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I have been thinking about nicknames and how we get them, and it is difficult to pin down exactly why some people end up with their particular monikers. Sometimes, the renaming is the direct result of a physical characteristic. As an example, I know a guy called Slim, and that handle describes him perfectly. How lean is he, you ask? He carries rocks in his pockets so he won’t blow away when the breeze is up. He has to move around in the shower to get wet. You get the point, and since those are the only two “slim” jokes I know, I’ll move on to another illustration. I once knew a man that everyone called Zombie. I never actually saw his birth certificate, but I am pretty certain that this was a nickname, because his parents weren’t the kind of people who would name someone Zombie. Anyway, he did indeed resemble one of the living dead, although I never knew him to attack anyone and try to eat them. Of course, I wasn’t with him day and night, so I can’t speak for those times we were apart. But in the case of both Slim and Zombie, it was easy to see how they got their new titles.

Every now and then, however, nicknames are the opposite of bodily attributes. I guess you could call these ironic epithets. For instance, I am acquainted with an additional Slim, and he’s not a bit petite. As the old timers used to say, he is big-boned, bordering on husky, the kind of gentleman who ought to have a nickname such as Moose or Big’un. But somewhere along the road he got tagged with Slim, and Slim he has remained. A cousin of mine has been dubbed Rabbit. As you are aware, real rabbits are furry, cute, and fast. Rabbit is none of these, and it would be anything but good luck if you tried to cut off one of his feet to put onto your key chain. So here we have two examples of people with non-intuitive identifiers.

Some folks land nicknames that don’t seem to be because of any readily apparent factor. One of my schoolmates was re-christened Termite, but I can vouch that he was not small, red, six-legged, or particularly fond of eating wood, although he did like to rest a toothpick on his lower lip, now that I think about it. His best friend was Squirrel, who did not climb trees, walk on power lines, or store away nuts for the winter. They liked to run around with Elvis (not the original one). Elvis did not have gyrating hips, did not drive a pink Cadillac, and couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. Nor did he begin to wear a leather cape as he got older. Or at least, not in public. I don’t know how these three obtained their tags, but they are all well into their fifties now, and they are still Elvis, Termite, and Squirrel.

Occasionally, people earn labels that are not complimentary, and even if you don’t know why they have them, you realize that at some point along the road of life, an unfortunate occurrence or unsavory act led to the new title. Take an individual with a nickname like Maggot. If you meet someone with this pet name, are you going to assume that his mama gave it to him as an expression of her love?

Dad:  We sure do have a cute baby.

Mom:  Let’s call him Maggot.

Dad:  What a wonderful idea!

No, you are not. You are going to suppose that the person has done something sort of maggot-y, and the nickname was the result. Other actual nicknames I have heard that fall into this category include Greasy, Buzzard, and Wormy. And, of course, I would be remiss if I did not mention the ubiquitous Booger.

Mafia nicknames are interesting. I have watched all of the Godfather movies twice—including Godfather III, which made me go temporarily blind—plus every single episode of the Sopranos, and based on this extensive research, I can tell you that Mafia nicknames derive from one of two sources. The first of these is unattractive physical traits, and wise guys nicknamed by this method end up with call signs like Fat Tony or Sally the Gimp. Sally, by the way, is a boy’s name in the Cosa Nostra. If I were a Mafioso, however, I would insist on a tougher name. Like Judy or Rochelle.  The second method of naming mobsters has to do with automotive repair. The mob life is not as lucrative as it used to be. There is a lot of competition in the underworld these days from newcomers in the Russian Mafia, the Chinese Mafia, and the Dixie Mafia, so many of the brethren have taken day jobs working in garages. Thus you encounter folks with names like Vinnie the Wrench, Louie the Mechanic, and Mikey the Transmission Specialist.

Nothing is worse than a nickname that someone has awarded themselves. You can usually spot one of these, because it is so complimentary. Thank goodness I never had to do this myself, because my own nickname—William Faulkner Atkins—has been satisfactory.  So let’s take an historical figure as a case in point of what can go wrong with this practice. Have you ever seen a photograph of Pretty Boy Floyd? He was actually a local boy from Adairsville, Georgia, so my tendency is to want to cut him some slack, but he wasn’t pretty, he wasn’t a boy, and his name was Charles. I have it on good authority that his real nickname was Skippy, but he thought that epithet lacked pizzazz, so he shot the folks who gave it to him and came up with one of his own. He then went on to lead a notorious life of crime before being brought to final justice by the FBI. But if he had not tried to augment his reputation by spiffing up his nickname, I think that J. Edgar Hoover might have left him alone, might have allowed him to just fade back into the hills of North Georgia. Why? Can you imagine the number one position on the FBI’s most-wanted list being filled by a guy called Skippy? It would be downright embarrassing.

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5 Responses to “What’s in a (Nick)name?”

1. Billy Howard says:

   July 8, 2009 at 3:25 pm

   Hilarious! Thanks for the laugh. Some of the people that beat me up in junior high school had nicknames. Of course, we only used them behind their backs. I’ll simply sign off with mine, Felon.
   Cheers.

   Reply
2. john schulz says:

   July 8, 2009 at 6:51 pm

   That is an excellent take on something I have wondered about.
   I’ll sign with my nickname
   john twain.

   Reply
3. Bob Lamb says:

   July 9, 2009 at 12:58 am

   Interesting story. Nicknames, their origins and usage, are overdue for serious study by cultural anthropologists, IMO. Legal given names, too, for that matter. Some colorful nicknames from my youth (in Augusta, Ga.) include Pep, short for Pepsodent. He had a mouthful of rotting teeth, but didn’t seem to mind at all his derogatory nickname . Another local character was called Snotty by one and all. Others I recall were Shorty, Snake, Doc, Cue-ball, the ubiquitous Bubba, and even (I swear it) a girl called Nookie.

   Reply
4. Terri Evans says:

   July 9, 2009 at 9:51 am

   Some parents are more sensitive than others when it comes to nicknames. My own, for instance, protected by brother from imagined future harassment. For his sake, I won’t tell you his name, but will tell you that his initials would have spelled APE. My dear, sensitive-to-her-children, mother realized this as she was filling out his birth certificate. The initial caps of each name screamed “don’t do it!” to her. She quickly changed the order and traded his would-be middle name for his first name. Thanks for reminding me of this, Raymond, and for the laughs.

   Reply
5. Bob Lamb says:

   July 9, 2009 at 10:28 am

   Growing up, I had a friend who was called by the initials of his given names: R.E. What R.E. stood for was then, and probably still is, a solemn secret; torture on the rack could not have made him tell his real name. In fact, his parents surely being gone by now, I may be the only person in Christendom, besides R.E., himself to know what the initials stand for. I found out in a wholly accidental way — and felt so sorry for him after I did that I went right on calling him simply R.E.

   Reply

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