I expect that I am not alone in my amazement when I happen upon someone who bears a name so strikingly appropriate to his/her profession that I am forced to stifle a giggle.
I wish I had kept a running tally of these instances because I believe a book of such folly would be quite entertaining.
For now, the following poem will have to suffice:
What's In a Name?
Downtown there is a pastry shoppe
Once owned by Sally Baker
Dear Father had his soles repaired
By a gent named Rick Shoemaker
The nurseryman on Main Street
Goes by the name Jim Holly
So, surely you must ask yourself
Are these names by fate, or folly?
How often have I met someone
And played this mental game
Believing it no accident
That one's profession suits his name
In bygone days a name was given
That spoke of one man's trade
But today's Coopers, Smiths, and Tanners
So rarely tell what hands have made
Yet still I pause to wonder-
If names are truly meant to be,
Why is it then
That Edgar Allen's
Surname had no t ?
This is my truth;