Monday, November 15, 2010

It's all in the name

My name is Carla Elizabeth Knight.  I am named after my mother's parents.  Her father's name was Carlos.  I don't know why his name was Carlos.  We don't have one drop of Hispanic blood in our veins.  My grandmother's name was Elizabeth Estelle, but everyone called her Essie.  Interestingly, my other grandmother (my father's mother) was named Bessie.  Knight is my maiden name.  It is the name on my birth certificate and I kept it when Bud and I were married.  Bud's surname is Masek.  It's a nice enough name, though no one can seem to pronounce it properly.  I have nothing against it.  I will answer to Carla Masek; Bud will answer to Bud Knight.  It just really isn't that big of a deal to either of us.  I have a dozen reasons for keeping my maiden name, but the main reason is, I just like it.  It's who I am.


When I graduated from 8th grade, there was a ceremony in which diplomas were handed out individually to the entire class.  We all lined up alphabetically by last name at the side of the stage and as the Superintendent of Schools called our names, we were to walk out to the dais, shake the superintendent's hand, receive our diploma and continue over to the other side of the stage, down the stairs and be seated in the reserved section in the audience.  When he came to my diploma, he called out the name "Clara Knight".  I refused to budge.  The kid behind me tried to push me out on the stage, but I wouldn't go.  One of the teachers came over to see what was the holdup and I explained that wasn't my name.  Meanwhile, the superintendent looked down at the diploma, said "Clara Knight" again, and looked at me as if I was some sort of rabble-rouser.  I still refused to move.  I could see my mother sitting in the audience with a horrified look on her face.  I finally decided rather than mortify my mother further, I'd just go get the stupid diploma.  So, I walked out to the dais, shook the superintendent's hand, accepted the diploma and said directly into the microphone for all the auditorium to hear, "Thank you, but my name is Carla."  Then I walked off the stage, down the stairs and took my seat.  My name was printed correctly on the diploma.  It was not my fault the Superintendent of Schools couldn't read.  Apparently, he remembered me because four years later when I graduated from high school, he read my name correctly.


In 1977, I worked at the Daneker Clock Company in Fallston, Maryland.  This is where I met Bud.  It's also where we met and became lifelong friends with Tim.  I was the person in charge of all administrative functions.  The company was in bankruptcy and several of us had been brought in as troubleshooters to get it back in the black.  Frank Simms was the President.  Frank's background was in accounting.  He had previously worked as a CPA at a large accounting firm, and he had worked for the IRS for a short time.  Frank's handwriting was small and precise, I suppose since he was used to entering all that information into ledgers and journals.  Though tiny, his handwriting was legible until he came to a word he couldn't spell and then he just kinda scribbled something unreadable but close.  I had recently hired a secretary/receptionist and she was responsible for typing all the letters for the officers of the company.  I had to type Tim's letters, because I am one of the few people on the planet who can actually read Tim's writing.  Anyway, Frank had handwritten a number of letters he needed to have typed, so I gave them to our new secretary.  I helped her when she came to words Frank had scribbled because he couldn't spell them, but for the most part, she was able to handle the correspondence on her own.  When she got to the end of the first letter, she asked how Frank wanted his name typed in the closing.  I told her, "Frank E. Simms, President".  She finished all the letters and put them on Frank's desk to be signed.  He was not in his office at the time she completed the typing.  Not much later Frank came back, sat down at his desk and then bellowed, "Carla, come in here and close the door."  Now neither Frank nor I were known for our jocularity.  We both had a well honed sense of humor, but typically were relatively serious natured.   As I had not proofread any of the work the secretary had done, I just assumed the letters were filled with typos and he wanted me to have a talk with her.  When I got to his office and closed the door, he asked me, in a very serious tone, what name I had told the secretary to put in the closing of his letters.  I replied, "Frank E. Simms, President".  He tossed the letters across his desk toward me, but did not say another word.  I picked up the top letter.  Each letter was perfectly formatted and there were no typographical errors until I glanced at the signature line.  There, perfectly formatted and waiting for signature, it read, "Frankie Simms, President".  We looked at each other and both of us burst out laughing.  We laughed until tears ran down our cheeks and our sides hurt.  Though the door to his office was closed, everyone in the outer office heard us howling.  When I finally got a grip on myself, I crossed out the name at the bottom of the letter on the top of the pile and very precisely wrote "Frank E. Simms".  Then I calmly walked out of Frank's office, closed his door behind me, walked past the secretary's desk where I dropped the pile of letters, as I continued without missing a step to my own office and closed the door.  I don't think Frank or I opened our office doors again until everyone had gone for the day.  I still smile every time I think of that day.  Frank is no longer with us, but he holds a very special place in my heart.


Several years later, we had all moved to North Carolina and were running another clock company, Sovereign, Ltd.  Again I was in charge of all administration as well as taking on the load of purchasing agent.  We hired a secretary/receptionist named Rhonda.  Rhonda was one of those perky people.  She was always up.  She was bright and cheerful and bubbling over with personality.  She answered our incoming calls and made everyone who called our office feel a little better for having done so.  At least until she transferred them to me, whereupon we got down to the real business of the call.  Frank was the president; Tim was the Vice-President of Sales.  Frank and Tim had hired a great group of independent furniture reps to carry our line throughout the U.S.  Since part of my job was determining which orders were to be shipped and when, I had a relationship with every one of the reps, though I had only met a handful personally.  Frank and Tim decided to have a sales meeting and bring in all of the reps from all over the country.  There would be a dinner on the first night at an upscale restaurant, where the sales reps would meet the officers, production supervisors and office staff.  The next day they would tour the factory to see exactly how the product was made.  We all met for dinner, and Tim (being the person to whom the reps reported) took over to handle the introductions.  Everything went along normally until he got to Rhonda and me.  He asked us both to stand.  Then he turned to the group and said, "and you all know our lovely ladies, (he points to Rhonda) Bubbles (then he points to me) and No Bullshit."  Of course, everyone roared.  I've never really had a nickname, but if I was going to have one, that would be about the most appropriate one I could find.

1 comment:

  1. That was so freakin' funny I couldn't stop laughing...Wendy

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