Tag: dailyprompt-2010

Parts of this post appeared in 2023, when this prompt first appeared. I’ve edited it a bit and added on to it. So it’s a bit different.

There’s a lot in a name. For some, it’s a measure of their identity, and for others a memento of the past. 

Take mine, for example. A whole raft of people only knew me by the name Wes. Years later, on Facebook, they discovered that Lou was my real name. Of course, they don’t know how I came by the alias.

At one point, I was a member of a group of Folkies on Boston’s Beacon Hill. I was also a junior member, having only shown up in Boston a month before. Everyone else had impressive-sounding nicknames or alias. There was the Tea head of the August Moon, Captain Zero, Dutchie, English Joe, and Mike the Vike. I was the only one not replete with a handle, alias, or nickname. So far, I had avoided committing any blunder that landed me with an embarrassing name, nor performed some feat that gave a great descriptor like Captain Zero. It was a puzzle that my tribal seniors decided to address that very night.

Genesis

While they were debating my naming, I wandered over to visit my friend Judy. Judy’s roommate Elaine was an airline stewardess, and the two usually showed up with five or six friends who worked with Elaine. Judy was like an older sister. I had to be on my best behavior around her and with any of her guests. That night I struck up a long and involved conversation with one of Elaine’s friends about how the folk music industry was changing. 

You had to talk loudly to be heard above the crowd at the Gardens that night. But it became clear that although I had introduced myself to Sarah as Lou, she had not heard me. Eventually, her not knowing my name morphed into my being called Les. As we continued to drink, Sarah altered this to Wes. I was frankly too enchanted to correct her. 

Judy and Elaine gathered their brood at about eleven and left for home. Sarah grabbed me for a hug and a kiss and proclaimed loudly, ” Wes! You’re so sweet.” Sweet wasn’t what I was aiming for, but I saw them at their apartment on West Cedar Street before wandering back to the Gardens.

Baptism

I saw them snickering as I walked towards our table ( now buried under empties and remains of bar snacks). I knew my fate was determined. As I sat down, the Tea Head smiled and said to Captain Zero,” The envelope, please.” he was handed a soiled cocktail napkin. ” the choices are Sweetie and Wes.” He handed me a beer and exclaimed, “Lucky for you, we determined that Sweetie would demean the tribe. So we now baptize you, Wes. They then poured their remaining beer over my head.

We were then asked to leave the bar and not return until something more outrageous dimmed the memory of my baptism. A week I think.
The following day, everyone in the household started calling me Wes. Eventually, I began to think of myself as Wes. When I enlisted in the Navy, Wes went onto my record as my alias, and the name has followed me ever since. 

Into the future

I was Wes in entire swaths of the North American Continent. If I showed up today, some sptogenarian might look at me like I was a puzzle, scratch their head, and say, “You look kinda like an old friend of mine named Wes.” I just smile, reflect to myself that I still owe Jud a C note, and say that I’ve never been in this part of the state. Despite that hawk-eyed stare of bemusement, He can’t place me, and the hundred will stay on the account books.

Luckily, there have been no calls or notifications from lawyers mentioning my DNA matches with Lulu’s son or daughter. I guess that I’ve dodged that bullet! Ahhh, exempt from those back monthly payments.

Why did Wes disappear? He had to; his lifestyle almost got me killed, and I ran from it to save myself. However, like bad pennies returning, you can only run from yourself for so long. In 1988, on the stairs leading up to Georgetown* it all came crashing back. I had been noodling around on guitar with a bluesman ( Silas Hubbard), and Wes crawled out, much to my surprise.

I had to deal with Wes, hw wasn’t going back in the bottle. The genie was out. In part, the way I’ve dealt with my errant alter ego is to write about his “exploits” on the road in the 1960s.

Echoing Leonard Nimoy, I thought about writing a book and entitling it,” I Am Not Wes.” But the scalawag is a part of me. Recently, picking up the guitar and playing has brought him to the surface. If you run into him at a club, please accept my apology in advance…he means well.

• I recently learned that these are called the “Exorcist Stairs, good grief! What have I set Free?
• One last word: I let Wes pick the illustration…It’s his sort of thing.