East Egg vs. West Egg

Every year around this time I reread The Great Gatsby, like every good American should. It's one of the few traditions I actively partake in and encourage others to also embrace. I seem to get something different out of it each time I read it.

This year, I started thinking about names and how important they are in high society. In an early part of the novel, F. Scott Fitzgerald listed the names of guests at one of Mr. Gatsby's soirees*. Some of the names signified wealth and status (Chester Baker, Daisy and Tom Buchanan, Dr. Webster Civet, S.B. Whitebait, the Hammerheads and the Belugas, Stonewall Jackson Abram and the Chrystie family). These people were all residents of the more fashionable East Egg. (Gatsby and Nick Carraway lived in West Egg which was mostly new money.) The names listed all have cache. Chester Baker sounds refined and catchy. Daisy Buchanan is the perfect name for a woman of beauty and wealth. Dr. Webster Civet is well educated and sophisticated (Civet is French). Stonewall Jackson Abram is obviously named after the Southern Civil War hero. S.B. Whitebait, the Hammerheads and the Belugas have strong ties to the sea. Those that were familiar with the ocean were considered of a higher social class than the average American, as ocean travel reflected culture and common beach trips, in many cases, reflected wealth. And anyone who is anyone enjoys Beluga caviar on a Ritz cracker. Notice even the Chrystie family, with a seemingly average name, decided to jazz it up a bit with a "y" spelling.

On the other side of the spectrum, the novel is filled with less tony sounding names. Myrtle Wilson (the woman that Daisy ran over in Gatsby's flashy Rolls Royce) sounds downright homely in the same way that her working-class husband's name, George Wilson, sounds. Mr. P. Jewett, despite the first initial in lieu of a full name, is clearly Semitic as is Clyde Cohen. The Catlip family doesn't sound particularly highfalutin and neither does S.W. Belcher (despite the initials), George Duckweed (may as well be Dickweed) and Miss Haag. All of these people are obviously West Eggers with the exception of the Wilsons. They lived somewhere around Flushing, Queens altogether.

This all got me thinking about my own name and how I would like to change it. After all, Jay Gatsby was born as James Gatz into a poor Midwestern family. Little Jimmy Gatz was determined to make it big - and he did until his unfortunate demise. I, too, wish to make it big, but my overly Italian last name seems to be holding me back. The problem with my last name is that it is too ethnic (Italian) sounding and lacks a pedigree. Another thing I dislike about it is that I can't name my kids the WASPy names they deserve such as Abigail, Brantforth, Farnsworth or Carter. I also will never be able to get into any decent country clubs and co-ops with a name like mine. So I think this week I'm going to go to the town hall to officially change my last name to Tillinghast, after the noted golf course architect A.W. Tillinghast. I can't imagine a more pedigreed sounding name. It reeks of old money and WASP heritage, the kind where you can trace your family roots back to the old country (that old country being England). At the end of the day, nobody respects new money.** I certainly don't even though I am not from any money, old or new.

It's not that I dislike Italian culture - it's the Italian-American culture that I have a problem with. And TV shows like the Sopranos have only made it worse. Italian-Americans are now trying to talk, dress and act like Paulie Walnuts, even though his character is an exaggeration of how Mafioso Italians from New Jersey act. I love Italian culture - the food, the wine, the art, architecture, but the Americans have all but destroyed it with their nouveau riche sensibilities and overall tastelessness. (Take a ride through Bloomfield, NJ or Dyker Heights, Brooklyn around Christmastime to see what I mean.)

So, if I have time, by Labour Day, my surname will be Tillinghast and I will have to start living the part. As it stands, I count no fewer than 172 Polo by Ralph Lauren items in my wardrobe, so I already have a pretty good start. By the way, Ralph Lauren, who exemplifies old money Anglo culture, was born in the Bronx as Ralph Lifshitz, the son of an Ashkenazi Jewish immigrant house painter. Ralph Lauren, despite all his success, would still only be accepted in West Egg.



*Many of these characters are never mentioned beyond that point.
**It's my blog so I make up the rules.