Names

by

Gerry Greenberg

“Hello, jer-ALD, good to see you.” At first I attributed the mispronunciation of my name to the fact that my doctor (better known these days as a “primary care physician”) is a native of the Philippines, but her English is impeccable and she’s been in the U.S. for many years. No, upon reflection, here in 2015, there are probably as many people who do not get my name right as there are those who do. To strangers, I am Garold or Gary as often as I am Gerald or Gerry/Jerry. Maybe the problem is generational. I heard radio sports talk host Colin Cowherd a few weeks back deriding the opinion of one emailer who was arguing that baseball was still the national pastime: “Hey, this has got to be an old white guy. His name is Stan. Who’s named Stan today? Nowadays kids are named Caden or Craven or something, right? Not Stan. Nobody names their kid Stan anymore.” So it dawned on me that the same must be true for Gerald or Gerry. I must have outlived my name.

After this realization, I decided to stop insisting on the correct pronunciation of my name. It would be futile to try to educate half the population, and what does it matter anyway, especially in informal, semi-anonymous settings. Who cares if the greeter at Bob Evans doesn’t know your real name? “Can I have your name while you’re waiting for a table?” “Gerry.” She writes down “Jerry.” My wife starts to tell her it’s Gerry with a “G.” “Let her write Jerry.” At least she heard of the name. With my last name, it’s just as difficult. If I say “Greenberg,” it’s more often than not written as “Greenburg.” When I was teaching high school, half the kids called me “Greensberg.” There was even one kid who called me “Iceberg” because I apparently reminded him of a pimp by that name in some pulp fiction novel. It was OK with me. IT had a cool connotation, and at least the kid was reading. No, it’s not worth the trouble. From now on, I’m Jerry Green to all greeters, car service desk personnel, and maitre d’s. It really makes no difference.

Of course, name trouble has a long history. There was an old Jewish immigrant who went by the name of Sean Ferguson. An acquaintance asked him one day how a Jew came by a name like that. The old gent told him that when he came through Ellis Island, he was asked his name a hundred times. After the 101st such query, he replied in Yiddish, “Shayn fergayson” (“I forgot already”). The official wrote down “Sean Ferguson” and the rest is history. In the classic sitcom “The Honeymooners,” the correct spelling of a name was called into question during a heated argument between Ralph (Jackie Gleason) and Alice (Audrey Meadows). Norton (Art Carney), calmly working out a crossword as the husband and wife went at it, asks them for a three-letter word for insect. Ralph yells, “nat!” “Yeah, that fits.” Norton pencils in “nat.” Alice demurs, “The word you’re looking for, Ed, is ant. Gnat is spelled with a G.” Ed: “Ant, yeah, that’s even better.” Ralph (irate): “PUT DOWN NAT!! PUT DOWN NAT!!!” Ed: “I got to go with Ralph on this one, Alice. A guy works with me in the sewer named Nat Birnbaum, and he don’t spell it with a G.” Ralph: “THERE YOU ARE, ALICE, NAT BIRNBAUM DOES NOT SPELL IT WITH A G!”

Maybe the most aggravating aspect of being Gerry Greenberg is the fact that I narrowly missed fame and fortune. My mother’s maiden name was Seinfeld. Had my mom not changed her name when she got married, I could have been Gerry Seinfeld. For that kind of good fortune, I would gladly tell folks, “Yes, it’s Jerry with a J. Definitely, with a J!”