'Slobber, Booger, Spit, and Blob--'

What happened to the colorful names of yesteryear? Around 1959 a family moved into the house two doors away. Their surname was “Opalka,” Polish like many of the families in the neighborhood. The father was a truck driver who, when not on a run, would park his tractor on the front lawn. For some reason he was called “Boston Blackie,” and was renowned for burning his son’s collection of Mad magazines in the backyard. The daughter was my age and conventionally named Sandy but the younger son was called Bimbo by everyone, even his mother (Nellie). I can’t remember his birth name. 

By the time he was age nine, you could already have described his manner as “raffish.” When his father told him to stop using the word “fart,” Bimbo invented a new word: “fartkabola.” He rewrote Barry Sadler’s “Ballad of the Green Berets,” starting with the line “Fighting creampuffs from the sky.” This is a family blog so I can’t recount the rest. We usually called Bimbo “Bim,” later the name of a character in Samuel Beckett’s final play, What Where. After Bim joined the Navy in 1971 and he would come home on leave, he described his job as “blips.” That meant he was a radar man.

 

My father was an auxiliary police officer and most of the guys he hung around with were cops. Two were named Doc (not a physician) and Hump (his given name was Marion, so you can understand). One of my classmates, Oscar, had a younger brother deservedly named Stinky. To the list I can add Goob and Buff.    

 

One of our funniest and most gifted poets is R.S. “Sam” Gwynn, a native of Eden, North Carolina, who lives in Beaumont, Texas. Southerners are more likely than the rest of us to be blessed with colorful names. Here is “Lament for the Names Lang Syne” (Dogwatch, Measure Press, 2014), subtitled “Leaksville, N. C. (1797–1967)”:

 

“Bootie, Cootie, Hootie, and Red,

Rooster, Jeepy, Sny, and Spoon,

Hambone, Corky, and Swimmyhead,

Greenie, Weenie, Puss, and Moon,

Stinky, Winky, Goat, and Spud,

Pinky, Toodie, and Greasy J.,

Buddy-ro, Buddy, and just plain Bud--

Timor mortis conturbat me.

 

“Strangler, Babbie, Sis, and Twat,

Eekie, Ikey, Bum, and Buck,

Squabby, Knobby, Monk, and Squat,

Preacher, Rabbit, Punch, and Duck,

Buster, Fire Chief, Goof, and Jake,

Doodie, Rubber, Deuce, and Trey,

Whitey, Blackie, Bull, and Snake--

Timor mortis conturbat me.

 

Puddin’, Oggie, Bugg, and Tick,

Hoovie, Groovie, Ape, and Gam,

Buster, Punkin’, Goat, and Slick,

Meatball, Big Train, Nub, and Ham,

Eudie, Stumpy, Chunks, and Shag,

Eeenie, Meenie, and Whaddaysay,

Mustard, Turbo, Crab, and Rag--

Timor mortis conturbat me.

 

“Prince, Pedro, and Buffalo Bob,

Little Annie and A.O.K.,

Slobber, Booger, Spit, and Blob--

Timor mortis conturbat me.”

 

The Latin, “fear of death disturbs me,” is probably best known from “Lament for the Makers” by the Scottish poet William Dunbar (c. 1460-c. 1530).