Friends of yesteryear and a coincidental cat

As for the girls, I’ll address them momentarily.

One boy’s nickname, however, created such uproar at our end-of-the-year high school awards ceremony we understood why he continued throughout his entire adult life demanding to be called, Fuddy.

Seems as though Fuddy was up for a science award in 1964, but when his name was announced, many in the high school auditorium squealed, followed immediately by thunderous laughter lasting a good two minutes.

Yep, Fuddy’s given name was no longer a mystery.

“Students, this year’s science award winner,” the principal said, “is Horace Perceval [last name redacted to protect my friend]. Let’s give Mr. [again redacted] a big round of applause.”

Of course, the laughter only succeeded in drowning out our applause, and to this day — 59 years later — we still call him Fuddy.

While the boys’ nicknames seemed harmless enough, some of the girls’ nicknames, on the other hand — especially by today’s political correctness standards — could be deemed inappropriate.

But because I have no use for political correctness, here are just a few of those “Girls of the 60s” and their nicknames: Toots, Doll, Babe, Honey, Pussycat, Punko, Mouse, Cookie and Sister.

Only one nickname was somewhat confusing, and it belonged to Sister.

Sister lived next door. Her parents, brother and everyone in the neighborhood called her “Sister,” so I didn’t find it odd to call her, “Sister,” too.

However, when looking at this from an altogether different perspective, the question always came up as to why her parents called her “Sister.” She wasn’t their sister, but rather their daughter. Furthermore, they didn’t call their son, “Brother,” either.

So, is there some irony behind her nickname?

Sister’s given name is Mary Madonna Elizabeth [last name redacted]. And, since Sister’s family were also good Catholics, the name wasn’t unusual.

This, however, is not the end of the story, even if it sounds somewhat preordained. Mary Madonna Elizabeth joined a religions order and went on to become a Catholic nun. And, today, she’s still called, “Sister.”

Ironic? Yes. God does work in mysterious ways.

But nicknames are only part of this column.

There are also alter-egoists to write about; especially where two famous editorial columnists — and Pulitzer Prize winners — are concerned: the late Mike Royko of the Chicago Tribune and the late Paul Greenberg of the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette.

Royko’s alter-ego was Slats Grobnik, while Greenberg’s was Inky Wrench. Their alter-egos simply added charm, humor and biting comments to their otherwise entertaining and informative columns. In fact, their alter-egos simply made it easier for them to blame everything on someone else.

Several years ago, I even entertained the thought of using The Cat from Oklahoma as an alter-ego in a column, but because a former news editor of the Johnson City Press — whose name I refuse to mention — didn’t understand the banter behind my idea that The Cat from Oklahoma was actually my sister and refused to publish the column.

He further stated that if my sister wanted to write a column, she’d have to contact the newspaper herself, which was, of course, an impossibility.

I told him my sister had died in 2012, and because he obviously lacked a sense of humor, or perhaps, didn’t know what an alter-ego was, I just dropped the entire matter.

And I certainly saw no reason to provide him with the definition, either.

You see, The Cat from Oklahoma is unquestionably my deceased sister, whose personal belongings arrived at my house the same day this stray cat showed up on the back porch.

And since my sister had lived in Oklahoma and owned several cats, I laughed it all off as a mere coincidence.

However, I didn’t laugh long.

The cat now lives inside my house, and while you may not believe in coincidences, or find all of the above rather phantasmagorical, my sister also had a degree in English and was a part-time journalist. And, besides, the cat knows exactly where my sisters’ belongings are stored.

Yes, gentle readers, we all have nicknames and alter-egos, but as for those strange coincidences, let’s just say I’m inclined to agree with Mark Twain who said, “Truth is stranger than fiction, but because Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; Truth isn’t.”

And who knows, maybe someday The Cat from Oklahoma will write a column.

In the meantime, however, no one will ever accuse me of hallucinating or hearing ethereal voices.

Larry French lives in Butler. He is a member of the Society of Professional Journalists and teaches composition and literature at East Tennessee State University. You may reach him at columnsworthsharing@gmail.com