My (good) name has been stolen
When I was a boy, back in the 1950s, a teacher, Mrs. Delaney, stood over my shoulder as I sat at my desk printing my name on a school paper. She announced, “I see we have a new boy in class!” Needless to say, I was embarrassed.
My parents named me Richard. Professionally, I’ve always gone by Richard. But I’ve always called myself Dick. (I was Dickie until third grade). My friends call me Dick. Dick Robbins.
I always liked the name. It seemed smart and modern. It isn’t anymore. Dick is now mostly used as a pejorative, an obscenity.
How this came about I have no idea. Recently, things have gone from bad to intolerable. Now, when people ask my name, I don’t often say Dick. I’m embarrassed. It’s worse with anyone, say, under 40. I never tell them my name is Dick.
On the telephone, ordering take-out, it’s always Richard. To say otherwise risks hearing a snicker or disbelief.
A few years ago, covering a political rally, I approached a fella to ask his reaction to what was being said on the platform. When I asked his name, he hesitated just a bit. “The same as yours,” he said.
“You got the same problem I do?” he asked.
I felt his pain. Recently, I told one of the professional people I deal with regularly to please call me something other than Mr. Robbins. (I’m probably two decades older than this person.) She said, “What do you go by? Richard? Rich? Rick?” Then she chuckled. “Or do you use the, eh, the, eh, the old-fashioned name?” Now she was embarrassed. Embarrassed to say it. Dick.
For comedians the word means a cheap laugh. Before departing The Late Show, David Letterman concluded a bit with the punchline “Dick Hibernation” which makes no sense at all. But it got Letterman a chuckle.
I’ve turned off the television or switched channels more than once when some knucklehead has taken my name – my name, mind you – and turned it into a punchline. I fume. I think, “How stupid.”
Am I being too sensitive? I don’t like playing the victim. Too many Americans play the victim. We’ve become a nation of victims. It’s a problem.
Dick was once a perfectly acceptable name. There were fictional characters: Dick Diver, the creation of the incomparable F. Scott Fitzgerald, was one; crime fighter Dick Tracy another.
In real life, there was Dick Russell, arguably the most powerful man in the U.S. Senate in the middle of the 20th century.
The Pirates had a slew of players with the name. Dick Groat. Dick Stuart. Dick Schofield.
Dick Shiner was a backup Steelers quarterback in the late ’60s.
Dick Allen was a Phillie, a great hitter. Dick Gregory and Dick Martin were comedians, both very funny. Dick LaBeau was the Steelers defensive coach. Dick Weber was a hall of fame bowler. Dick Thornburgh was governor of Pennsylvania.
Dick Powell was a movie star. Dick Hymes was a singer, a Frank Sinatra contemporary.
Of course there was the TV dj and impresario Dick Clark. Dick Cavett was a popular talk show host. Johnny Carson’s brother was Dick Carson, longtime Tonight Show director.
Dick Chaney, former vice president of the United States, was the architect, along with his boss, of the second Iraq war.
Finally, there is Dick Nixon. Nothing else needs to be said about that.
Several of these men are dead. The rest are old. I wonder how they feel when they hear their name used as an obscenity. Not good, I bet, though I suppose Dick Chaney doesn’t give a damn.
I’m pretty sure I will never get my name back, not at my age. My name has been hijacked.
In the Oscar-winning film “In The Heat of the Night”, the racist Southern sheriff addresses the big city black detective Virgil Tibbs. “That’s a funny name for a … boy … from Philadelphia. What do they call you up there?” The detective defiantly answers, “They call me Mister Tibbs.”
I wish I had the nerve to give such an emphatic response when people ask what they should call me.
Richard Robbins lives in Uniontown and is the author of two books: Grand Salute: Stories of the World War II Generation and Our People. He can be reached at grandsalutebook@gmail.com.