What's in a Name (Parte Seconda)

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Today, I'm writing about names again. Not family names this time, but names of a different sort, a different color. Names sometimes called, "derogatory names" or simply referred to as "name-calling."

If you're of Italian descent,  you've heard them all: guinea, wop, dago, grease ball.  Course, people of other nationalities and descents have all heard the names associated with their ancestries. You know who/what I'm talking about-- micks, spicks, kikes, moolies, beaners, pollocks, towel-heads, chinks, and more.

But I'm going to let other people worry about (or get pissed about) the names they're called. I'm mostly concerned with the derogatory names associated with Italians because, well, because I am one, a guinea, a wop, and proud of it!

My Dad, Luigi, often called "Big Lou" by people, wasn't happy when hearing himself referred to as a guinea, wop, or some other colorful name given to Italians.  He grew up in a time when there was a fair amount of prejudice and bigotry aimed at Italian-Americans. For him, words like guinea and wop were usually fighting words, especially if they spilled out of the mouth of someone who was not one. An Italian, that is.

Quick story about my Dad: He was his high school class valedictorian. It caused quite a stir back around 1940 because A) there weren't many kids of Italian descent in his school and B) prejudice and bigotry aimed at Italian-Americans wasn't exactly uncommon back then. His school's administrators went to great lengths to prevent him from giving the valedictorian speech at his commencement.  They almost succeeded. How? Because my Dad didn't have a suit and, according to them, wearing a suit was mandatory even though it would be covered-over by graduation robes.  Fortunately, the local parish priest heard about my Dad's plight and convinced some parishioner to donate or loan him a suit to wear to his graduation. Imagine: something as simple as a suit prevented an overt act of discrimination.

When I was growing up in North Jersey, I can't say I personally felt much real prejudice against Italians. But then, there's plenty of Italian-American families in North Jersey. My Mom's family is German and English but she married an Italian. Her brother married an Italian. Her younger sister married an Italian. Leastwise, on her second go-around which happened while I was still in school. So, for me growing up, the Italian culture, the food, the whole enchilada, I mean ball of wax, I mean Italian ball of meat seemed everywhere around me.

More than a few of my friends were Italian and we used to call each other wops or guineas -- sort of like black people do with each other using the "N" word -- even those friends who weren't Italian called those of us who were those names. But it was all in fun. It was actually more on the endearing side in a strange sort of way. I confess, I often called my friends, those who weren't Italian, whatever derogatory names were associated with their people. It's the way we were when we were kids, especially when we were teens. Two of my closest friends were a "Dumb Pollack" and a "Mick." 

When I was in the military, I was stationed in Biloxi, Mississippi, for a while.  Thankfully, a short while. I remember going to a local restaurant just after arriving in that armpit of the nation. I was perusing the menu when I spotted "Wop Salad" on it.  I called the waitress over and asked, "Excuse me. What's a wop salad?"

In a friendly, thick-Southern-accented voice she said, "Why that's a green salad with Eye-Talian dressing silly."

Please note the menu entry, "Wop Salad," was commercially printed on the menu. It wasn't merely handwritten by some Southern bigot on a little "Today's Specials" note attached to the menu. Course, prejudice and bigotry were institutionalized in the South back then. Just ask any black person who happened to live there during that period of time or earlier. The experience was something of an eye-opener for me-- a young and impressionable Italian-American kid from New Jersey. To this day, whenever I meet someone from the South, I immediately suspect them of being a "Southern bigot" which, I suppose, makes me somewhat prejudiced against Southerners. But, I can be quickly turned around if/when the Southerner in question proves me wrong by words or actions.

I once called my son's mother who, like me, is half-Italian, a "little guinea bitch."  I didn't say it in anger or during a quarrel. I thought I was saying it humorously, affectionately, and romantically. "Come here you little guinea bitch," I said with a knowing smile in what I thought was a sexy, inviting, voice. I only said it once. She immediately clocked me hard, right in the kisser, a moment after the words came out of my mouth. No sense of humor I guess. As you may have already guessed, nothing of a romantic nature immediately ensued.

Years ago, I worked for a large corporation. I was friends with a black woman in accounting. We'd talk. Have coffee together. Shoot the shit. She had a white boyfriend. A white boyfriend who was an Italian-American. One day, she says, "Jimmy? Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," I said. "What's up?"

"Well, you're Italian, right?" She asked. I nodded. "When my boyfriend and I are having sex, he keeps calling me a 'moolie' or a 'moolinyan' while we're doing it.  What's a moolie?"

Somehow, merely explaining that "moolinyan" is the Italian word for eggplant wasn't going to cut it. We were friends and all. She pressed me to explain further. My friend broke up with her boyfriend over that. I didn't feel responsible but I did feel bad... for both of them.