I was christened a junior, although fortunately never called one. I sometimes wonder what it says about a man when he names his son after himself. But at the time I was born, it was pretty common. I imagine my father pictured a bushy and prosperous branch of the family tree springing from his namesake.
Our names are very important to us and play a tremendous role in who we are. We like people to address us by name, and a great deal of our identity is wrapped up in our names. That’s why today’s column focuses on vintage images from nametag and nameplate catalogs. Click on any image for a larger version.
We generally have to accept the name we’re given. Sure, we can be “Gene” instead of “Eugene,” or “Jim” instead of “James,” or we can adopt a nickname like “Bud” or “Chip.” But at some point you have to deal with the DMV and agencies like it, and they don’t exactly go for nicknames. Your given name follows you through life whether or not you want it to.
The cool kids in my school weren’t named Eugene. They had names like Charles and Robert and Steven. But I didn’t mind “Gene” so badly, and it was distinct enough that I was usually the only one around.
Having two people with the same name living in the same house can be confusing, so juniors often become “Junior.” I became “little Gene,” at least until I outgrew my father by about a foot.
Nonetheless, I’ve always been proud of my name, and I have a small collection of nameplates from various jobs I’ve had over the years. My favorite is one made by my father with a router I bought him for Christmas, which still adorns my desk today.
I’ve been thinking about my name lately because I’ve realized that I’m anything but a bushy branch on the family tree. My father was an only child and I have no brothers. With the death of both my parents and no children of my own, the Gable name ends with me.
This branch of the family tree was never a particularly healthy one. My father had issues with his mother, and don’t even get me started with my mother. My oldest sister died at an early age and my living sister was unable to have children.
I do have cousins from my mother’s side who seem relatively normal, so I guess when one branch dies another one takes off in a new direction. I just feel a little bad for my father, who will never have future offspring named after him.
After I die, there’ll be an estate sale, and among the boxes of junk will be a small collection of nameplates with “Gene Gable” on them in various styles of lettering. One will be obviously homemade with a router. I doubt anyone will buy the nameplates — the likelihood of another Gene Gable coming across that sale is extremely small.
So my nameplates and trade-show badges may end up in the garbage. It doesn’t really bother me; I just hope whoever throws them away will note that they represent an entire, and what I hope will be a full, life. Every name, no matter how common or unusual, tells a unique story. And that’s something you simply can’t capture on a plaque, sign, or badge.
This article was last modified on May 17, 2023
This article was first published on June 11, 2010
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