachern. I met Ucky in grade one and later figured out that he was named for his favourite word that started with F and was placed between all the other words in his vocabulary. It was quite an impressive talent and I spent a lot of time trying to get the cadence right, before I decided it was a dangerous sport as far as Mom and Pops were concerned.

The beloved Treasurer I worked with in Gift Lake Metis Settlement was fond of saying no to money requests. He had a pair of glasses with an ‘N’ on one lens and an ‘O’ printed on the other. If you made a request he just put on his glasses. Council called him Short Arms Deep Pockets. I am happy to report we were able to balance the budget.

Humour in naming is paramount. In High Level the Dene-Tha hockey team called themselves the Wagon Burners. In Gift Lake, the team was called the Metis Ducks.

I used to hang around a dude ranch branded Rafter 6 near Canmore, Alberta. The horse wranglers were Bart, Dusty, Pete, and Shorty. One day Shorty’s Mom called from Saskatchewan, “May I please speak to Michael?”

“No one here by that name, Ma’am.”

“Well he works there with the horses, he has a little dog, a Chihuahua named Killer.”

“Oh, you mean Shorty. We never heard him called anything else!”

Nicknames can be useful to break the ice in otherwise stiff social settings. Would you feel more nervous meeting with Bank Manager, Charles Ballcock III, or with Old Chuckie down at the bank? ‘Course, if he is a micro-hearted, tightwad he might have acquired a different name, more in keeping with reality.

Our handles can be powerful both for good and evil. The kid going through life with ‘Born Loser’ tattooed on his forearm is getting repeated negative messages burned into his psyche. A surefire prescription for a life of losing.

In the 1920s in Wabasca, Alberta, one unilingual Cree speaker who had worked with the local fur trader would say his name was God Almighty William. This was because the factor was forever exclaiming, “God Almighty, William, what have you done now?” Was that a powerful name or what? The same thing happened in Canmore 70 years later where the precocious three year old of a friend of mine introduced himself as Jesus Jeff, to the mortification of his often exasperated Mother.

Johnny Cash sang the Shel Silverstein classic, The Boy Named Sue, about a dead beat Dad who horribly misnamed his son.

“Well, he must o' thought that is quite a joke And it got a lot of laughs from a' lot of folk, It seems I had to fight my whole life through. Some gal would giggle and I'd get red And some guy'd laugh and I'd bust his head, I tell ya, life ain't easy for a boy named Sue.”

The son began a murderous hunt for the ‘dirty, mangy dog’ that named him.

But in the gun fighting showdown at the end of the ballad, his Dad said he should thank him,

"Son, this world is rough And if a man's gonna make it, he's gotta be tough And I knew I wouldn't be there to help ya along. So I gave ya that name and I said goodbye I knew you'd have to get tough or die And it's the name that helped to make you strong." He said: "Now you just fought one hell of a fight And I know you hate me, and you got the right To kill me now, and I wouldn't blame you if you do. But ya ought to thank me, before I die, For the gravel in ya guts and the spit in ya eye Cause I'm the son-of-a-bitch that named you "Sue.'"

The bestowal of a grand name may elevate a person and change their lives. This happens with University degrees where Bob Proctor may suddenly become Doctor Digit …I mean Proctor, (Digit was his mother’s name), or when the guy down the street gets elected and becomes Councillor Pfister, a decided step up from Mister Pfister.

New names can endow a feeling of belonging or acceptance. People want to be named into the Tribe; to get their Indian name. When the movie Dances with Wolves came out it highlighted this process. Kevin Costner became Dances with Wolves after his lone performance with a wolf while Graham Green, an Oneida Actor playing a Sioux warrior, was watching, unobserved, in the distance. Actress Tantoo Cardinal who hails all the way from Fort McMurray, Alberta, played Stands with a Fist, who had been kidnapped at an early age, yet retained her spunk. The office staff in Peavine Metis Settlement began coming up with names after watching the movie. Three young women trying to hitch a ride to town on a miserably cold day called themselves: Stands in the Ditch, Mary Frozen to the Railing and Hopping and Flapping Woman.

On the CBC radio show, Dead Dog Café Comedy Hour, Tom King, Jasper Friendly Bear and Grace Heavy Hand had a wheel to spin that would assemble a good Indian name. It might be Doris Waddling Deer, or Bobby Two Running Ravens, but they were always good ones. Of course, to be named in a serious Aboriginal ceremony with the bestowal of a new name, sometimes in the original language, is an honour that signals great respect.

I want to retell a story I heard somewhere, but first a bit of background about penises. Well, at least a bit on the Cree language. Tomson Highway, Cree playwright, author and musician, has said that, while “English is the language of the head and French is the language of the heart, Cree is the language of the genitals.” It’s what makes Cree so funny and what makes the native speakers go around with a big smile; the language is always providing opportunities for a laugh. It’s how stand-up Cree comedian Don Burnstick got so hilarious. If you haven’t listened to Don Burnstick, look him up By the time this is published youtube will have been replaced by some other technology; don’t date yourself too much. Likewise the term LOL below. and get ready to hear the audience pay back their comedy hero with the biggest laughs imaginable.

Back to the story.

In Cree, the word for penis is tugai. So imagine you are my friend Bill McElhanney addressing a roomful of Metis in Edmonton on legal matters. He has given each of them a binder with nine dividers labelled with little tags marked ‘A’ through ‘I’. After they have worked through the tags up to ‘H’ in the binder, Bill announces that he wants everyone to look at Tag ‘I’. He is greeted with howls of sustained laughter and is mystified until someone explains that he asked people to look at his penis. Hmmm. See how this works?

I heard the next story somewhere I do not recall, so apologies to whoever it was who went through his adult life with this handle. The lad was always asking his grandfather to give him a good Cree name. One day Mushom said he had one. The boy was named See-seep-os-kee-sik. That was ok. See-seep means duck and os-kee-sik means eye. The boy did not realize what sly/dry humour his grandfather had embedded in the name until he was asked by an English speaker what his Aboriginal name was. He said See-seep-os-kee-sik. When he was asked what it meant he said, “I am called Duck Eye.”

All his Cree companions laughed their bellies off, and he suddenly understood how Mushom had given a gift in the name. In English, his name sounded like tugai or penis. An unexpected gift of humour.

Another story on this line is to do with Ed Shaw who just passed away a couple of months back Relevant? I like how it reflects your informal story telling style and familiarity with the guy, but is that information useful to the story? . Ed was the Utility Operator who dealt with the water and sewer lines in Gift Lake. One day I called a meeting with the thirty Settlement staff and we discussed safe work practices. The hazards of excavating came up. In order to safely expose the deeply buried water lines it was wise to get a big excavator. The use of a rubber tired backhoe would result in too narrow an excavation, which could slough in and bury a worker. It was at this serious juncture that Edward made the memorable statement, “Oh boy, if I didn’t have a hoe big enough, I wouldn’t even start the job.” There was a huge yelping giggle from Cindy at the back and the entire room erupted into five minutes of unstoppable, tear-streaming laughter. Finally Edward looked around and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t even know what I said that was so funny.”

That caused another round of panic. No one ever forgot the safety lesson that day.

Cindy was the one who always wore the biggest grin. A real comic. On another occasion, it was disaster training day, again with all the staff. “Ok,” I said, “here is the scenario. We have an ice storm going on and three elders are stranded in their homes without power and they have no wood for their stoves and no water ‘cause the water truck has slipped off the road into the ditch. We have to get them and take them to the Community Hall which has been set up as an emergency shelter. What do we do?”

Cindy was waving her arm wildly at the back, grin a-blazing.

“Ok, Cindy, what would you do?”

“I’d go over to the hockey rink and I’d start up the Zamboni and I’d drive over all that ice and pick up the elders.”

Apparently that is the right answer, at least if you want to liven up the meeting.

My Mom was a Day Care Consultant to many Aboriginal communities. She was often called Kookum which is a Cree word for grandmother, or perhaps more specifically, an older female of importance in one’s life. On eastern Alberta reserves where she helped set up day care centers, she was called, to her delight, Many Wise Words. When she was presented with a handmade doll with the same name, she never stopped smiling when it was in her hands. The baby sized beauty had black braids and was dressed in a beaded headband, a white doeskin dress and tiny beaded moccasins.

My dad, Pops, was referred to as Yaak’hi in the Dene language of the North. Not surprising for a Reverend. It means ’beyond the sky’. He said it sounded like someone who talked a lot. In 1977 the Siksika named him Old Sun in a formal Blackfoot naming ceremony. At the end of the ceremony Pops was suddenly shoved from behind. A ‘push’ into his new life with the powers of the new name which refers back to Chief Sun Old Man who died in 1897, 21 years before Pops was born. The name in Blackfoot - Na To Sa Pi - means ‘to gain insight’. Pops’ baptismal name was Benjamin Stanley Hall and he was careful to sign Rev’d Ben S Hall instead of Rev’d BS Hall. Which sounds like one who talks too much.

My younger brother Andrew Hall has had some difficulty hanging onto his real name. He was like a bug when he crawled around as an infant, so he was affectionately known as Andy Pandabug by Mom and that ended up becoming Bugs in the mouths of his siblings. When he started school he was able to resurrect his real name. Later, at the sheet metal shop where we worked after University classes, he was named Drew which very soon, oh so cleverly, morphed into Drool. Lovely.

Another worker at the factory was called Herb. I later found out he was no Herbert. It was a nickname for a guy who liked to smoke ‘herbs’ in the alley.

Many decades later, when my brother was a teacher, he was mortified when Administration produced a name plate for his desk which read ‘Mr. A. Hall’. It ended up at the back of the desk drawer, lest one of the students suddenly awaken to the possibilities. I managed to trade on my name recently by suggesting that I would be the ‘S. Hall’ of the group and ask the really dumb, maybe even mildly offensive questions that needed to be asked.

In my school days, we had a roly-poly Principal, Mr. Kudelik, who became Cuddles Kudelik. An occupational hazard apparently.

In 2006, I was chatting with Hereditary Chief Tom Happynook, (‘nooks’ on his email), now a BC Treaty Commissioner. How could you not feel good with a name like that? Tom’s whole bearing reflects an inner joy and contentment. His Huu-ay-aht name is Mexsis. I teasingly asked him if he ever got mistaken for a Mexican. He laughed and said that in Mexico people are always talking Spanish to him and are so surprised when he can’t understand. I also love that Tom’s son married a girl originally from Peavine Metis Settlement. What a small world, united by fun and laughter.

One of my nicknames was a joint effort between me and the Metis of Paddle Prairie where they love a joke as well as anyone. In Cree the word for white man is honky….just kidding, it’s moneyaw. I would be called moneyaw just like all the other palefaces in the same way we might use the word logger or RCMP. There was one memorable political crisis in Paddle Prairie in which I played a central role. I was appointed by the Minister to be the Chairman and sit between the warring factions for a few months. The community was split down the middle, so whatever I did, I was either a hero or a zero with someone. Years later I was speaking at a conference of Metis and I said, “I had so much fun in Paddle Prairie during the crisis in 1990 that I forgot my own name. I thought my name was Moneyaw.” I got a few laughs. Then I added, “and I thought my first name was Effen.” The whole room got that laugh and for the rest of the conference a couple of people took joy in calling out from the back, “Say there, Effen, I have a question.”

Jukes unwittingly gave me another nickname in Gift Lake Metis Settlement. His real name was Henry Ward. He was a short, skinny Metis with a big hat, a nose to match and an exceptionally loud voice. When he showed up in the Settlement Office I could hear his voice all the way at the back of the building. Jukes was pickled most of the time and Council had built him a special small shack to stay in when he was not gone to town.

Jukes was a member of the Bridge Crew which is a nick name for the people who slept under the bridge when they went to town to make sure the liquor store and the bars were still there. Jukes hitch hiked back and forth the 80 kilometers from Gift Lake to town and if you picked him up, he could be quite entertaining. He told me wild tales of golden fiddles, jigs and reels and hunting stories that always seemed to end with a disarmed hunter having to duel a mad bear with only a small knife. Most of the details got all mixed up, but I always had no problem hearing him over the noise of the tires rattling along the gravel road. Once in a while, Jukes would pull a fast one and refuse to get out of the truck when you got to town, unless you gave him five dollars. One time I bribed him out of the cab with an Oh Henry candy bar. I told him it had his name on it and Jukes was so tickled he was still grinning and waving when I took off.

So, just how does a drunken Bridge Crew member christen the Administrator in the community?

I was invited to a colleague’s wedding and I missed the part about it being a Cowboy themed wedding. All the men came in jeans, vests, cowboy boots, and pearl button shirts. Even the preacher was dressed in his go-to-the-rodeo clothes. I was the only one with a suit and tie. A real moneyaw. I was looking at the decorations before the ceremony began, when Jukes came in and saw me at the front. He recognised me, but in his befuddled state mistook me for the preacher. He marched up between the rows of chairs and said in his loud voice, “Reverend, I want to ask you a question.”

People looked over our way.

“What I want to know, Reverend, is why I’m not dead.”

People started to really listen.

“How come I don’t die? Other people…they don’t want to die...and they are dead. I am ready to die... but I don’t die. How come I don’t die? Tell me that, Reverend.”

I must say the question was intriguing. I answered as best I could about it not being his time to go yet. I said, “Jukes, the good Lord has something he wants you to do before you go and you have to figure out what that is.”

Jukes pulled at his nose for a minute, nodded vigorously, then turned round abruptly and walked away. He curled up on a chair at the back and was asleep within seconds.

Three smirking community women then took up the cause with obvious glee and came up to ask how the Reverend was. Teasing is an art form after all.

The name spread like wild fire in the juniper bushes. When I called the school the secretary took great delight in announcing over the PA system, “Gladys, The Reverend is calling on line two from the Settlement Office.”

When I showed up at Community meetings a flock of mischievously grinning women would head my way to loudly greet the Reverend and reinforce what Jukes’ had started. That was it. I was the Reverend from then on. And, yeah, I loved it.

Finally, here is a story that illustrates that the best of nicknames encapsulate the essence of the person. In Belize in the Caribbean, my beloved Jacqueline Explain who this is to the readers (or omit the reference since it is extraneous to the story– sorry Jacqueline!) and I met up with a well-built deckhand at the water taxi office, who swept an American hundred dollar bill from my hand in order to make change. I craned my neck to watch as the man ran from place to place; ever hopeful that he was not stealing my money. After five minutes, both correct change in Belizean dollars and two tickets for the water taxi appeared. Having established his veracity, we began a conversation where I learned that collecting hard-to-acquire American dollars was necessary to allow him to make periodic import/export runs to the United States.

I asked the man his name.

He looked pleased and said, “My name is Chester, but everyone calls me Stud.”

“Why do they call you Stud?”

Chester puffed up his chest and proudly announced, “I got 12 kids with six different women.”

“Chester, you are not a stud,” I challenged, “you are a heartbreaker!”

“No Man,” he shook his head, taking mock offense. “I am no heartbreaker!”

Then his mouth cracked open with all his white teeth showing, “I ….am a LOVER!”

D. Sam Hall

October 2015

With thanks to Jacqueline Cohoon and Kelly Franz for edits.