Brian D. Buckley

Betsy and I spent a week with her family in Ohio and a week with my dad, stepmom, and other family in Texas. Lots of flying and driving, but also lots of good food and good times.

Also lots of time to read. In just the last two weeks, I read:

• Across the Nightingale Floor, a pseudo-Japanese fantasy novel by Lian Hearn. Intrigue, honor, and forbidden romance, not to mention magic ninjitsu. Good stuff.
• Adventure Time: The Art of Ooo, by Chris McDonnell, which has lots of juicy behind-the-scenes goodness. The art’s cool too.
• The Rift by Gene Yang, the third graphic novel in the Avatar: The Last Airbender universe. Like the first two, this one is decent, but nothing special. I can’t pass up anything Avatar, though.
• The Professor and the Madman, a nonfiction book about the making of the Oxford English Dictionary, by Simon Winchester. This book is AMAZING. I was up till one in the morning reading it.
• The Man in the High Castle, an alternate timeline novel by Philip K. Dick. A cryptic and beautiful little story. I can’t say I understood it all, but what I did get, I liked.
• The Tao of Travel, a nonfiction book about traveling and famous travelers, by Paul Theroux. Very interesting. The kind of book that makes you want to read fifty other books on the same subject.

Besides which, Betsy and I finished watching The Legend of Korra (good, but not great) and Angel (great – not quite as great as Buffy, but a vastly superior finale).

More thoughts on all these stories are likely to percolate into the blog all this week, so brace yourselves.

As mentioned previously, I’m working in the genealogy section of the library these days. Currently I’m typing up death records from the 1880s-90s.

It’s cool seeing all the old names.

Most are still familiar a century later: Mary, Peter, Sarah, William, Joseph, Daniel, etc. Some have alternate spellings that are much less common now: Catherine/Catharine, Elizabeth/Elisabeth.

But there are a lot of strange ones.

Here, for your viewing pleasure, I’ve collected the most unusual and interesting first names I’ve encountered as I worked through 3,000+ records. All of these belonged to people lived in Ohio, though not all were born here.

• Erastus
• Mahitable – female, Biblical. Variant of Mehetabel, who was the wife of an obscure king in Genesis.
• Lodema
• Philemon – male, Biblical. Received one of St. Paul’s letters.
• Selestial
• Hattie – female, seems to be a variant of Harriet.
• Machias
• Lucretia – female, based on a figure in Roman history and/or legend.
• Theodosia – female, possibly based on a 7th-century Byzantine saint. Also a genus of beetle, so, you know, there’s that.
• Belizur
• Windfield
• Malista
• Absalom – male, Biblical. Son of King David.
• Cora – female, pulled from Greek mythology. I like it mainly for other reasons.
• Corvidell
• Ebenezer – not just for Scrooges anymore.
• Zelma
• Alwilda
• Effie – one for the Hunger Games fans. (I’m one of you. Shh…tell no one.)
• Folly – really?
• Delilah – besides being the love of the Biblical Samson, she’s also the subject of one of my favorite songs.
• Lather – somebody’s mother really likes soap?
• Lemuel – male, Biblical. A king mentioned in Proverbs.
• Dayton – good name for an Ohioan!
• Dimmit
• Iona
• Bertha – actually means “bright one,” but today, pretty much just means “fat.” The association seems to date back to World War I, when a type of German mortar was named the Big Bertha. Kind of unfortunate, as it’s an otherwise perfectly good name.
• Horace
• Criner
• Parlee
• Enoch – male, Biblical. Ancestor of Noah.
• Hiram – male, Biblical. Shows up a lot in old records.
• Rollin – they see him Rollin, they hatin’…no? I’ll be quiet now.
• Actions – this is a really good name.
• Flay – this is a really scary name.
• Thaddens
• Ingalee
• Sophronia
• Brazetta
• Malawza
• Ephraim – male, Biblical. Mentioned in Genesis.
• Wall
• Mythella
• Israel
• Hulda
• Caldo
• DeQuincy
• Jemima – you thought this name was just for syrup, didn’t you? Well, now it is. It used to be for people.
• Ambrose – I’ve heard of this one! Ambrose Bierce. I’m proud of myself. Also, Ambrose Burnside is the origin of the term “sideburns.” No, I am not joking. Go look at him. Guy’s a legend.
• Drucilla – I was pretty pumped about this one, but then, I am a bit of a Buffy fanatic.
• Radcliffe – not just for Daniel anymore.
• Reziah
• Verdia
• Fordice
• Lyman – I only know this one from old Garfield strips.
• Cubbage
• Zelotus
• Tryphena – female, Biblical.
• Orange – hey, orange you glad you didn’t make any dumb jokes about this one?
• Leab
• Mahlon
• Alzina
• Florilla
• Harvel
• Bass – I’m all about this name. Ha, do you get it? Because…sigh.
• Comer
• Augustus – sweet name, but I bet other kids made fun of him.
• Augusliss – I don’t know what happened with this one. It’s like they were going to name the kid Augustus, but panicked at the last minute?
• Noble
• Inez – a variant of Agnes.
• Uriah – male, Biblical.
• Reason – a good name for a Vulcan.
• Patience – a good name for anyone still reading this list.
• July
• Bessie – pretty much just for cows now. I’m not sure why.
• Etna – do you hope your daughter will be a fan of active volcanoes? This is your way of saying, “You can do it, honey!”
• Ione
• Alpha
• Florida – might be friends with Orange.
• Nevada – still a better name than Idaho.
• Winnie – a perfectly good name until A. A. Milne ruined it for everyone.
• Fanny – variant of Frances. This is an interesting one, actually. Here in the U.S., “fanny” is an inoffensive and old-timey word for “butt.” In Britain, I have learned, it’s a much more offensive term for “vulva.” (Similar to the situation with “spaz,” which also has wildly different meanings on opposite sides of the Atlantic.) Both meanings of “fanny” seem to derive from the character Fanny Hill in the early, infamous pornographic novel Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure. In any case, people apparently stopped naming their kids this once it started to mean “butt.”
• Mercy
• Felix – means “lucky.”
• Mildred – still familiar today, but definitely sounds like an older name.
• Granvil – allegedly means “big town.” Like gran(d) vil(lage), I guess.
• Ursula – the name comes from a legendary saint and means “little bear,” but today it has other associations.
• Delight – this is a cool enough name on its own, but I have to mention that the first time I encountered it, the woman’s full name was Delight Beard. That is, without a doubt, one of the greatest names of all time. It’s right up there with another woman I found in the records, Carrie Carrey (who was unmarried, meaning her parents called her that on purpose). I also knew of a guy at my old job named Thor Bruno, which is similarly high up in the hall of fame.
• Mamie – President Eisenhower’s wife was named this, too.
• Silas – makes me think of Silas Marner, a novel that I started reading, and then, uh, stopped reading.
• Ada – an excellent name. Ada Lovelace was the world’s first programmer.
• Hyman – a male name, no longer used, for obvious reasons. It’s derived, however, from the Hebrew “Haim,” and seems to be unrelated to “hymen,” which has its origins in Greek.
• Flossia
• Magdaline
• Merlyn – a great name.
• Aljern

And finally, who could forget…

• Philander

Yes, there really were men named Philander, back in the day.

Have you ever wondered why “philanderer” and “philanthropist” sound similar, but mean such different things? Okay, probably not. But it turns out, it’s not a coincidence, and the meanings aren’t as different as they seem.

See, “phil” means “loving,” and “andr”/”anthr” means “man” or “mankind.” So a philanthropist is someone who loves mankind. Philander, as a name, used to mean something similar. But then it morphed into the other meaning of loving, er, mankind, and after that, people started picking different names for their baby boys.

Which is funny, considering how many babies exist solely because of philandering.

Anyway.

That’s, uh, that’s all I’ve got for now. Who knew working in a library could be so educational?

Exhibit A: the North American cantaloupe.

Image source

Exhibit B: the honeydew melon.

Image source

Recently, I got curious about these two. Is the honeydew melon a type of cantaloupe? Or vice versa? Or are they completely separate species? What, in short, is the deal?

I fired up Google, expecting an answer in thirty seconds or less. What I found, instead, was a subject of astonishing confusion and complexity.

Part of the trouble is terminology. For instance: “muskmelon” can be either a synonym for “cantaloupe,” or a larger group that includes both cantaloupe and honeydew. Honeydew melons are also said to be a type of “winter melon,” but “winter melon” can also refer to an entirely unrelated Asian fruit. Even “cantaloupe” is confusing, because what Americans call a cantaloupe is different than the so-called “true” cantaloupe, also known as the European cantaloupe. Oh, and apparently “honeydew” is also an alternate name for cantaloupe.

You see the problem.

Let’s talk science. Botanists have official, unambiguous scientific names for everything, right? That should clear up the confusion.

Well, cantaloupe (both North American and European) and honeydew all belong to the same species: Cucumis melo. So they’re different subgroups of the same species. That’s good to know. But what kind of subgroups, exactly? And do they overlap?

Well, what are the biological taxonomic levels below species?

Turns out, it depends which kingdom you’re in. We’re talking about the plant kingdom – botany – and there, the taxonomic levels below species (the so-called “infraspecific” levels) are:

• subspecies
• variety
• form

So honeydews and cantaloupes are both Cucumis melo, but different subspecies, maybe? Or different varieties?

Wiki gives the subspecies of cantaloupe as “C. melo subsp. melo.” This terminology is known as a trinomial name, because it includes three names: the genus (Cucumis, here abbreviated “C.”), the species, “melo,” and the subspecies, which is also called “melo.” The connecting word – “subsp.” – indicates that the third name is a subspecies, as opposed to a variety or form.

So the cantaloupe is Cucumis melo subsp. melo. That cover subspecies. What about variety?

Wiki has us covered there, too. The variety is “Cucumis melo var. cantalupensis” – but it also gives the variety as “Cucumis melo var. reticulatus.” What’s going on there? Why two names?

Wiki doesn’t say, but further research reveals that North American cantaloupes belong to C. melo var. reticulatus, whereas European or “true” cantaloupes belong to C. melo var. cantalupensis.

Cool! What about honeydews?

Wiki defines the honeydew melon as part of a “cultivar group” of Cucumis melo – specifically, the “inodorus” group. What in the world does that mean? We know about species, subspecies, variety, and form, but cultivar group is new.

A cultivar, I have learned, is a type of plant cultivated (usually by humans) for a specific characteristic. A cultivar group is, well, all the plants that belong to a particular cultivar. Logical enough, but where does “cultivar group” fit in with the taxonomy we’ve learned so far?

Turns out, the subspecies/variety/form stuff is all cooked up by the International Code of Nomenclature for algae, fungi, and plants, or ICN. Cultivar groups, on the other hand, are handled by the International Code of Nomenclature for Cultivated Plants, or ICNCP. That’s why the terms don’t match up – they’re governed by different organizations. A cultivar group can match up with any level of the ICN taxonomy from genus on down.

After doing yet more research, I think – I think – that cantalupensis, reticulatus, and inodorus are all varieties (in ICN-speak) and cultivar groups (in ICNCP-speak). In other words:

• The North American cantaloupe belongs to species Cucumis melo, subspecies melo, variety reticulatus, which is also cultivar group reticulatus.
• The European or “true” cantaloupe belongs to species Cucumis melo, subspecies melo, variety cantalupensis, which is also cultivar group cantalupensis.
• The honeydew melon belongs to species Cucumis melo, subspecies melo, variety inodorus, which is also cultivar group inodorus.

Neat and tidy, more or less. The only thing that still bothers me is that inodorus doesn’t mean honeydew, it’s just a group that the honeydew belongs to. (Other members of inodorus include crenshaws and casabas.) Likewise for the two types of cantaloupes.

So what, precisely, is the official or scientific status of the North American cantaloupe, the European cantaloupe, and the honeydew melon? Is there any? Or do those terms belong strictly to the vernacular? That, sadly, I’ve been unable to determine, despite my best efforts. In the unlikely event that anyone knows, I’d love to hear from you.

And in the even-more-unlikely event that you’ve kept reading through all of this, congratulations! Hope it made sense. And yes, I am quite, quite mad.

Comic by Jim Davis. Image source

I have a theory – completely without proof – that “Elizabeth” has more variants than any other name. You have:

• Betsy
• Eliza
• Elsa (for you Frozen fans out there)
• Ellie
• Lisa
• Liz
• Isabel
• Libby
• Bess
• Beth
• Betty
• Buffy (no, really)

(Thanks to Baby Name Wizard for helping with that list.)

Other names have variants you might not expect. Peggy, for instance, is a diminutive of Margaret.

And John is fun to trace around the world:

• Jean (French)
• Johan (German)
• Giovanni (Italian)
• Juan (Spanish)
• Ivan (Russian)
• Sean (Irish)

…not to mention Jack.

James, meanwhile, is a derivative of the biblical Jacob, which means “heel-grabber.”

Crazy.

Coming soon: weird old American names that nobody uses anymore. Like “Philander.” No, really.