Many years ago, I was attending a small reception after a poetry reading. While I remember little of the gathering, I recall that when we introduced ourselves to one another, we used only our first and last name—except for one man, who appended his company name, Mitchell Controls (or something similar), to his own, as in “Mike Smith, MItchell Controls.” It struck me at the time how odd it was that his company affiliation was so much a part of his identity that he had to include it in introducing himself at an event completely unrelated to his work. That memory came back to me recently when I was thinking about the various nouns we use to identify ourselves.
Almost all of us use a noun to append to our names at one time or another—on business cards, with our professional associates, among our friends and acquaintances, with people we meet in a bar or sitting next to us on an airplane. Frequently the noun is the organization to which we belong and our job title, professions such as “Attorney at Law” or “Accountant,” or titles such as MD for doctors or DDS or DMD for dentists. Often there are educational attainments like Ph.D., M.A., or D.D (Doctor of Divinity). Our business-oriented culture is also rife with an alphabet soup of certifications ranging from PE (Professional Engineer) to CFM (Certified Financial Manager) to LMT (Licensed Massage Therapist).
I think it interesting that medical doctors, dentists, and chiropractors almost always use their title when they introduce themselves to patients—I sense that is something they are taught in school, perhaps to purposely separate themselves from the patient. At the first appointment with the best physician I ever had, he introduced himself simply by saying, “Hi, I’m Pat ______,” while shaking my hand, with none of that “I’m Doctor ______” pretention. What is worse is an academic with a Ph.D. who uses “Doctor” in a self-introduction. When people with doctorates—medical or otherwise—do that in introducing themselves, I often ask them for their given name and use it when I address them.
My favorite title is one used by a professor where I went to college. On his business card after his name were the letters Ph.D. and VFF. The Ph.D. was from the prestigious Ivy League university where he got his doctorate. The VFF was a title he created for himself, Very Fine Fellow. He died a few years ago, but I think VFF was his way of poking fun at the way people, particularly in academia, like to wear their titles like battle ribbons. Rather than something humorous like VFF, he could have used one that reflected his own history, SOA, Survivor of Auschwitz, followed by the number tattooed on his arm.
A noun relating to an organization, profession, or credential is useful for a business card. But what would be appropriate for a card of a retired person? It could be only the person’s name and contact information or perhaps something simple and direct like Mary Brown, Retired _____, with a title from the person’s former work life if that was an integral part of his or her identity. Or it might reflect a hobby or other interests, like the card a fellow behind me in line at a local bakery gave me not long ago. It had the words “Traveler Photographer Humanist” under his name. When I first glanced at the card, I misread “Humanist” as “Humorist” and was disappointed when I realized my mistake. Although I don’t have a bias against humanists, I would have much preferred to talk with someone styling himself as a humorist rather than as a humanist. I think our society needs a hell of a lot more comedians, satirists, and irreverent wiseasses, particularly those who are willing to goose sacred cows. Although I use no title on my cards—just my name, phone number, and email—I am tempted to add something like Humorist or VFF. Another possibility would be Citizen, a noun that reflects what I believe is my civic responsibility, a responsibility that many people increasingly seem to be ignoring. The noun Patriot also appeals. I don’t mean chest-beating, flag-waving, blind allegiance to the country as it is now or to its checkered history. I am a Patriot in the sense of what this country could be, a concept based on idealism and possibility. As the lyric goes to one of Leonard Cohen’s songs, “I love my country, but I can’t stand the scene.” Those lines resonate with me in these troubling times.
Aside from business cards, a common place where titles appear is on tombstones. Those identifiers often include relationships like Father or Mother, sometimes with an adjective such as Devoted Father, Loving Wife, or Adored Sister. The ones provided by the Veterans Administration include military branch and, if requested, rank and war service. My father’s says US Army Air Corps WWII.
The ubiquity of titles in our society, both in life and death, raises an interesting question: What title or titles, if any, would each of us choose to append to our name as a permanent descriptor, say on a tombstone or hypothetical monument? Perhaps it would be how we identify with our family, such as Father, Mother, Brother, etc. Or it might include a reference to an academic degree, military service, or profession.
Another possibility would be to choose a noun that describes an aspect of our nature by which we would like to be known to strangers who come across our name in the future. While it would be easy to offer a flippant response, the challenge is insightful. It could be something like Naturalist, Joker, Angler, Bon Vivant, Hail Fellow Well Met, etc.
Taking a different perspective, what nouns would our kinfolk, friends, and acquaintances apply to us? Nice Guy? Good Neighbor? Best Mother of All Time? Sweet Woman? A Man of Strong Opinions? Arrogant jerk? Stuffed shirt? Pendejo?
I won’t speculate on what noun others might apply to me. As for choosing one for myself, it would be A Man Who Tried to Do Good.
A Nobel pursuit!