JotBlog

Prospective parents spend hours — days, weeks, months — fretting over what to name their children. Nicknames are often invented in a matter of seconds.

Take Phil Battey, for example. On his first day as a freshman at Georgetown University in D.C. in 1970, he was assigned a room far down the hallway from the dorm’s communal shower.

“Having gotten up before dawn, I decided after unpacking my things to take a shower before going to lunch,” wrote Phil, of Alexandria.

Phil was the living embodiment of 1970 male youth: shoulder-length hair, a drooping mustache and glasses with wide metal frames.

“I did not have a robe, but I did have a raincoat,” he wrote. “Dressed in raincoat and flip flops — and nothing else — I walked down the hall.”

As Phil passed the mother of a dorm mate, she said: “My, he looks shifty.”

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Wrote Phil: “By midnight, I was known as Shifty to all my new dorm mates. By the end of the week, I was Shifty to all the other students I knew and a couple of my professors.”

In 1989, after turning 40, Linda Sue Pessagno of Falls Church, Va., joined a senior women’s softball league called the Golden Girls. In one game, she was on first base when a teammate drove a ball into the outfield.

“I made it all the way around to home plate and scored,” Linda Sue wrote. “Someone in the dugout yelled ‘Way to go, Legs!’ and it stuck.”

Thirty-three years later, she still goes by that spur-of-the-moment nickname in the Golden Girls’ world.

“I am not sure if some of the women even know my ‘real’ name,” wrote Linda Sue. “I personally believe that nicknames are an endearment and I feel special having mine!”

Shortly after World War II, Chuck Burchard’s father, Charles, started a new job with the local telephone company. On his first day at work, one of the old-timers looked at the new guy and asked, “Who na hell zat?”

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“A friend of my father overheard the question and, being fond of nicknames, latched onto the first two syllables and dubbed my father ‘Whoona,’” wrote Chuck, who lives in Erie, Pa.

That became Charles’s nickname at work. And at home, Charles called Chuck “Little Whoona,” which soon morphed into “L’il Whoona.”

Wrote Chuck: “I had a rapper-style nickname by age 3!”

Falls Church’s Nancy Bolin had a royal-style nickname. Her name sounds enough like that of the unfortunate second wife of Henry VIII that ever since high school, she’s been Nan Boleyn to her friends.

Wrote Nancy: “So far, I still have my head and I produced three sons and a daughter for my husband, so he can’t complain I never produced an heir.”

When he was growing up, Marshall Truslow constantly corrected his two older brothers about the rules and regulations of the sports they played together.

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“My brothers would always say, ‘Okay, Dictionary, we know you know it all,’” wrote Marshall, of Annandale. “Soon, all my friends started calling me Dictionary, and after several years it was shortened to Dick.

“From then on, except in business matters, I have always been known as ‘Dick’ Truslow.”

George Miller’s father, George Sr., grew up in the 1930s. After an extreme buzz cut at the barber’s, George Sr. got the nickname Baldy from his friends.

“The name stuck throughout his entire life,” wrote George Jr., of Warrenton. “Fortunately, he lost his hair in his mid-20s so the nickname worked.”

But it wasn’t all good. When George’s parents were out together, his mother, Frances, would call out “Baldy” to get her husband’s attention. “Some would give her dirty looks while others would accuse her of being mean,” wrote George Jr. “But he loved the nickname and never wanted to be called anything else.”

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Richard Blakeslee of Portland, Ore., had a similar experience. When he was about 12, he got his summer crew cut.

“My neighbor, ‘Bud’ Bach, said I was as bald as an eagle, so within a day or so my nickname became ‘Eag’ and lasted for years,” Richard wrote.

The District’s Ben Stearn was born Benjamin Franklin Stearn III. While his father, Benjamin Franklin Stearn Jr., was alive, the family couldn’t have two Bens in the house.

So, taking the initials of his first two names, Ben became BF, pronounced “Biff.”

That, he wrote, “was all well and good until I graduated from medical school and thought that nobody would respect a Dr. Biff Stearn, so Dr. Ben I became.”

Gary Moffat of Auburn, Calif., just turned what he calls “a dour 72.”

But apparently when he was a baby, he was a very happy baby, indeed, so happy that his father called him “Giggles,” which was ultimately shortened to “Gig.”

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Wrote Gary: “The name never stuck with others, but my dad used it affectionately for the rest of his life, even on his deathbed. Speaking so very softly the last time we talked, he started by asking, ‘Hey Gig, how’s your car running?’”

Helping Hand

For many people, this will be a week of frantic last-minute shopping. Things we’ve been meaning to do can get lost in the shuffle. Don’t let The Washington Post Helping Hand be one of those things. We’ve partnered with three D.C.-based charities — Bread for the City, Friendship Place and Miriam’s Kitchen — and made it easy to donate to them.

To make a contribution, visit posthelpinghand.com, choose the charity you’d like to support and click where it says “Donate Online Now.”

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