Story - The News-Herald

Vol. 139 No. 6

Wednesday, Feb. 8, 2006

A Gloria by any other name
Georgia: On My Mind

By Georgia Green Stamper

My husband once had a boss who called everyone, “Bud.” It was his standard issue nickname for everybody, and avoided embarrassing situations in hallways when an employee’s name flew right out of his head. How one felt about being called Bud ranged from warm affection to mild irritation and tended to correlate to whether one was being promoted, given a raise, chastised or fired.
Shakespeare was of a similar mind when he insisted that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. But then I’m guessing that nobody ever called him Bud Shakespeare. Or Wilbur or Wilmer.
I, on the other hand, have been addressed as Gloria so often that I recently hunted up my birth certificate to double-check my Christian name. I began to worry that I really was named Gloria and have just gotten confused over the years.
The scenario goes something like this. I say, “Hello, I’m Georgia –” and the person I’m greeting responds, “So nice to meet you, Gloria.” Most of the time, I let it slide. It seems egocentric to insist that a stranger stop to repeat and memorize my correct name. But when I occasionally do exactly that, I usually make no headway.
“Georgia,” I say.
“You’re from Georgia, Gloria? Gloria, Georgia’s a great state.”
“No, not Gloria. Georgia.”
“Well, Gloria, perhaps you’re right. Georgia may not be glorious. You would know, being from there.”
They nod and look at me curiously, as though we’re engaged in that old Abbott and Costello routine about Who’s on First, and What’s on Second. As quickly as possible, they move away from me mumbling, “Catch you later, Gloria.” I resist the urge to call after them, “Look me up if you ever get to Georgia. Or to Gloryland.” But I don’t. Whatever my name is, I try to be nice.
Even people who think they know me often insist on calling me Gloria. When I was in college, the president of the student body never failed to smile and call me by name when we passed on campus. “Hi there, Gloria. How you doing?” Of course, I was flattered that such an important person knew who I was. Still, when I considered running for an at-large seat on his council, I didn’t know whether to campaign as Gloria or Georgia. I understand how Carter felt when he ran for president and asked to be listed on the ballot as Jimmy – no one knew who James Earl Carter Jr. was, he said.
I don’t have anything against Gloria, mind you. It’s a pretty name, and Gloria Vanderbilt and Gloria Swanson did fine with it. It’s just that Georgia was handed down to me by a legion of female ancestors and by my grandfather George. It’s a name shared with me in trust, for me to take care of, and pass along to another generation, and I’ve liked it because of that. I don’t even recall going through that teenage stage where I asked everyone to call me “Peppi with an i.”
Georgia, I suppose, is un-trendy, but I never thought it was bizarre. No, that would be “Apple” – the name Gwyneth Paltrow hung on her new baby girl – or something full of consonants and no vowels that’s unpronounceable in English.
Now that I’ve reached an age where familiar names vanish from my memory without a moment’s notice, however, I’m less bothered by being called Gloria. Heck, I’m just glad to be called anything at all most days. And wasn’t it Gertrude Stein who wrote that a rose is a rose is a rose is a rose? Maybe I’ll start calling everybody I meet – Rose Bud.

Editor’s note: Georgia Green Stamper will be reading commentary every other Monday on the University of Kentucky’s NPR station, WUKY, (91. 3 FM, wuky.org), at 8:35 a.m. and 5:45 p.m.

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