A Rose by any Other Name
Talking about names yesterday, I remembered that a few years ago the drink Aquarius made a commercial you can see here in the little town of Huerta de Rey in Burgos. Part of the hook was that the residents were in the commercial and introduced themselves. They criticized their mayor because his name was, boringly, Antonio, and asked that Aquarius change his name. The problem was that his name was too normal. After all, Huerta de Rey is the town with the strangest names in all of Spain.
Joviniano, Herundina, Fredesvinda, Especioso, Burgundófora, Dulcardo, and many others are the names of actual inhabitants of the town. There is a story, and it goes back to the end of the nineteenth century. The town was always small and never went far above the thousand inhabitant mark. There was a lot of cross marriages in the families, and despite the custom of inheriting the patronymic and the matronymic, last names tended to be the same. Pedro Lopez García could easily have had a cousin called Pedro Lopez García from different branches of the families. The mailman was going berserk trying to deliver letters correctly.
So, the secretary of the town hall, who was in charge of inscribing newborns into the Civil Registry, proposed using names from the Roman Martyrology. It was proposed at a town meeting and approved. From then on babies were given names only found in Lives of the Saints until that time. So babies from then on suffered strange names. I can imagine playtime for the young children. At least, since they all had the same handicap, no one made fun of the other.
The custom continues today, though to a much lesser degree. Mostly, because people now travel and if a family with a girl named Plautila moves away to another town, the poor girl would have a tough time of it every time she had to introduce herself. The majority of people with singular names are above fifty years old. But it can give the owners interesting anecdotes. Such as what happened to Firmo. His name can be confused with the first person singular of the verb firmar (to sign). Which happened often outside town. One day, when it was still obligatory to carry the National Identity Card (DNI) at all times, he is stopped by the Civil Guard. He doesn't have his DNI with him, so they give him a fine. When they tell him to sign, he does. When the Guards see his name, Firmo, they assume he had written "I sign." So an argument ensues and he is given another fine for making fun of the authorities. He is told to sign that fine and he does so. They order him to show up the next day with his DNI. Firmo dutifully shows up, and the Guards remove the second fine.
Some of the strange names aren't so strange, but too well-known. Julio Iglesias was named that because he was born in July. He's heard his share of jokes. And no, he can't carry a note. But his name is an eyebrow-lifter only because of the combination of first and last names. There are others like Clodoveo, Filogonio, Eufronia, Crescenciano, or Emerenciana. The next time we think our parents must have been nuts when they named us, think of the parents of that town.
Joviniano, Herundina, Fredesvinda, Especioso, Burgundófora, Dulcardo, and many others are the names of actual inhabitants of the town. There is a story, and it goes back to the end of the nineteenth century. The town was always small and never went far above the thousand inhabitant mark. There was a lot of cross marriages in the families, and despite the custom of inheriting the patronymic and the matronymic, last names tended to be the same. Pedro Lopez García could easily have had a cousin called Pedro Lopez García from different branches of the families. The mailman was going berserk trying to deliver letters correctly.
So, the secretary of the town hall, who was in charge of inscribing newborns into the Civil Registry, proposed using names from the Roman Martyrology. It was proposed at a town meeting and approved. From then on babies were given names only found in Lives of the Saints until that time. So babies from then on suffered strange names. I can imagine playtime for the young children. At least, since they all had the same handicap, no one made fun of the other.
The custom continues today, though to a much lesser degree. Mostly, because people now travel and if a family with a girl named Plautila moves away to another town, the poor girl would have a tough time of it every time she had to introduce herself. The majority of people with singular names are above fifty years old. But it can give the owners interesting anecdotes. Such as what happened to Firmo. His name can be confused with the first person singular of the verb firmar (to sign). Which happened often outside town. One day, when it was still obligatory to carry the National Identity Card (DNI) at all times, he is stopped by the Civil Guard. He doesn't have his DNI with him, so they give him a fine. When they tell him to sign, he does. When the Guards see his name, Firmo, they assume he had written "I sign." So an argument ensues and he is given another fine for making fun of the authorities. He is told to sign that fine and he does so. They order him to show up the next day with his DNI. Firmo dutifully shows up, and the Guards remove the second fine.
Some of the strange names aren't so strange, but too well-known. Julio Iglesias was named that because he was born in July. He's heard his share of jokes. And no, he can't carry a note. But his name is an eyebrow-lifter only because of the combination of first and last names. There are others like Clodoveo, Filogonio, Eufronia, Crescenciano, or Emerenciana. The next time we think our parents must have been nuts when they named us, think of the parents of that town.
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