Spring 2010, Part 2

Murdock Muse
Spring 2010, Part 2
(Readers' Articles)

WHAT'S IN A NAME
Nancy Augusta Howlett Murdock
April 14, 2010 - At Bible study recently we discussed a film that began with the story of Jacob, who passed himself off as Esau when he talked with his parents. Since the name of a man was really his essence and defined who he was, Esau, who was actually born first, lost his dominance over his twin brother who had stolen his name. We were asked how our names might have affected who we became.

I immediately thought of the nicknames the boys in my home town of Hubbardston had. A nickname was important to those boys. There were several ways to get a nickname:

1. Inherit from one’s father. Harold got his name “Pete” from his older brother, who had inherited it from their father.

As a boy, my father was called “Turk.” When my mother met him, she assumed that nickname was based on his quick temper. However, Dad, the youngest of grandma’s sons, inherited his older brother Arthur’s nickname. Arthur, an easy-going boy who was on the chubby side, acquired that nickname (“Turk”) on his first day of school. He was walking to school with a batch of children from the area. As he waddled along, one of the others laughed and said, “That one looks just like a turkey!” So “Turk” he became, and eventually it passed down through the ranks to the youngest brother, my father, Foster, who was very slender all his life.

2. Be given a name based on some fictional character. My brother Andrew, whom we always called “Andy,” was called “Gump” by his classmates, based on the comic strip character, Andy Gump.

3. Be given a name based on one’s looks. Neil, of Scandinavian descent, had very curly, very blonde hair. He became “Cotton-top.”

The only Black boy ever to go to our school was a very well-dressed, very clean, good-looking second grader who never understood how many boys envied the ease with which he was given the nickname of “Chocolate Bar.” I always thought it was strange that he felt they were tormenting him. A chocolate bar was a positive, desired item! But the teachers informed everyone that they couldn’t call him that any more, after his grandmother complained to the principal.

My cousin Richard, who was about in sixth grade, tried every way he could think of to get a nickname. Sure, we all called him “Rich,” but he wanted something more interesting. I recall one day when he came home from school on an afternoon when I was staying at our grandmother’s house, where he lived. Richard very excitedly told me that he finally had a nickname: “Flash!” I was quite sure that he wouldn’t get the boys to call him Flash, but I didn’t let him know what I was thinking. He was not a particularly fast runner.

Apparently he got no assistance from any of the boys, and none from later attempts, either. It seemed really ironic that one boy got a great nickname and hated it, and the other (although older and better known), couldn’t get a nickname no matter how hard he tried.

One day I complained to my mother that I had no nickname, but all my siblings did. She was disappointed, and she told me that she and my father had named me “Nancy” because it wouldn’t need to be turned into a nickname by adding y or ie. I discovered they had chosen for me the name of their favorite movie starlet. What could I say that wouldn’t sound petulant?

In seventh grade I decided to shorten my name to “Nan” or Nance.” My siblings still call me by my chosen nickname, Nan. Bob has a mental list of names using some variable of my given name, especially when it’s time to put labels on Christmas gifts. Some of them are : Nanette, Nanook, Nancio, etc. It doesn’t seem to bother him to know that Nanook (from the book “Nanook of the North”) was a male. He also enjoys the names I am able to work out from Robert Douglas Murdock, for his gift labels.

My name is Nancy Augusta (Howlett) Murdock. As my parents’ firstborn child, I feel that each part of that name is important. “Augusta” was my mother’s favorite aunt. My paternal grandmother had the same middle name , but spelled “Agosta,” as was her mother’s name. “Howlett” was the family name I was born with. The first Howlett in this country was the captain of the ship that brought the group of people who formed the Massachusetts Bay Colony around the early 1630s. (Our earlier family members to arrive were important to Plymouth Colony, including William Bradford, the first governor of Massachusetts, and John and Priscilla Alden, who also arrived on the same ship.)

After 18 years with a last name of “Howlett,” I became a Murdock on September 16, 1950. I have never regretted that decision. Shortly after our marriage, we were visiting Bob’s uncle Ken and his wife Millie. I mentioned that I was glad to have the name “Murdock,” as I had heard too many jokes where the name was changed to “Howly” or Owly, or misspelled as “Howlette” or “Houlette,” (having been assumed to be French). Millie said I might not be that pleased with “Murdock,” as it was a popular name for the murderer in TV programs or movies. She was right, and it may still be happening! But Bob and I will happily celebrate our 60th anniversary on September 16, 2010.

I am glad to be who I am. I have done my best to make it a name people are pleased to hear. I would have to say that, although I am not a noteworthy person, I have many friends and former co-workers who wish I still lived nearby. I feel that I am fortunate in being who I am, a woman 78 years old, with a series of plaques with my name on them, and describing certain work by me, including volunteer tasks. I know who I am and realize how fortunate I am not to have been born twenty years earlier, when a woman had extremely limited possibilities.

In response to the question of how my life might have been affected by my name, I would say that I have always tried to do my best so my family would not be embarrassed by me. One of my friends and I shared the honor of being the Highest Ranking Student when we graduated from Gardner High School in 1948. I later graduated Magna Cum Laude from the University of Minnesota. I don’t know of any record of me anywhere that is other than acceptable.

A few years ago, I wrote a poem of how I saw myself in my 60s. Basically, it was a short statement of how much had changed for women in recent years. It was very different from the possibilities for the women in my family when I was a child. However, I am proud of the way they led their lives and passed on their life decisions to me. For example, my mother and both of my grandmothers were respected teachers.

. Part 2: April 27, 2010

This afternoon my son Darrel, our middle child, called to describe an experience he had this week, after hearing about our discussion regarding names.

His first story was that today he had had a tough time trying to remember his wife’s maiden name. He recalled the name she held when he married her, but that was from her first marriage. He thought and thought, wondering how he could possibly forget something so important about someone so close to him. He finally did remember it, but he is still puzzled about this episode.

His second story was that he recalls the trouble he had pronouncing the letter “R” at a certain age. Unfortunately, he points out, each of his three names (Darrel Robert Murdock) contains at least one R. It weighed on him, as he wondered how old he would be by the time he could pronounce that important sound in his name(s). Eventually that magic day did arrive, but he still remembers how he felt, to be unable to pronounce his own name.

I AM WOMAN
Nancy A. Murdock
Who am I? I am Woman.
Woman didn’t mean much
When I was growing up -
Woman was Man’s adjunct,
Inferior to the stronger sex -
Needed to find a good Man
So she could exist.

Young Woman now has everything -
Man, children, job pressures,
House, laundry, cooking,
Looking smart
As if she has all the time
To pamper her body and mind,
Put on perfume for her Man.

But I am Old Woman,
Changing with the times
And changing with Time -
Mine is the computer desk
That a button pushes up and down -
No laundry for me,
My Man keeps the house.

I am Painter, Quilter, Writer,
I have integrated my life -
Left brain researches policy,
Negotiates instructions to follow -
Right Brain covers the walls
With color and shape and dreams.

I am wife, mother, grandmother
Great-grandmother, sister, friend
Cousin, aunt, great-aunt
Connected by email and Web
To family and the world -
I am a child of God -
Hear me now - I am Woman.

Dec. 4, 2003

WALKING THE LABYRINTH
Nancy A. Murdock
March 11, 2007 - Before we started walking, I was concerned that I wouldn’t be comfortable using crutches on the very large labyrinth constructed of fabric. Another parish had lent this to us as a special gift, and I didn’t want to harm it in any way. So I prepared myself to walk as carefully as possible so I could walk longer.

At first I was diligent at staying within the lines. But then the tight curves caused my left leg to began to hurt, so I let my left foot go outside the lines. I kept my focus on the process and listened for what God was telling me. When the leg had had more than enough negotiating, I used two lanes, one for each foot.

I stared at some of the writings from a group who had used the labyrinth the previous day, letting them lead me in more paths in my mind. I decided not to be concerned as to whether I had trod all four quarters of the labyrinth. It was enough to realize that there were other roads to explore. I quietly left the labyrinth and sat down, giving myself time to listen some more to God. Then I wrote the following prayer:

Thank you, God, for giving me a chance to explore the boundaries in my life and get closer to you along the way. Thank you for giving me options, alternatives - to find a deeper silence with you.

A little later, I added the following insight.
There are some places where I need to concentrate on the boundaries. But there are some where I need to leave the boundaries behind. Help me, Lord, to distinguish between the two choices.

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