Devonne Brown

I suppose the Appalachian tradition of giving kids weird names, Stanley Hugo,  Ervin Otto, or even Oral Homer was part and parcel of growing up in the isolation of the hollers. I was the last of the kids to get a holler name before we moved out to the suburbs, I suppose.My brother got stuck with Leland Arthur, my dad’s uncle’s name, but he mostly goes by Turk. 

Both of my grandmothers were prone to give their children anxiety inducing names. Elwanda Lucille, Aredith Athalee, Odie Opal Arbutis, which was shortened to Bood, Gerline, which was shortened to Sis, those were just the girls’ names. 

My grandmother named me. In the long ago days before color television, she watched Ed Sullivan. As she told it, the prettiest little blond, blue eyed girl with curls who could sing and dance was on that show. Her name was Devonne. I think she misheard Devon. 

She told my mom that’s what my name was going to be, and I don’t know if there was discussion about it or not, but considering my mom’s name was Elwanda, I’m sure it was considered a lovely name. They didn’t have to grow up with it. 

I used to pray that I would wake up and my name would be “Betty.” It was the most common, easy to spell name I knew. It required no attention,  lingering conversation, or comments about how unique and pretty it was. I could just say “here,” and the world would move on to whatever the world needed to move on to. 

I’ve heard it said that you have to yell the kid’s name out the back door two or three times to try it out before you actually label your kid. So they tried it. “Devonne Lynn!” was shouted out into the night several times during the commercial breaks. They liked the ring it had, so it became my name. I don’t know where my sister’s name came from, but “Sharon Kay” has a much more elegant sound to it, even when it’s shouted out the back door.