Whatever happened to Mildred, Ernest and Cyril?

Stumbled across this classic George Carlin bit, where the late genius comic ridicules names like Todd, Cody, Kyle and Tucker, while lamenting a world with fewer guys named Eddie, Vinnie and Tony.

Every year the Social Security Administration releases the list of the most popular baby names. On their website, you can analyze name data going back to 1880, a time when Harry, Walter and Minnie ruled. Spending time on there is like wandering around the Baseball or Basketball Reference sites. A quick 10-minute trip can turn into an hour-long journey.

Selfishly, I first wanted to know where Shawn ranked. I didn't want it to be too popular; I didn't want to be a commoner. In 2009, it was the 210th most popular name for boys, down from 195 in 2008. Shawn didn't appear in the Top 1,000 rankings until 1947, when it appeared at 922. In 1964, it finally broke into the Top 100, coming in at No. 88 (the audio version of this blog post will be read by Casey Kasem or, failing that, Rick Dees). Its best ranking ever came in 1973, when it was 27th. In 1975, the year I was born, it was 31st. The name has been dropping in popularity ever since. In 1975, Shawn was also the 254th most-popular name for a girl. In college a friend tried setting me up with a girl named Shawn. I begged off, fearing that an eventual marriage - if, you know, it reached that point after a few dates - would lead to a household with two people named Shawn Fury. This leads to ridicule, which I know because our school's old band instructor was named Kim Lau, as was his wife. Kids mocked this, though the reasons why this was so funny remain a bit unclear.

Sean is a more popular spelling than Shawn, as it was ranked 97 in 2009. I remain forever grateful that my parents chose the correct way to spell my name.

The first data comes from 1880, when John and Mary topped the charts. Today they are ranked 26 and 102, respectively. John held the top spot from 1880 through 1923, a dynastic run that dwarfs anything accomplished by Russell's Celtics or Wooden's Bruins. It didn't fall out of the Top 5 until 1973, a remarkable streak. It's never returned. Obviously, Baby Boomers fell slightly out of love with the name and it's never recovered.

My grandpa's name was Cyril, one of those old-sounding names that seems unimaginable for a kid today. Picture some 8-year-old named Cyril running around a youth soccer field today. Imagine his mom yelling, "Cyril, you're going home with the Johnsons, we'll pick you up later." Hard to do. If you know a Cyril today, chances are he was alive during the first World War.

Grandpa was born in 1913, when Cyril was ranked 302. Cyril never broke the Top 200 and since 1966 it's never even been in the Top 1,000. My mom's name is Cecelia, and she does spell it with the middle e (like her grandma did, whom she was named after), though everyone calls her Cees. Cecelia - with an e - is a pretty rare name, coming in at 738 in 2009. Cecilia - with an i - was at 265. I might be biased but I like it with an e, even though three generations of Simon and Garfunkel fans - and Saint Cecilia - are convinced it should be with an i. Great song, wrong spelling. And Cees - which, as I wrote, is what everyone calls my mom; most people probably don't even know it's short for Cecelia - has, according to the SSA website, not been "in the top 1000 names for any year of birth in the last 130 years." Now that's a name with a sense of uniqueness.

Know many Mildreds? Probably not. And if you do, it's likely because of visits to a nursing home or touching newspaper stories about a couple's 75th wedding anniversary. As recently as 1945, it was in the Top 100. She's been out of the Top 1,000 since 1984. Unless a retro-name craze hits the country, she will surely never return.

The months are interesting. Between 1976 and 1979, January cracked the Top 1,000 each year. But it never did before '76 and never since '79. This makes no sense to me. What occurred in 1976 that made people want to name their daughter January, and what happened to make that desire disappear after a four-year stretch? April's been around since 1939, peaking at 23 in 1979 (a big year for the months). But now it's down to 353. May, there's another old name, one you'll probably only see in Remember When columns that date back to the 19th century. May was the 95th most popular name in 1901 but hasn't been in the Top 1,000 since 1982.

A name to keep any eye on: June. As recently as 1941, June ranked 90th. Then it plummeted out of the Top 1,000 from 1987 through 2007. But June came back in 2008, placing 867. And in 2009, it was 662. So in two years, it inexplicably jumped at least 338 spots. It seems like it's a name that would appeal to people. Simple, conjures up images of warmth and sunshine. Could June break the Top 500 in 2010? The Romans were apparently more popular in the 19th century, as August was in the Top 100 for 12 years. It fell into the 900s in the 1980s, but has bumped up to 433.

Jayden ranked No. 8 in 2009, which can perhaps partially be blamed on Britney Spears giving her second child that name, inspiring others with her wise life choices. It didn't make the Top 1,000 until 1994 and even then it was 851. It took off in popularity at the same time as the Internet. Was there some type of online campaign to name children Jayden? Every year since it improved position. It seems inevitable that it will someday hold the top spot, a remarkable ascension for a somewhat ludicrous name.

The No. 2 name for boys - Ethan - has also had a startling rise. It was no higher than 263 until 1989. But it's now been in the Top 5 since 2004. That at least makes sense, I know an Ethan. I do not know any Jayden's or August's. Isabella reigns for the girls. In 1989, Isabella wasn't in the Top 1,000. Twenty years later, No. 1. I need a sociologist to comment on what all this means.

My wife likes to say she's a unique person and when it comes to her name, she's definitely correct. Louise hasn't been in the Top 1,000 since 1991. Like many names that are no longer as popular, Louise started falling in the 1940s - it ranked 99th in 1948. Even the Greatest Generation apparently thought their names sounded old - when they started naming their children, Cyril, Millie and Ernest began disappearing from birth certificates.

In the battle of seasons, Autumn rules, coming in at 81, well ahead of Summer at 175. As for Spring and Winter, they only made appearances in the 1970s. Spring cracked the Top 1,000 between 1975 and 1979, while Winter made it in 1978 and '79. Odd. Why those two years? Were fears about a nuclear winter so prevalent during the Cold War then that the word stuck in people's heads when naming their daughters?

And as for George Carlin and his dislike of Todds around th,e world, the late comic might have had an impact on some people. Todd was the 454th most popular boys name in 2001, when Carlin ranted about the name in his Complaints and Grievances concert. Today, just a decade later, it's at 892 and seems on its way out of the Top 1000. Maybe it's just a coincidence, but maybe not. Maybe Carlin bullied some people into forgoing Todd.

Carlin died in 2008. Too bad he's no longer around, because we need someone to take on Jayden.

What's in a name? A lot of Fury

One night in Fargo, a long-haired young employee at a gas station looked at a check I wrote and said, "Man. Fury. That's an awesome name. I'd kill for that name. You must get all the chicks."

I smiled and nodded politely, refusing to confirm or deny. "Why, what's your name," I asked.

"Johnson."

Ahem.

Anyway, I agreed with his general point. I've always loved my name, first and last. Shawn Fury. It has a great ring to it, much better than something like, say, Tom Fury. Especially with Shawn being spelled the correct way. If my name was Joe Smith, Shawn Fury is the type of name I'd take as a pseudonym when I published my first mystery thriller and didn't want longtime readers of my poetry to know I was dabbling in popular fiction.

A lot of people back home in Janesville still pronounce it "furry." Maddening. And robs the name of any cool factor. An old teacher of mine always pronounced it that way, until I wrote a note one day reminding him that it was pronounced as if it was spelled f-e-a-r-y.

Or, as Louise pronounces it - and others who speak English with more grace than we do - fury as in fur(y)ious.

Every time I see Fury - or fury - mentioned in a movie or in a headline or a book or a new product, I get a bit of a thrill out of it. It's the little things in life.

The latest comes from the Mad Max movies. The new one - which won't star Mel Gibson, Tina Turner or a Thunderdome - is likely to be called Fury Road. The plot remains unknown. But it will almost certainly involve violence, post-apocalyptic wars, heroes, midgets, dust, villains and a kick-ass chase involving cars and cycles on something called...Fury Road.

The New York Post is known for its creative headlines - "Headless Body in Topless Bar", "Ho No" (Spitzer scandal), "Stinko de Mayo" (Yankees loss on May 5). But from a selfish standpoint, the ones I enjoy most are when they throw a fury into a headline, which seems to happen two or three times a week. It's a perfect tabloid-headline word, like thug or perv. "Fury fueled by emptiness." "Britney's Fury" (accompanied by Britney Spears attacking a car with an umbrella). "Hill Hath No Fury Like a Woman Scorned." (Hillary Clinton story).

For Christmas one year my mom ordered "Fury Basketball" sweatshirts from the CBA's Fort Wayne Fury, likely setting the team's one-day record for merchandise sales. She passed them out to all the big basketball fans in the family, meaning pretty much everyone. As far as I know, no major professional sports teams have been nicknamed the Fury, but the Detroit Fury played Arena football. In classic Arena League trying-too-hard fashion, the team's logo probably produced more seizures than cheers.

If an expansion team in any major pro league ever takes the nickname, maybe the franchise will give me lifetime season tickets to all the games, in some type of ill-conceived goofy promotion.

Perhaps the most famous Fury in the culture is William Faulkner's The Sound and The Fury. Not sure how many people have actually read the classic book, but that particular phrase has worked itself into popular culture and the minds of newspaper copy editors everywhere. It's particularly handy when writing about loudmouth wide receivers who are also angry with their role in the offense.

Salman Rushdie wrote Fury. Thankfully, no Fatwa's were issued after its publication. According to an anonymous editor at Wikipedia, "this is considered to be the least known Rushdie novel." Hey, don't blame the title.

The Fury by John Farris is a famous novel that Brian de Palma turned into a movie.

There's a heavy metal band from Australia called the Fury.

The most dangerous Fury in history was the killer Plymouth Fury in the movie Christine, based on the Stephen King novel.


And everyone knows Lassie, but how many baby-boomers remember another heroic animal? Fury was a beloved stallion starring in a show of the same name from 1955-1960. Featuring Peter Graves, pre-Mission: Impossible, the show's plot usually "involved a guest star who got into mischief, was rebellious or disorderly and got into trouble because of it, and subsequently was rescued by Fury."

I never saw the show. But just from that description - and the name - I have no doubt that Fury the beloved stallion would have kicked Mr. Ed's ass.

There are Furies everywhere you look, but in its plural form, the word and name loses some of its edge. Even if Furies were mythical creatures.

Military forces understand the word's ability to intimidate. The British had something called the Hawker Fury, an aircraft and apparent partner of the Hawker Sea Fury. The U.S.'s invasion of Grenada in 1983 was called Operation Urgent Fury. They could have saved the word for a takeover of a larger country.

It's not like I picked Fury for a name, so I can't take any type of credit for it. But I still enjoy it, the way it sounds and the images the word sparks. If I was an angry person it'd be an even cooler last name. Or perhaps people would say I was just the victim of a self-fulfilling prophecy, that my inner rage and outward hostility were the fault of my last name. And I credit my parents for the Shawn portion of the name, and thank them for not going the e-a-n route.

Fury. Still sounds cool.

In fact, Louise claims she married me just for the last name. Guess the Fargo gas-station attendant was right.