Middle of the Road

Sharing middle names is a subtle link to generations past.

My middle name is, “Allen;” my dad’s middle name is also, “Allen;” my son’s middle name is “Allen;” and, my grandson’s middle name is “Allen” as well. Missing from the above four-generational picture is my grandfather, “James Allen Southern,” and my great-grandfather, “Allen Carriger Southern.” Discounting my great-grandfather, who sported, “Allen” as his first name, there are currently five generations of Southern men who have featured the “Allen” middle name. Man, that puts a lot of pressure on young Wyatt (currently seven-years-old) to not break the string.

And, perhaps you noticed, as I did, that I am “No. 3” in that string, surrounded on both sides by two other gentlemen - that is a fortuitous coincidence, that aligns rather nicely with my life’s rules. I am also the only middle child in this lineup, as far as I know; Tim and Wyatt and Bob are each the eldest child, and I believe James was an only child.

Although my great-grandfather, Allen, is not a member of the “Allen Middle Name Gang,” he nonetheless displayed skills which could have earned him at least an honorary degree in this elite club: during his time as a Missouri Circuit judge in Independence, Missouri, he was credited with destroying the Pendergast regime. (Reader alert: prepare for a presentation of arcane local political data from the 1930’s, and a rudimentary genealogy lesson - if you’d rather not learn about these things, feel free to go to the kitchen and make yourself a sandwich.) Tom Pendergast was a political “boss” in the early 20th century in Kansas City, who worked (sometimes through nefarious means) to elect politicians, and to award government contracts and patronage jobs. He was widely believed to be the driving force behind Harry Truman’s election as U.S. Senator in 1934; in fact, Truman was derisively referred to as the “Senator from Pendergast,” upon his arrival in Washington, D.C.

So, it was quite ironic that Judge Southern was a driving force in crushing Truman’s patron, inasmuch as the Judge’s son’s mother-in-law was Truman’s cousin. And, one of the Judge’s nieces was married to Harry’s brother-in-law; it was all quite incestuous. Man, that must have made for some uncomfortable family reunions.

The Judge’s brother, Colonel William N. Southern, Jr., was also an interesting character. He founded the Independence Examiner in 1898, and functioned as Editor and Publisher of the newspaper for fifty-three years. I have a portrait of “The Colonel” hanging in my office - he represents my newspaper publishing industry heritage, although my years of service to the industry are just more than half of his total. “The Colonel” was neither a colonel, nor a “Jr.” (his father’s name was, “John”); I believe he added both appellations in an attempt to make himself appear more respected.

And, newspaper publishers in those years were quite powerful, particularly when it came to endorsing political candidates. I believe the Colonel endorsed Truman most of the time, but I did note that he did not endorse FDR’s fourth term, which, with Truman as FDR’s running-mate, led directly to Harry’s becoming president. But, Truman remained close with his hometown publisher - he was even a pallbearer at the Colonel’s funeral in 1956. The Colonel also taught Sunday School for years, and penned a newspaper column, under the pseudonym, “Solomon Wise.”

In contrast to the Colonel, Harry Truman was an actual soldier during World War I, serving as a captain of Battery D, 129th Field Artillery, 35th Division (I freely admit that this unit description is gibberish to me, but perhaps it means something to those of you who know more about military operations than I). And, even more interesting to me, and more germane to this column, is the fact that Harry lacked a middle name. Oh sure, at some point he added the letter, “S” between “Harry” and “Truman,” but the S was intended to honor a couple of last names of families in his family tree, whose names began with S. Therefore, I learned that the proper way to write Truman’s name is, “Harry S Truman,” without a period after the S, because it stands for nothing.

Speaking of middle names, (how’s that for a smooth segue?) I recall a fraternity brother of mine, named Craig, who indicated that if I called him at work, where he sold carpeting for a time at a local retailer, I should ask for, “Nelson.” Wait, what? He said, “Yeah, when I interviewed with them, they revealed that they already employed a carpet salesman named, ‘Craig,’ and asked me what my middle name was. When I told them my middle name was, ‘Nelson,’ Eureka! I became Nelson.”

I’ve never had an employer ask me to change my name, but while washing dishes at a restaurant one summer, as a teenager, at Ravinia Park, north of Chicago, my supervisor, Louis, did march me through the kitchen, out to the loading dock, upon which was perched a bucket of water, with a station wagon parked below. “You wash,” he said, as he pointed to his car parked at the loading dock.

I looked quizzically at Louis, and performed the mental calculus in my head (you know, on the one hand, washing dishes in a hot, steamy, windowless dishroom, or, washing my boss’ car outside in the sunshine. I said to Louis, somewhat resignedly, “Okay, I wash.” I’ll let you determine which of these two requests was the more degrading. (Be honest, you’re running through the list of degrading things your employers have asked of you over the years, aren’t you?)

Now, this suggestion that the use of shared middle names is a cool link to previous generations does not in any way diminish the respect I have for those who utilize the same complete name from one generation to the next. A very close friend of mine has a “IV” after his name (that’s “four” to you and me), and he kidded his grandson, “VI,” at the time a teenager, asking him what his favorite number was. In case you’re wondering, the correct answer would have been, “VII.” (Never mind, I’ll explain it to you later.)

Consider perceptions surrounding the “middle,” which have developed over time: “monkey in the middle” (bad); “middle of the pack” (also bad); and “middle finger” (caustically bad). No one sets out to be in the middle; as humans, we generally strive to outperform others, and to be out front. But, I would argue that perhaps we could use a little, “middle ground” right now, particularly on the political front. Heck, even Harry Truman found himself in the middle of the picture below, taken at the historic Potsdam Conference.