Names Continued

First of all, let me say thank you to everyone who sent me e-mails about THEIR relatives’ peculiar, odd, or long names! Fascinating stuff! I did notice that the majority of the notorious nomenclature seemed to arise from the South…proving, of course, that Southerners are more creative!

So, to continue the Name Saga, I submit for your perusal my children: Charles Franklin Coffin IV, Donald Tristram Coffin, Kathleen Dionys Coffin, and Seth Robert Coffin, respectively. The eldest is named for his father, but we call him Chip. Tristram’s first name comes from my father, but his middle name, and the name he goes by, comes from the first Coffin to come to America. That was back in 1642. The original Tristram apparently supported the wrong side in the English Civil War, though we’re not entirely sure which side that was. (Clearly, more research is necessary—and a field trip!)

But anyway, it became prudent to pull up stakes and get out of Dodge…or Brixton, as the case may be. He settled first in the town of New Bedford, Massachusetts, where his wife, Dionys, opened her own tavern and made excellent beer.

Dionys, apparently, was quite a character—unusually liberated for the times. She charged seven pence a tankard, whereas most of the tavernkeepers charged five, and still she got the lion’s share of the business in town. Her aggrieved competitors had her brought up on charges for “price gouging.” Yes! They had it even back then! Dionys, however, brought samples into court and PROVED her beer was better than everyone else’s, and so deserved the higher price. And she won! (There are two alternate spellings of “Dionis/Dionys,” just as there are two alternate spellings of “Coffin/Coffyn.” My daughter’s birth certificate says “Dionis,” even though I distinctly remember spelling it “Dionys” for the nurse. Kathleen prefers “Dionys,” so that settles it.)

My youngest son, Seth, is named for Seth Coffin, (not in our direct line, but still a relative) who was a whaling captain in the 1800’s. He also has quite a story. Yes, it probably isn’t true—but as the great writer Robert Heinlein once said, “since when do we let truth stand in the way of a good anecdote?” Seems “Uncle Seth” was out at sea, in pursuit of cetaceans, and one of the ungrateful beasts objected. Strenuously. And proceeded to crush the captain’s leg. Gangrene set in, and Seth had a big problem. Not only was there no doctor on board, and no one on the ship had ever performed an amputation, but Seth himself was the only person present who had even seen an amputation. The legend goes that he called his first mate in and told him, “My leg must come off. You are going to do it. I will tell you how.” The first mate reportedly said, “hell, no,” and Captain Seth held a flensing knife to his throat, and said, “hell, YES.” (Icky historical fact: A flensing knife is one of those big blades which was used to strip the blubber off the whales.) Thus, Uncle Seth directed the amputation of his own leg, without anesthesia. It is said that afterward both men fainted. But the operation must have been a success, because Seth lived well into his 80’s.

The moral of this story is: Don’t mess with those Coffins, they’re a tough crowd.

The Name Game

Names have always held an odd fascination for me. My mother despised her name, which I never fully understood. “Bessie Katherine” was a good, solid southern name, and seems pretty tame compared with that of one of her childhood friends, who was unfortunately saddled with “Highly Devine. Nevertheless, my mother shed the hated “Bessie” at the first opportunity, changed the “Katherine” to “Catherine,” and forever after went by Catherine B. Ferguson, which I considered awfully prosaic—especially considering that her own grandmother had the most, uh, spectacular name I ever heard. It was “Rachel Lucretia Cassandra Josephine Sarah Elizabeth Margaret Katherine Evelyn Dow Turner Dillard Gold. No, really. Seriously. Do you think I could make up something like that? So the story goes, my great great grandparents had 21 children, the majority of whom were wiped out in some pandemic or other, and my great grandmother was named after her dead siblings. Isn’t that charming? And, you may well ask, with such a wealth to choose from, which did she choose to go by?

Lu. They called her Lu.

My mother pored over baby name books, determined that her daughters would not have names that could easily be lampooned or twisted into ugly or insulting nicknames. No sirree, her daughters weren’t going to be made fun of, or likened to a cow, due to an ill considered name choice. After careful consideration, she settled on “Teresa Marie” and “Linda Katherine.” Unfortunately, her “best laid plans” came to naught, as my classmates gleefully locked onto my last name as the target of their barbs and I was known all through school as “Fergie.” Oh, sure, it’s a very trendy moniker now, but back then I hated it.

In a sublime example of cosmic irony, when I married, I traded in “Ferguson” for “Coffin.” Now, that’s a last name with real baggage. It elicits snorts and snickers wherever it goes. I’ve even had people blurt out, “That’s not a real name!” Pizza places have actually hung up on me when I gave them my last name… after they ASKED for it!

The only place where the name Coffin doesn’t lift an eyebrow is the island of Nantucket off the coast of Massachusetts. In the 1640’s, four families settled on the island: The Gardners, the Folgers, the Starbucks, and—the Coffins. (Clearly we should have gone into the coffee business… but I digress.) If you show up on Nantucket and mention your name, a crowd quickly gathers, armed with genealogy charts, wanting to see how you’re related. Half the businesses on Main Street are called “Coffin” this-or-that: Coffin General Store, Coffin Real Estate, the Jared Coffin House. It’s a real hoot—if you’re named Coffin.

The name has a long, illustrious, and probably apocryphal history, tracing back to 1066, when William the Conqueror decided he wanted to own that charming little island across the channel. His knights received land in exchange for their services. (There is still a Coffin estate in England.) Anyway, some of the “Chauvin” ancestors settled in London. The name “Chauvin” became “Coffin,” and one of them must have been quite a woodworker. He became known for crafting small, ornamental jewelry boxes. They called them coffins, of course. Later the family “branched out,” as it were. So, YES, if you were wondering, coffins ARE named after the family.

It’s a tough name to grow up with, despite the history. Fergie simply pales in comparison. I just wanted to say to my kids: Just remember. Coffin is the coolest name on earth—on October 31^st.