The face is familiar, but I don’t recognize the name

I’ve been thinking lately about anonymity. After all, I pretty much expose my life every time I sit down to write this column. It is not so much that I have anything to hide. I just don’t know that it is a good idea to let every reader — and there are undoubtedly dozens of you out there — in on the gory details of my life. As my wife says, “too much information.”

Almost every day, especially on Sunday, I have the privilege of accepting compliments and suggestions about my column with church-goers and eater-outers and porch-rockers or whoever else I might happen to run into. My highest praise comes when Gladys Crabb calls to compliment my writing. I know my readers, and they are not opposed to telling me what they think. I’m thinking of ways to keep my thoughts public, but to become much more private in my personal life.

One thing I’ve considered is hiding behind a little facial hair. A goatee and a small mustache might do the trick, but I’m afraid I would just look like a very tall Satan. I grew a beard once, but the color was never quite right and it itched. Beards today look more like the shavee has lost his razor. I just don’t think I could pull off that look without resembling a wino. Somewhere between the stubble of a 5 o’clock shadow and Santa Claus would probably look best for me. I once knew a guy that had a brown beard that he allowed to grow down to his belt buckle. Most of the time he just had a long beard, but when he really got dressed up, he would mousse the whole thing to a glossy glob and comb it up and back ala Lawrence Talbot, the Wolf man. In fact, he looked like a cross between a werewolf and George Carlin. He really didn’t make much headway with the ladies that way, but he eventually hooked up with a pretty attractive St. Bernard.

I’m not interested in looking like a canine and I’m not very good at losing weight. My attempt at achieving a bit of anonymity will have to be something easier. Changing my glasses might just be an option.

Some, including my wife, don’t really understand the glasses I have chosen. Technically, my frames are English Barristers and reflect my timeless attitude and sense of style. And besides, if they are good enough for George Peagler, Griffin Bell and Betsy Crisp, they certainly should be good enough for me. I might have taken things a bit too far when I ordered sunglasses in the same round frames — yellow frames with green lenses. Although I was attempting the Ralph Lauren look, reminiscent of a crisp autumn day in a Chriscraft runabout, Mary Len, my executive exalted superior administrative assistant, says they make me look like a frog.

I suppose I could go for the retro look with some heavy black frames. I’m concerned that I would look like Barry Goldwater or Steve Allen, or my father. He wore those glasses back in the ‘60s and I’m already looking more like him than I want to admit.

So I’m not sure glasses or beards or any physical changes are the answer. I’m thinking of changing the picture you are looking at now. The next step would be to adopt a pen name, a “nom de plume” as they say on the continent. Rockefeller is a name that has recently been in the news. An obvious nut case and possible criminal using the name “Clark Rockefeller” made a name for himself by absconding with his daughter and vanishing into thin air. They caught him the other day wearing a pair of Woody Allen glasses. As far as I know, he did not marry his daughter although I think he now calls himself Steve Carnegie.

A well-designed alias could be the answer. Using a name like William Shakespeare might get me into trouble. I think it has been used before. Likewise, Ernest Hemmingway or Lewis Grizzard probably wouldn’t work. Also, the name won’t work if it is too contrived sounding.

There is an old joke about a very sexy woman who met a stranger on a train. She introduced herself as a self-proclaimed sex addict. She told the stranger that she had been intimate with almost every kind of man, but that she was on a quest to have sex with an American Indian and a Jewish man. He promptly tipped his hat and said, “Pleased to meet you ma’am. Goldstein’s the name — Tonto Goldstein.”

I’m not going for anything that contrived. I need to think of something that hasn’t been used before … something that would give me a little credibility and class. I need a name that means something in this community … a name that commands respect and admiration. Right now I’m leaning toward “Sparky Blanchard,” but I’m open to suggestions.

Boyce E. “Stick” Miller III lives and works in Americus.