June 14: Phoebe Weatherfield Caulfield, Fame, Fairy Tale

I sat down on old D. B.'s desk and looked at the stuff on it.  It was mostly Phoebe's stuff, from school and all.  Mostly books.  The one on top was called Arithmetic Is Fun!  I sort of opened the first page and took a look at it.  This is what old Phoebe had on it:

PHOEBE WEATHERFIELD CAULFIELD

4B-1

That killed me.  Her middle name is Josephine, for God's sake, not Weatherfield.  She didn't like it, though.  Every time I see her she's got a new middle name for herself.

I love the fact that Holden's little sister, Phoebe, tries to improve herself.  She's not happy with her name, so she changes it, makes herself sound more stately or royal  Every kid does this, I think.  I know I used to do it.  I never like my first or middle name, so I thought up alternatives.  Instead of "Martin" or "Marty," I liked the moniker "Adam."  It sounded sexier, more exciting, to me.  ("Adam" was the name my mother originally picked for me.)  It sounded like a name people would take note of.

I've gotten used to my name.  I even like it now.  However, when I was younger, I dreamed of having a name that sort of blazed.  There was once a young Southern woman who dreamed of being a famous writer.  She had tremendous talent.  Everyone knew it.  But she didn't like her name.  It sounded like a Catholic schoolgirl's name:  Mary O'Connor.  I think it was too dainty for her.  Too proper.  So, when she started publishing, she chose to drop her first name and use her middle name only:  Flannery.  "Flannery O'Connor" was a writer's name, she thought.  And she was right, obviously.

I wonder if Flannery O'Connor would have made as big a splash if she had been Mary O'Connor instead.  I think, with her talent, she probably would have.  It might have taken a little longer for her to break through.  "Flannery" is a much more masculine sounding name, which was significant in the 1940s and 1950s.

Maybe I should consider using a pseudonym again.  I've always liked "Stephen King," but I'm not sure if anyone would buy a book by a guy named Stephen King.  "Dan Brown" is kind of plain, and "Nicholas Sparks" is a little too showy-sounding.  Nobody could use those names and get famous.  I guess I'll stick with Saint Marty.

I've got a little fairy tale about names to share with you.

Once upon a time, there lived in the kingdom of Fartalot and good-looking, talented scribe named Gilbert.  Everyone from the seven kingdoms knew how talented Gilbert was, but Gilbert was never invited to read his poems or stories anywhere.

One day, Gilbert ran into a friend of his at the local pig sty.  "Flannery," Gilbert said, "have you found a publisher for your new book?"

"Oh, yes," said Flannery.  "I received a passenger pigeon yesterday with the news.  It will be hitting the monasteries in the fall."

Gilbert swallowed.  "I'm so happy for your you.  What did you title it?"

"I called it A Hearty Fellow Is Difficult to Discover," Flannery said.

"Catchy," Gilbert lied.  He left Flannery to purchase a new sow with the gold advance from her publisher.

I need to come up with a new name, Gilbert thought as he walked along.  A name peasants will stand up for.  A name kings will call for.  A name that commands respect.

Suddenly, a magic squirrel appeared before Gilbert.  "Halt," it squeaked.  "I have a name that will guarantee to win you a place in literary history."

Gilbert took out a gun and shot the squirrel dead and continued walking.  When he reached his walk-up studio hut, Gilbert found a magic mouse standing before his front door.

"I have the perfect name that will make you famous and rich," the mouse squeaked.

Gilbert stomped on the mouse, killing it.  He went inside and threw himself down on his straw.  Suddenly, a magic chipmunk crawled onto his stomach.

"I have the perfect writer's name for you," it squeaked.  "Everyone from the seven kingdoms will know who you are."

"Fine," Gilbert sighed.  "What name should I use?"

The chipmunk leaned forward and whispered the name in his ear.

"Are you sure?" Gilbert said.

The chipmunk nodded and then vanished in a cloud of acorn smoke.

Gilbert immediately started sending out poems and stories using the name the chipmunk had whispered to him.  The passenger pigeons soon started returning with rejections.  One of the notes from a publisher said, "We can't consider publishing a poem by a poet named I. M. A. Schitthed."

Moral of the story:  never trust magic rodents.

And Saint Marty lived happily ever after.

Never trust a rodent bearing names