Perspective: What’s in a name?

Some while back, a bout of misdirected inward vanity caused me to search for myself on the Boston University website. Of course we’ve all performed similar searches within the vast expanse that is Google (or its more rambunctious neighbor, Yahoo!), but this would be different. To Google oneself is a kind of reverse-voyeurism, peeking through the curtains only to see a pair of binoculars peering at you through the window curtains. A Google self-search is a way of seeing how the cold, uncaring universe sees you, a way of quantifying your internet street creed. When we find a few measly matches on a Google self-search, we are elated to find that we exist “out there” apart from everything “in here”; it’s the highlight of one’s week, to be sure.

If a Google search is like hearing a stranger lecture about you, then the BU search would be just the opposite, the equivalent of your mother showing family members your baby photos over lemon squares and buttermilk (provided you pay your mother tuition to love you). Imagine, then, my dismay when the only search result with me in it was a notice indicating that my personal BU website was ready for me to design (which, it should be noted, I only created in order to get the BU site to pay attention to me).

Destitute and bewildered, I clicked over to a guaranteed confidence booster, the BU directory, thinking that surely this would reaffirm my existence within the BU community, confirming Descartes’ offering, “I internet search, therefore I am.”

I pulled up bu.edu/directory and typed in my name, Gregory White. My name. Filmmaker Alan Berliner called his name “the sweetest sound” and I don’t think there is anyone who would argue his claim. To hear one’s name spoken aloud is to hear something ancient, an entity that at once preceded you, but also exists only as a part of you, and as the proverb says, “A person with a bad name is already half-hanged” (a rose by any other name indeed).

Growing up there were two other Gregs I went to school with: Gregory Ein and Gregg Sokoloff. Three Gregs in one grade and yet there were only two Michaels and two Johns. In fact, even though we were three Gregs, I and the Ein variety got lumped aside as commoners while Gregg – two Gs – was hailed as the uniquely named, he of blessed nomenclature. The fact that my last name began with “W” also meant that I was last to be called during morning attendance alongside the other bargain bin inhabitants. The teacher who reversed the order was seen as a revolutionary in my youthful, astigmatism-plagued eyes.

Although I may have been slightly bitter then, I love my name now due to its character (it could be a Crayola color) and its ease in manner. Nobody calls me Gregory, G.W., Gregory John or any variation thereof – simply “Greg White.” And indeed, I carry this grand tradition by addressing my sister as Kristin White. And to think, if my grandmother hadn’t remarried, I’d be typing this (or not) under the nomme de natural of Gregory Macurella. Or Steven Macurella. Or Francis Macurella. Who knows what effect being in the middle of the alphabet would have had on me? Heady stuff to be sure.

Yet rather than finding my name displayed upon a pedestal for all to see in its unique glory, I saw a list of names. A short list, yes, but nonetheless, a list of Gregory Whites – a list in which I was listed third. First there was Gregory White, no description: pure, no additives, all natural and organic ingredients (Why no middle name? What is he hiding?). Next there was Gregory E. White (Ernest? Elvira?), whose description on the website informs us that he is a “coordinator, senior staff, The Media Group.” So big Gregory joined the machine, another faceless cog working for the man. Sell-out! Last is me, Gregory John White, with the longest description by a full two characters, “COM-College of Communications-Undergraduate.” Who were these imposters, I wondered? Did they look like me? Did we have any of the same colloquialisms? Did they, too, think 1978’s “Darkness on the Edge of Town” tour was Bruce’s finest?

While preparing to write this perspective, I emailed both Gregory Whites, inviting them to lunch so that we three could get to know one another, maybe even join forces. After all, John Smiths all over the country meet and decide on important manners under the banner of the John Smith Club – why couldn’t that be us? I began my email with, “Hello fellow Greg Whites, my name is Greg White” and proceeded to tell them a little about myself. It was short and to the point: Let’s meet, we need to know each other, there’s no use denying it any further, ever consider a name change, etc, etc. I wrote the email on September 1 and as of this writing a full 10 days later, I have received no response.

While I still hope to meet my doppelgangers, I am beginning to suspect that the two Gregory Whites at BU have already formed a powerful alliance and are now plotting against me, using the information I sent them in the email to better their plan of attack. If this is the case it seems that my days are very much numbered and that I am already half-hanged.