Whop, Dud, Hoot, & Red

That which we call a rose / By any other name would smell as sweet.

William Shakespeare

Names are fascinating. Some are quite logical, some are unique, and there is an obsolete group that went out with the generation that wore them. In my lifetime I have met scores upon scores of folks that didn’t particularly care for their given name at birth. This isn’t really too surprising in that our identity and other’s perception of who we are or what we represent is intrinsically connected to our moniker. None the less, this little dissertation has to do with some of the many unusual names and their connections to some folks in my life.

Leroy

I must start with an apology. You know that phase in every kid’s life when they are in their adolescent years and they get fixated on something and then proceed to run it into the ground – repeatedly? Well, I was one of those annoying and not so little assholes that loved to call people Leroy. In particular a very captivating young girl that I had a crush on and was too stupid and awkward to act like a civilized, public school educated, walking hormone. I sincerely hope that I have not permanently scarred her nor inflicted any gender identity issues. Sorry Leroy!

Bertha

My grandmother’s sister was named Bertha. It’s definitely not a common name handed down to today’s offspring. I do know that she was not an overly rotund lady. Today’s association with the name generates imagery of a plump and round lady. It has biblical origins and literally means “bright one”. During WW2 the German army took the liberty of naming the allied 42mm howitzer the “Big Bertha” gun. That connotation stuck like peanut butter on the wall. From that moment on Bertha the Bright One became Bertha the behemoth! Interestingly, the Grateful Dead had a song titled Bertha. The song’s premise was for Bertha to leave him alone and quit chasing the writer. “Bertha don’t you come around here anymore” My Bertha was a sweet lady.

Red, Whop & Dud

These are three brothers. My grandfather was nicknamed “Red“. His name came from his once corpulent red hair that he was adorned with in his youth. His given name was Oscar. My memories of the man I called “Papaw” are very real and present with me still today. He always smelled like chewing tobacco and sweat. I didn’t matter the time of year or the occasion. He always had a short stubble beard that could remove rust from a barn door latch. A kiss and a hug was something that you had to mentally prepare for. In the later years of his life his hair had thinned considerably but yet retained its orangish red tequila sunset hue. He used to drive a little red Mercury Comet with the push button transmission on the dash. It was always blanketed inside and out with Kentucky red road dirt. The only “clean” areas were where someone had previously sat. Air conditioning was provided by rolling down the windows. I was always amazed at how even in the winter time there was this eternal blanket of dirt in and on the car… In the glove box you could always find a pouch of Red Man Chewing Tobacco ond/or a plug of chewing tobacco. It looked like a small brownie and had a very distinct smell. He seems in hindsight to have been about all things “red”.

Papaw’s brother was known to everyone as “Whop“. His given name was Homer but I rarely heard him called that. My grandmother was the only one I ever heard call him Homer. She never called him “Whop”. I asked several times growing up where the name “Whop”, came from but never got an answer. It was always one of those situations where you ask a question but it is treated as if you were speaking a foreign language that no one understood. I suspect it may have had some nefarious or other dubious birthright. Whop was thin as a rail and stood over six feet tall. He was always clad in bib overalls (pronounced overhauls), very worn brown fedora, and a denim work jacket if the weather was cooler. He had hollow cheeks, a pronounced adam’s apple, voice was low and gravelly, and very soft spoken. He had a dry, sarcastic sense of humor and a perpetual smile. He seemingly would always appear out of thin air. Most of the time he walked to Red’s. From where he came from, I have not a clue. I loved him as much as my own grandfather.

Papaw’s other brother was called “Dud“. This was short for Dudley. I never met him. It was extremely rare to even hear his name mentioned. Apparently there had been a falling out between Dud and papaw many years before my arrival on the scene. One thing about us Bolings is once we decide that you crossed us we are done with you. They ain’t no coming back. When it’s over – it’s over! Such was the case here. I have seen this play out in the lives of several other Bolings over the years, myself included…