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]