Tag Archives: bio

Garrison Keillor — Storyteller, Humorist

Gary Edward “Garrison” Keillor, born on August 7, 1942 in Anoka, Minnesota to Grace Ruth (Denham) Keillor and John Philip Keillor, was one of six children.

Keillor started on Minnesota Educational Radio, the forerunner of Minnesota Public Radio, in 1969 on The Morning Program. The show’s eclectic music was a major divergence from the station’s classical fare. He resigned in February 1971 in protest to what he attributed as interference with his musical programming.  As part of his protest, he played nothing but the Beach Boy’s “Help Me, Rhonda”.

The show returned in October, renamed A Prairie Home Companion. It now included live musical performances in the cramped studio and ran until 1987 when he decided to end it.

“I believe in looking reality straight in the eye and denying it.” Photo Courtesy of Prairie Home Productions

“I believe in looking reality straight in the eye and denying it.” Photo Courtesy of Prairie Home Productions

“What?” you say – it’s still on the air. He worked on several other live radio programs including “The American Radio Company of the Air”, which maintained nearly the same format as A Prairie Home Companion.

In 1993, he reintroduced A Prairie Home Companion receiving no credits except under the nom de plume, Sarah Bellum. As a Funny Names enthusiast, I love the shout out to his cerebellum.

The program goes on the road regularly with live broadcasts from venues around the United States incorporating skits with local flavor.

I saw him live in Seattle and found out that as a female Seattleite I could chop a cord of wood and catch a salmon all before breakfast. Then after breakfast head out to the University of Washington to attain my PhD, I was thrilled. (Note—the only PhD’s I possess are the letters on my keyboard, but I did catch a salmon before breakfast once.)

I don’t know about you, but his distinctive voice and story telling style makes me want to curl up in a flannel blanket with a hot cup of cocoa, lean back, and learn more about his fictitious sponsors like the Ketchup Advisory Board, a sample of which might be obtained at Ralph’s Pretty Good Grocery, “because if you can’t find it at Ralph’s, you can probably get along without it”.

He’s been married three times to women with impressive names as well: Mary Guntzel, Ulla Skaerved, and current wife, Jenny Lind Nilsson.

On November 1, 2006 he opened “Common Good Books — G. Keillor, prop.”, an independent bookstore located in St. Paul, Minnesota. Painted on the shop’s window below “Classics, all sizes”, is listed “Quality Trash” and “Midwestern Lit”. Doesn’t that make you want to go there?

Keillor is a prolific author as well with over 100 written or recorded works.

My hats off to you, Mr. Keillor, for giving us Lake Wobegon, “where all the women are strong, all the men are good-looking, and all the children are above average.”

Tracy — Fannie Cranium’s Guide to Irreverent Wisdom

Proof that I do not make these things up. I apologize to any animal rights organizations because he was delicious.

Proof that I don’t make these things up and do wear a hat. I apologize to any animal rights organizations because he was delicious.

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Hermann Zapf and His Dingbats

Hermann Zapf and His Dingbats sounds like a quite delightful 70s psychedelic band. Unfortunately, it isn’t one, but feel free to start the group and send us your demo.

Hermann Zapf rocking that pen.

Hermann Zapf rocking that pen.

No, Hermann Zapf is not a musician, but he is a rock star in slightly different circles. Zapf is a font designer, one of the most famous such designers in the world in fact. I am writing about him today because I ran into his amusing name while researching funny-named font Wingdings. Turns out Wingdings is what you would call (were you in the font business and knew such things) a dingbat font. Hermann Zapf designed one of the most famous (were you to be in the know about such things) dingbat fonts in the world – the Zapf Dingbat.

Zapf Dingbat. Chew on that, funny name fanatics.

Hermann Zapf was born in Germany in 1918, a world devoid of Microsoft Word and (presumably) dingbat fonts. At school he ate full meals in a time of famine thanks to a program organized by funny named President Herbert Hoover.

Zapf originally wanted to be an electrical engineer, but the atmosphere in Germany in the late 30′s was such that his and his family’s political leanings prevented that, as he was not admitted to any university. Instead, he found an apprenticeship and drifted into the world of typography half-accidentally, eventually becoming wildly successful (or as wild as you can be designing fonts).

This is actually the screenplay to the film "Beethoven", written in Zapf Dingbat font to make it more entertaining.

This is actually the screenplay to the film “Beethoven”, written in Zapf Dingbat font to make it more entertaining.

He has been married to fellow typographer and bookbinder Gudrun Zapf von Hesse since 1951. That is pretty awesome, and the life of a typographer-bookbinder couple sounds fascinating to me somehow.

Zapf is also a master in calligraphy, and was once commissioned by the United States to write out the Preamble to the United Nations Charter in four different languages. I have never received a call from the United Nations, or anyone else for that matter, asking to write something out really nicely for them. There is a reason for this, but at least they could ask.

Zapf was not content to just ride his own funny name to success, but at one point teamed up with a man named Herb Lubalin to found a typography company.

Back to those Dingbats. As you may know, a dingbat font is one of those seemingly useless fonts you find your word processor that consists entirely of various symbols and characters, forming “text” that is totally unreadable. In the 1990s an editor of the music magazine Ray Gun named David Carson printed a Brian Ferry interview entirely in the Zapf Dingbat font, for a delightful reason. Story goes, he thought the interview was so deathly boring, using the unintelligible dingbat font only made it more interesting and entertaining. I can’t confirm that, but approve of his methods.

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Boutros Boutros-Ghali

Mailman! Mailman! Mailman! Woohoo! – Dave

Hello, beloved BoFN fans! It’s true – at long last, your trusty postal person has returned for some good times. Today, I bring to you my longtime favorite-named international diplomat: former United Nations Secretary General Boutros Boutros-Ghali. Mr. Boutros-Ghali has been my fave UN SecGen since the moment I heard his name in high school social studies class – not for any real globally impactful reasons, but just because it was the most amusing anthroponym I had encountered in my then-short life.

My precious* Boutros

Just call me Boutros!

Despite the humo(u)r of this delightfully reduplicated name, I’m sure you’ll be as disappointed as I was to learn that his life and career weren’t nearly as funny. To add insult to injury, the odd collections of O’s and U’s means it doesn’t even result in a wealth of great anagrams (unless “Boil a ghost, sour turbo!” does it for you, that is). Nonetheless, the great series of tubes we know and love has pulled through again to find us some facts, as it always does.

How U doin?

How U doin?

Young Boutros was born in Egypt in 1922. His name translates into English roughly (and amazingly) as “Peter Peter-Precious,” and was passed down from his grandfather Boutros Ghali, who was Egypt’s Prime Minister from 1908-1910. Upon learning how to walk, Precious Pete quickly set his sights on higher things, like inspiring a satirical British sketch comedy news sign-off, being interviewed on Da Ali G Show, and becoming the first UN Secretary General to not be elected to a second term. All those accolades aside, he also did some more normal international diplomat-worthy stuff, like being a Fulbright Scholar and serving as Egypt’s Minister of State for Foreign Affairs. His actual time at the helm of las Naciones Unidas, served from 1992 to 1996, was marked largely by events like the violent breakup of the former Yugoslavia, and possibly furnishing some $26M in weapons to the wrong team in the Rwandan Genocide… so Da Ali G show doesn’t seem like a such a bad laurel to rest on now, does it? Oh! And his wife’s name is Leia (though she’s not a princess), and he was also once referenced on Friends, in case none of those other things were American enough for you. You’re welcome.

As the lads on Chanel 9 Neus would say, Boutros Boutros-Ghali!

-Mailman

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Norbert Wiener

Well hello there, funny name enthusiasts. Still here? Good to see you – or talk to this unseen crowd of people that are presumably there to put it more accurately. It’s been nearly a month since I last told you about a marvelous person with an amusing name, but I have returned. I won’t elaborate on where I was, but let’s just say a top secret mission involving a trip to the moon on Richard Branson’s spaceship, magical mushrooms and a spoiled chocolate croissant at the local Starbucks were all equally not to blame for my absence.

And, ah, look at that! I have a funny named subject to talk about today. How convenient.

Following the introduction (or re-introduction to you sciency folks) of Judith Q. Longyear, we land today on the great Norbert Wiener.

“Ah yes, another day’s brilliance complete. Now, where are my pants?”

Wiener, like Ms. Longyear, was a celebrated mathematician and scientist. His funny name resulted in many of his important breakthroughs and inventions having equally amusing names, like the “Wiener filter”, or my personal favorite the Wiener Sausage, which is a concept in probability that probably means something. I’m not the right person to tell you what that might be, but I’ll still gently chuckle at it. His funny name also contributed heavily to the nearly indecipherable Wikipedia article about him having golden sentences like this one :

A simple mathematical representation of Brownian motion, the Wiener equation, named after Wiener, assumes the current velocity of a fluid particle fluctuates.”

Ah, funny names, making the unreadable amusing since 1872.

Wiener was a child prodigy, obviously brilliant almost since he was born. He graduated high school at the age of 11 and received his BA in Mathematics from Tufts at the age of 14. He then headed to Harvard for further study, later earning a PhD from that institution when he was just 17. Personally I’m yet to receive my Harvard Mathematics PhD and I’m well past 17, but I’m sure it’ll get here one day. Probably in the mail as we speak.

Described by Wikipedia as a “short, fat Wiener Sausage in two dimensions”. Sometimes these jokes write themselves.

By 1915, when he was just 21, he was teaching Philosophy at Harvard and eventually wound up as a professor at MIT, where he worked for the majority of his career. Norbert Wiener became famous as the sort of absent minded professor you hope all brilliant people really are, while making huge advances in fields you’ve never heard of that are probably really important for making your dishwasher work properly or something. He formulated theories of cybernetics, robotics, computer control, automation and more fun sounding mathematical principles like Brownian motion, harmonic analysis and Tauberian theorems. You know, the kinds of things I’ll never begin to understand that are nevertheless super brilliant, or at least confusing enough to be considered such.

Norbert Wiener, a great man with a great name.

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Whitmell P. Tunstall

Handsomely bow-tied Whitmell’s passport photo from the 1830s.

This is the Funny Names Blog. We celebrate names that sound funny. It’s pretty simple. But there is another condition one must fill to be included in one of our occasionally partially amusing tributes to those who have carried these fine names. That is, to have accomplished something significant, been the child of someone significant, or at least been mentioned in the Kalamazoo Times or something. Really, we’ll take any excuse.

However, Whitmell Pugh Tunstall‘s inclusion in the vast canon of funny names needs no excuses. He was a man who for more than a decade battled against special interest groups, lawsuits, and various opposition forces to realize his goal – the building of some railroads.

Whitmell was born in beautifully named Pittsylvania County, Virginia in 1810. He went into law and started practicing (funny how no matter how good they get, lawyers never stop practicing! Or maybe it’s not funny at all on second thought) in Danville, Virginia in 1835 and soon decided that he really, really wanted to see trains going round and round in the area. Trains in 1835 were just about the latest thing, (kinda like thing X is now, X being whatever the latest thing is – I’ll let you cool kids fill me in on that one) and nobody trusted those then-newfangled transportation systems.

Tunstall served in the Virginia General Assembly from 1836 to 1848, during which time the building of the railroad was the hot button issue in those parts. He introduced a bill in his third year as a delegate  to charter the Richmond & Danville Railroad, but it wasn’t about to be as simple as that.

The idea of building railroads faced stiff opposition from people operating river transport businesses along the Roanoke River at the time. This is what we’d presently call “special interests” getting involved. Good thing this kind of thing is long gone from politics we no longer have any companies or individuals striving to protect their own incomes while working against the best interests of society at large. Nope, not at all.

Whitmell P. Tunstall was so cool, they named this flat, nondescript building after him. Or it might be named after British songstress KT Tunstall, which would also be cool with me.

Anyways, Mr. Tunstall was just the type of principled man to slap down that kind of tomfoolery. He faced opposition from just about everyone who could have cared to oppose to this crazy idea of carrying people and things from place to place faster. Finally, dozens of passionate speeches, fights against his colleagues, opponents and general complacency later, his dream came true – the charter passed in 1847 and the railroad would be built. He was instantly named as the head of the newly created Richmond & Danville Railroad company, which would later expand into the larger Southern railway system.

Unfortunately fate, as it often is, was cruel on ol’ Whitmell. Just as the railroad project was finally approaching completion, he died of Typhoid at the age of 43 and never got to see his life’s work. He did live to see the day when more than a decade’s worth of work came to fruition in the passing of the bill, and wrote home :

Tis the proudest day of my life, and I think I may now say that I have not lived in vain.”

If only we could all have such days. Writing about Whitmell Pugh Tunstall comes close to that feeling, but I do hope that there’s something even better coming.

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