Nicknames
One of the first poems I remember memorizing was this one (I only inserted part of it, for various reasons):
American Names (Stephen Vincent Benét)
I have fallen in love with American names,
The sharp names that never get fat,
The snakeskin-titles of mining-claims,
The plumed war-bonnet of Medicine Hat,
Tucson and Deadwood and Lost Mule Flat.
…
I will remember Carquinez Straits,
Little French Lick and Lundy’s Lane,
The Yankee ships and the Yankee dates
And the bullet-towns of Calamity Jane.
I will remember Skunktown Plain.
…
Rue des Martyrs and Bleeding-Heart-Yard,
Senlis, Pisa, and Blindman’s Oast,
It is a magic ghost you guard
But I am sick for a newer ghost,
Harrisburg, Spartanburg, Painted Post.
…
I shall not rest quiet in Montparnasse.
I shall not lie easy at Winchelsea.
You may bury my body in Sussex grass,
You may bury my tongue at Champmédy.
I shall not be there. I shall rise and pass.
Bury my heart at Wounded Knee.
I’m thinking about this now because I keep meeting local people with interesting nicknames. And these aren’t nicknames that only a few people know; these are nicknames that have become names — they ARE for all practical purposes the people’s actual names now. They may even be in the phone book. Here’s a short list:
Fruit, Brother, Chub, Black Eye, Kiester (actual name), Coon, Speck, Pud, Hick, Shorty, and Starling (maybe his official name)