How About Hoppy?

Names.org has released its list of the most popular baby names in West Virginia for 2022 based on Social Security data and feedback on its website.

For boys, Liam tops the list, followed by Waylon, Asher, Elijah and Oliver. “Liam” surprises me since I don’t know of any offhand, but then again, I don’t know many babies.

For girls, the number one name is Amelia, which is a beautiful name. I had a grandmother named Amelia, but everyone knew her by her nickname, “Meno” (MEE-no).

Which brings me to my name—Hoppy—which, as you might have guessed is not my formal name. Harvey, my given name, was passed down from my grandfather to my father to me.

My brother, Nick, who was nearly four-years-old when I was born, was a fan of the fictional cowboy Hopalong Cassidy, who went by Hoppy.  The story goes that Nick wanted me to grow up to be a cowboy (sorry to disappoint), so he started calling me “Hoppy.”

And it stuck. I’ve always been Hoppy, and I’ve spent a lifetime explaining my name.

I struggled with the name as a teenager when I was trying, perhaps too hard, to fit in. I would have to explain to each teacher in front of the whole class that while my real name was Harvey, everyone called me Hoppy.

Most people don’t get it on the first crack upon introduction. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” “Is that ‘Happy?’” Or they will repeat it back to me slowly to confirm, “So that’s H-o-p-p-y?”

Or they will ask what “Hoppy” is a nickname for, which leads to the story of its origin, which can actually be a good icebreaker.

However, just the sound of the word “Hoppy” implies a certain lack of seriousness.  It is a name more suited to a birthday clown, or your pet rabbit or frog, so it has always felt like an awkward fit given my profession.

The news seems more suited to names like “Frank” or “John,” perhaps an occasional “Oliver,” if you are at the foreign desk. “From Beirut, this is Oliver Cambridge Stevenson reporting.” Meanwhile, “Reporting from Toddler Talent Show, I’m Hoppy Kercheval.”

I feel like CNN reporter Poppy Harlow may be a kindred spirit. Her CNN bio mentions nothing about her name, but it does list her significant journalistic accomplishments including covering major international business events and interviews with heavyweights like Warren Buffett.

It might be funny if I met her. “Hi Poppy, I’m Hoppy,” and then I would laugh. However, given her credentials and accomplishments, I might be met with a icy stare.

A few of my good friends call me by my given name—Harvey or Harv.  They do it as a kind of joke, or term of endearment, as though my real name is my nickname. Years ago, Jimmy Stewart made a movie where his character insisted he had an invisible six foot-tall rabbit as a best friend.  The rabbit’s name was “Harvey.”

I just can’t win.

But being “Hoppy” is not so bad.  People remember the name, and the informality fits nicely in West Virginia where so many of us are on a first name basis. Some friends and associates are even comfortable enough to call me “Hop,” which must be a nickname of a nickname.

Frankly, it has taken a lifetime to get used to the name “Hoppy” and introductions can still be a bit awkward.  Perhaps that part of my life would have simpler if I had been a “Liam” or “Waylon” but then I wouldn’t have had the Hopalong Cassidy story to tell.

 

 





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