The Namesake

Don Vito Corleone

“The name of a man is a numbing blow from which he never recovers.”

- Marshall McLuhan (1911-1980)

          It would sadden my mother to see that Frank Sinatra’s grandson -- the son of Frank Sinatra Jr., named Frank Sinatra III -- tried to commit suicide this week. Maybe at some point in the young man’s life the name Frank Sinatra turned from an advantage to a burden. The original Frank was a cool cat and his pipes were a gift from God. That kind of swag probably can’t be duplicated, no matter what your name is.

             I think it would bother my mom because – as far as I know -- during her life she was in love with only two men: my father and Old Blue Eyes.

            Everyone knew that Palma loved Frankie – as a singer, of course. But one day, when I was about 12, I made a chilling discovery.

             As I flipped through my mom’s telephone book, where she wrote the names and phone numbers of her friends, I saw it. I looked again, but there it was, in her very own handwriting:

            Frank Sinatra … TW3-3713

            My mother had Frank Sinatra’s personal phone number. She was having a relationship with Frank Sinatra!

            I confronted her. “What’s this?” I pointed to his name and number in the little black book. “Frank Sinatra! Is he your boyfriend?”

            I couldn’t believe her reaction. I had caught her in the act, but apparently she was so good at the art of deception, she acted nonplussed. Calmly, she held out her hand for me to pass her the book. I slapped it into her palm and awaited her explanation.

            “Yes, we know Frank Sinatra,” she said calmly and handed me back the phone book. “He lives by grandma and grandpa on Santa Rosa.”

            “Why do you have his number?” I accused.

            “He helped grandpa paint the back of the house, where the boarders lived. I kept it in case we needed a painter.”

            “The painter’s name is Frank Sinatra?” I just could not let this go.

            “The Frank Sinatra in my phone book is older than Frankie. He was Frank Sinatra first.”

            Deflated from the reasonableness of the anticlimactic explanation, I returned my mom’s little black book to her desk, and right then I decided not to name my future children after famous people. I think celebrities should follow that rule, too. Being named after an iconic relative is just too much pressure. 

            My advice is to name your loved ones something normal, you know, like we did with our dog, Don Vito Corleone Pedersen. 

Don Vito Corleone Pedersen