What’s My Name?

This article is written by my husband/guest blogger-

Do you ever think about the meaning of your name?  Could your name affect the way you think of yourself or others think of you?  Corporations spend millions thinking up product names using only syllables with positive associations, like “Lexus,” “Acura,” and “Escalade.”  Navajos have three names: a formal name, a secret name, and a public nickname based on their weakness or flaw, such as “Farts,” for a flatulent person. Just to keep everybody humble.  Mary and I spent one summer on the Navajo reservation at Black Mesa, Arizona, doing archaeology.  The Navajo women and children excavated and screened the dirt and the archaeologists took notes.  My nickname was “Bug,” as in “Hey, Bug” with explosive emphasis on the “b” and “g” sounds.  I guess it sounds like Doug – but you should also know that I am below average in height (and many other things).  Thank you, Navajos for reminding me of my insignificance.    

Although family names are a historical accident, first and middle names represent something entirely different; often, the hopes and dreams and even the fantasies, of our parents.  Names do have powerful meanings, in history and even in their sound.  And we’re stuck with them, just like we’re stuck with all of our other talents and gifts.  So—what’s my name?

My first and middle names (Douglas and Malcolm) are Scottish in origin.  I can’t think why, as we’re only a little bit Scottish (a McCloud or two, but not much else). In Scots, Douglas is pronounced “Doobgloss” meaning dark or black (dubh) water (glas).  “Glas” can also mean gray (hence, the black and gray Douglas tartan) or shining, as in “black shining.”  The Douglas’ were such a powerful Scots family that the Royal Stuarts murdered a bunch of them.  Despite this, they continued to play a central role in Scots history.

The dreaded middle name of my youth, Malcolm, is religious.  In Scots, it is pronounced “Mile khai-loomb,” meaning disciple, devotee, or follower of St. Columba. Columba (or Khailoomb Kheel, Dove of the Church [Columba is “dove” in Latin]) came from Ireland in 563, established a monastery on the tiny island of Iona, and spread Christianity to most of Scotland.  

On a recent trip to Scotland, Mary and I boarded a ferry; traveled overland along single-lane roads in a giant, wobbling bus; then sailed on a smaller ferry across a black shining water from the Ross of Mull to St. Columba’s island.  The 12th Century stone Abbey built to replace Columba’s wooden one has been restored and is in active use.  There is a cemetery near the abbey with the graves of 48 Scots, 8 Norwegian, and 4 Irish kings, including King Malcolm I (Malcolm the Dangerous Red), who had a son named Dubh, and other King Malcolms.  

I don’t know how having a name like Douglas Malcolm could influence me in any way, because Clan Douglas and St. Columba were not in my cultural lexicon before my recent trip, or that of my parents.  If I had a name like “John” or “Joseph” we’d all have known where that came from.  So how did they come up with my name?  My social science training may help here.  I checked the “Baby Names World” web site and found that the name Douglas ranked #75 in popularity between 1940 and 1950.  The name peaked in 1940-1960, then declined from there.  (Malcolm never broke 200).  

A quick check on the Internet movie database shows that the acting career and popularity of Douglas Fairbanks Junior follows a suspiciously similar pattern to the popularity of the name Douglas.  One wonders… and Douglas Fairbanks Senior was a swashbuckling American silent movie star and Junior was an actor, producer, businessman, and war hero who was knighted by Queen Elizabeth II in 1949.  

But there’s another theory—I was going through boxes of my Father’s things recently and came across a metal plaque for the Douglas Aircraft Company.  Like many good farm boys, my Dad was an airplane mechanic during World War II and trained at the Douglas factory in Santa Monica. Maybe the name stuck in his mind. My parents say they just liked the name.

But if the names Douglas and Malcolm have no meaning to this American boy, how do they sound? Well, when you pull it apart, Douglas sounds “duh” + “ug” + “less,” not very positive phonemes.  Malcolm?  The root “mal” means bad and there is little else to say.  So there you have it—“Stupid-ugly or unappetizing-diminished Bad Davy.”   

What were my parents thinking? Were they being Navajos—enforcing humility and protecting their son from egotism (not a bad goal)?  Whatever weaknesses or failings my parents had, they loved, supported, and doted on their children.  The only thing they knew about me when I was born, was that I was a male and blond and had a big head. They would not consciously have erred in something so vital as naming.  So, they must just have gotten romantic notions when naming me, as many parents do.  Had they recently read Sir Walter Scott or seen “Brigadoon?” Probably not.

It must have been something else, and now I think I know.  Each of my three names has two syllables, and each of these has an emphasis on the first syllable (Douglas, Malcolm, Davy/Dá-duh, dá-duh, dá-duh).  It’s got rhythm!  Come to think of it, Douglas Fairbanks Junior has exactly the same rhythm. And so does Douglas Aircraft.  And so does almost every other name in my family.

OK – If I have the choice and can be “Stupid-ugly-diminished-bad” Davy and “Shines a light in the darkness-student of peace” Davy, I know which road to take.

What’s your name?

-Doug --June 9, 2008 (St. Columba’s Day)

Have an interesting story about your name?  Send it to me and I'll publish it on my blog.  - Mary