June 2009

Hand Me the Mike

by Michael Heatherly

While formulating a proposal to change the name of this publication (see page 34), I found myself contemplating the concept of names. Names are so important that we honor them with capitalization and call them “proper nouns,” as if lowly non-name nouns are not merely inferior but somehow improper. In law, names are so important that we require a judicial procedure to change them. No matter how magnificent a nickname you might conjure for yourself, it is your “legal name” that appears on your driver’s license and paycheck.

As I child, I looked up Michael in a book of baby names and learned it literally means “one who resembles God.” This provided a welcome boost to my developing ego. Being a Catholic, I was already aware that Michael had been the archangel, the original gangsta’ in God’s heavenly army. Although I use Michael for grown-up professional purposes such as practicing law and editing magazines, as a child I was just plain Mike. Despite Michael’s sublime pedigree, Mike was just another guy. In fact, approximately 75 percent of the boys I grew up with were Mikes, which caused frequent confusion in the classroom and on the soccer field. Any time someone shouted “Mike,” six or seven of us would respond.

By the time I hit middle school — that minefield of insecurity and identity crises — I began toying with alternative spellings of my name hoping to better distinguish myself among Mikes. Myk was brashly simple, with the single, bold “y” replacing the flimsy “i” and final “e,” whose only purpose was to inform the reader, two letters after the fact, that the “i” was to be pronounced with a long rather than short vowel sound. Conversely, I thought, what about Mikke? While the second “k” was extraneous, the name had a dashing, northern European flair. Had I gone forward as Mikke I likely would have become an Olympic skier, or perhaps a Formula 1 racecar driver. In either case, I would at this moment be comfortably retired in Finland and well into my second chilled vodka of the evening, rather than wracking my brain for material to fill another Bar Beat.

Although I practiced signing Myk and Mikke for a day or two, I soon abandoned the idea of a nominal makeover, realizing it was not only superficial but an insult to my parents, who no doubt gave considerable thought to naming their child. Ha ha — sure, that’s why I gave it up. Actually, I left Myk and Mikke on the drawing board for the obvious reason that every human being who ever saw my name from that day forth would convulse in laughter either right in front of me (all my friends, all guys under the age of 30) or the moment I left the room (everyone else).

Really, I can’t complain about being named Michael/Mike, which is one of the more versatile given-name/nickname combinations. Mike is a rock-solid hanging-out-with-the-guys name. Who doesn’t want to have a beer and talk about sports with Mike? On the other hand, wouldn’t you feel confident taking professional advice from Michael in a suit and tie?

Meanwhile, thanks to its frequent use for debonair characters in various pulp novels and soap operas, Michael isn’t a bad name to have when introducing oneself around with an eye toward possible activities of a romantic nature, or so I’ve heard. Then again, there are times when I wish my parents had dispensed with practicality all together and named me something like Javier Bardem or Ricardo Montalbán. (I’m Spanish by descent, so it wouldn’t have been out of the question). The languid vowels and lilting consonants of names from the Romance languages are irresistible to those of us raised with the Germanic tongues. We have spent untold millions to watch An-ge-llliiina Jo-lllieee and Annn-to-ni-o Bannn-de-rrras cavort sexily on screen. Would we have paid to see the same scenes had the actors been named, say, Fritz and Gertrude, even if they had been equally easy on the eyes?

Of course, constructing a fantasy around a name makes even less sense than judging a book by its cover. Most likely, there are hordes of homely Javiers roaming the Spanish countryside dateless and lacking movie contracts. Exponentially more Angelinas are working the drive-through at Taco Bell than glamming it up at Cannes. Except for rappers and movie stars, few of us chose the names by which we are known, and we generally don’t waste much energy trying to live up or down to them. Still, there is something in a name. Even Mike and Michael can agree on that.

Bar News Editor Michael Heatherly practices in Bellingham. He can be reached at 360-312-5156 or barnewseditor@wsba.org.