Remember When: What’s in a name? Cantonian Nicknames

By Guest Columnist Mary Jane Boutwell

Knowing is not entirely so, the South seems to have a firm grip on nicknames with a story. Canton has been the City of Lights for years. As I said last month, it started with simple strings of Christmas across the streets. But, in all honesty, the nickname I like best is “My Hometown.”
Writing about Baby Peterson last month reminded me how nicknames can become “the name.” Back when—seniors’ graduation invitations came with slots on the front to place a name and with their full birth name printed on it. Most seniors got extra cards to pass out.
My mama, known as Maw, drove a school bus and knew a lot of the students at Canton High School. One day, she was going through the senior cards, raised her head and asked, “Who is Clarence Peterson?” We were finally able to stop laughing long enough to tell her it was Baby.
Maw did not like or want us to have a nickname, but the brother that had polio was bed ridden for a long time. He graduated to a full body brace in a wheelchair, cruches, and finally walking with a limp, no braces on his own. He was never “Limpy.” While in the hospital, he continued his schoolwork and read. When he got home, he had absorbed so much that he was a smart-alec. So, within a short time, he became “Professor.” That was shortened to “Fessor.” I do not know if he ever knew we a had a dog on the west coast with the same name.
Where did a name like “Froggy” (Hayes) come from? I asked. Froggy said in his young years they played baseball on the city field across from the police and fire department. It was not Little League. They called it the Outlaw League. He said he was not good at the game, but, when he made it to a base, he was constantly hopping around like a frog. So Froggy he became.
My youngest brother, James Leslie Sowell, was the baby of the family. He rode with Daddy everywhere. One of the neighbor teenage girls called him “Daddy’s little man.” That went through shortening changes, and for years he was “Man.”
While playing basketball in high school, he made several smooth moves that led to points on the board. The coach called him “Slick,” so Slick he became.
I asked Tebo Gowdy how his nickname came to be. As a baby around nine months learning to walk and talk, his older sister was teaching him to say his name, which was Theodore. He could not say it, but the closest he came was Tebo. So there it is.

EDITOR’S NOTE:  Mary Jane Boutwell is a passionate historian and is thrilled to share stories about way back when.