What’s in a name? Apart from letters and the occasional punctuation, there’s apparently a whole bunch of stuff. Like History; Pride; Syllables, which coincidentally are the names of three troubled youths teased by their peers since KinderCare. Despite what that guy in the bar says about Jim Morrison, names are the doors to perception, a mental index, if you will, of all encounters with the animate and inanimate. Everything has a name; everything except for that line of dirt that always seems to elude the dust pan when sweeping. Your Mountain Times staff has been called many names, and to that, we gratefully say, “That restraining order is still in effect. You know who you are.” Here are some other things we have to say:

Caroline Monday: “My name is Caroline Monday, like the day.”

I have realized from a young age that my last name, Monday, is an unusual name. With a name like Monday comes a whole slew of experiences that people with last names like Smith and Jones never have.

Not to worry, Miss Monday. Sgt. Joe Friday can sympathize, while remaining stoically apathetic.

For one, everyone has a joke about Monday. Yes, I do have a case of the Mondays. If today were Sunday, it would in fact be appropriate to call me Caroline Tomorrow. I have no idea where Caroline Tuesday is. For some reason she is not listed in the International People With Day Of The Week Last Names Directory, so please stop asking me.

Also, despite the fact that most people learned to spell my name in kindergarten, they almost never spell it correctly on the first try. I’ve gotten Mondae, Munday, Mundi and Mondey. I have to point out that it is spelled like it sounds.

I guess they just have a hard time believing that my name is actually a day of the week. It has become habit to introduce myself by saying, “Hi, my name is Caroline Monday, like the day.”

On the whole, I like having an unusual last name, even if I have to listen to people make jokes about it over and over again. Just be careful next time you’re tempted to talk about how much you hate the first day of the work week. Mondays are people, too.

Steve Behr: Guess.

 

Nikolay Ivanovich Behr, possibly some relation and Steve’s Halloween costume of choice.

With a surname like Behr, I’ve heard most of, if not all of, the lame jokes associated with the animal that normally resides in Jellystone National Park. If I haven’t heard every one of them, I’m not interested in hearing any more. And no, I am not part of the Behr family that owns the paint thinning and staining company. If I was, do you really think I’d be sitting in my cubicle like Dilbert hacking out four or five stories every other day for pennies on the dollar?

So we’ll just skip over all of that, shall we? Behr actually has German roots, and the family came to American some time in the 19th century. What throws people about me is that I’m actually 50 percent Irish, which comes from my mother’s side.

I’ve Googled myself (and so have most of you, admit it) and there is an Ira Steve Behr, who apparently is a script writer, and there’s an artist named Steve Behr. There’s also a motorcyclist named Steve Behr riding around somewhere in America. My guess is that if we’ve met, I’m the only Steve Behr you know, for better or worse.

Melanie Davis: The Star of Davis

I have an unusual middle name, Star, spelled just like the stars in the sky. My mother told me she thought it was pretty and had initially intended for me to be called by my middle name. Now, she and a select number of friends are the only people who know me by that name.

In searching for a baby name, do as the stars do – look into a bowl of fruit. Banana has a nice ring to it.

Of course, as a child, my bedroom was done completely in stars and moons, and all of my clothing had a star on it somewhere. Throughout high school, I became interested in astrology and astronomy.

Gradually, however, I have lost interest. I realized horoscopes hold no real meaning for me. I still enjoy identifying constellations, but without the zeal previously known. The name itself has been dropped in favor of my first name. Now my friends know me as Mel, which is more comfortable for introductions than Star. Although, I do answer to Mellie or Mel Bell on occasion. No real reason other than a rhyme for the latter, but it seems to pop up every now and then from different people.

I only recently researched my surname. I found out it is of Scottish decent, associated with the Davisboro clan. I am not much for genealogy. I have not researched my ancestors. At this point, I see myself as an American, or mixed breed of multiple cultures over a few hundred years. Finding out that a relative 600 years ago was a farmer in Scotland holds little interest for me. I am more interested in what my ancestors of three generations ago did on that same little central farm or in the southern coalfields of West Virginia. That is a piece of my heritage.

Frank Ruggiero: There is no Frank Ruggerio.

People have trouble pronouncing my name. Every time, I have to go through the same motions, slowly spelling it out, “F-R-A-N-K.”

People even mispronounce Benjamin “Lefty Guns” Ruggiero’s name. Those mooks.

And then we get to my last name.

“Rugg… Ruggerr… Rugga-ree-roh?” the questioning party will ask, sounding considerably like Scooby Doo trying to rent a Rug Doctor. After ruminating a moment about steam-cleaners for rent at grocery stores, I naturally correct the person. “Roo-jair-oh,” I’ll say.

“Roo-jair-eeoh?” they’ll reply.

“No. Roo-jair-oh. Arrow, not eeoh,” I correct, all the while wondering how I’d spell this out were I to ever write something about it.

“Oh,” they say, promptly deciding never to bring it up again, putting me on a first-name basis whether I like it or not.

I don’t so much mind being on a first-name basis with newfound acquaintances, since it’s informal, friendly and essential in forging new friendships. It banishes pretense to the land of pomp and snooty circumstance. And let’s face it. When your name ends in a vowel, mispronunciation runs rampant. But I won’t deny that the often used “Roo-jair-eeoh,” also misspelled “Ruggerio,” bothers me like Yoko Ono performance art.

Having what most consider an uncommon name in the United States has its advantages. It’s distinctive, with exotic Mediterranean origins. There was apparently a King Ruggiero at some point in history, though “King” may have been his first name. Other notable Ruggieros include Benjamin “Lefty Guns” Ruggiero of Bonanno crime family and “Donnie Brasco” fame and a multitude of other Frank Ruggieros, like Deputy Assistant Secretary for Defense Trade Frank Ruggiero, Pennsylvanian attorney Frank Ruggiero, New Jersey antique dealer Frank Ruggiero and a disturbing number of late Frank Ruggieros. All upstanding gentlemen, I’m sure. And that’s right, I Googled myself.

Despite our different professions, I’m sure we all share – or shared, in a disturbing number of cases – the Ruggerio Curse.