I’ve been known by many names in my life. Been called a few too – some of those deserved. The name you answer to has a powerful affect not just on you, but the others with whom you’d like to relate, in both business and pleasure.
From birth, I was known as Isaac. (EYE’-zick). Pigott is how you’d think it would be if you stopped trying to overthink your old French classes (PIG’-utt). Rhymes with spigot, simple enough.
Shifting Sands
Then somewhere in the sagebrush desert of southern Idaho, the accents started to tip the vowel in the second syllable, making it (EYE’-zeek). Yeah, try saying it a couple of times. Think of Frances McDormand’s accent in Fargo, then tone it back to about 20%. From there, it naturally shortened to “Zeek.” Or, as only my very closest friends would say, Zeekers. (ZEEK’-uhrs).
After moving to Alabama, I was pretty much Isaac again for a good while (EYE’-zack). Think of Frances McDormand’s accent in Fargo, and cranking it back 100 percent and then another 20 for good measure. By for the most part, ‘Isaac’ I stayed all the way into the beginning of my television and radio career. Isaac Pigott is not exactly the easiest name for either medium. In fact, it probably isn’t too terribly great for print, either; both names get misspelled more often that spelled correctly.
While trying to break into my first on-air job, we joked about how much easier it would have been if my name had some sort of ethnic or international vibe. We thought about going with a faux French pronunciation (ee-SOCK’ pee-JZOH’). That would have been fun for awhile, but it wasn’t me.
Overdub
In 1996, the television station I was working for was bought, and being moved up from market 186 to market 39. That’s a big jump, both in economics and talent level and expectations. Or, at least it used to be. Our jobs were by no means secure, and several did not make the cut. We were essentially interviewing for the chance to stay on the payroll a couple of months down the road.
I had a great interview, but before I left my next news director asked how I felt about changing my name. To be honest, I had never given it a thought. It seemed a little crazy to change my name, while working in the same market and coverage area where I had been known on-air for years, and had gone to high school and college. My gut told me that wouldn’t play very well. (As it stands, I still didn’t get an invitation to my 20th high school reunion. I realize I am so difficult to find.)
“How about ‘Ike’?” he asked. We didn’t run through the whole history of what I’d been called, just went straight to ‘Ike.’ Actually, my father and a couple of our family friends had referred to me as Ike in the past. It wasn’t the most popular alias in my upbringing, but it wasn’t a brand new nickname. Since they were insisting on sending my paychecks to Ike, I was more than happy to cash them.
Power in a name
I did discover an advantage to being ‘Ike’ reporting in Birmingham, Alabama. Not too many Ikes to compete with. I had an advantage in cold-calling possible interviewees, because “Ike” is rather conversational, and there aren’t many of us. Being able to keep everything on a first-name basis from the outset pays huge dividends. Instant rapport. (To be fair, it’s not like there were many Isaacs floating around the state.) The only pitfall was to keep them from hearing “Mike” instead of “Ike.”
I’m not on teevee anymore, not nearly to the extent I once was. After four years out, should I try to reclaim ‘Isaac’ and prep him for the triumphant return? Does “Ike” keep riding a wave of goowill Ike acquired along the way?
And have any of you experienced anything approaching a behavioral shift when you’ve changed names, even for just a while?
[tags]Ike Pigott, Occam’s RazR, nomenclature, names, personality, identity[/tags]
To me, the full verions of names seem more distinguished. My first name is actually ‘Randall’ and the older I get, the better it sounds.
Since you’re getting up there in years, I vote for Isaac. 😉
Personally, I prefer full names, unless I’m a close friend and we share nicknames, such as your example above. There are people who call me “Sue”, and I can’t stand it. However, they are friends and it’s not worth creating a broo-ha-ha over it.
Very interesting post. I’ve never really liked my name, but never really thought about changing it either. However, I like names with double middle initials and hyphenated last names, such as, Kenneth R.R. Gros-Louis. He was the Chancellor at Indiana University when I was a student there. The name seemed poetic and sophisticated. Anderson Cooper, while his doesn’t have double middle initials, nor does it have the ring of sophistication, it has a better ring to the ear than mine.
My fraternity brothers called me Sparky. A nickname, it did capture more of my character than my real name. That’s a story for another day.
While I don’t necessarily think a name holds us back, unless it’s a strange one like Ruby Bagonia (ba`GON yia), the family heritage (or baggage, which ever you prefer) may hold some back from reaching their dreams. But that’s a personal trait.
Very timely post! For one, your brother in law basically changed his name from Mike, Michael to now Mic. Mic is what his mom called him growing up, so it wasn’t a stretch.
The reason why I say it is timely is that we are thinking about names (OBVIOUSLY) for Julia’s sister. The one that stands out, and that we are leaning towards will break down and be shortened. But I love the full name, and any way that I shorten it, I love that too. The variety will help (I think) when her personality develops.
Not that the name makes the person, but I think that if she wanted to change what she is called, she would have options.
Oh, and as for you, I still have to do a double take when I hear Ike. You will always be Isaac to me.
Welcome to the club Ike. I was named one thing and immediately given a nickname. I went all the way through school exlplaining to the teachers who called role, how I got Molly out of Mary Aileen.
By the time I made it to my senior year of undergraduate school, my classmates would answer for me.
First, no one pronounces my middle name, correctly because it is Gaelic, i’-leen. Mary is a Gaelic word for Molly. If you ever meet anyone with a thick Irish brogue, when the person says Mary it sounds like he is saying Molly.
Since I have been called Molly Franklin since the day I was born, it worked great as a by line and air name when I worked for news operations and media relations offices all over the southeast.