SOUTHERN EXPOSURE: WOULD A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME SMELL AS SWEET?

I think there's a lot to be said for the power of names. If roses had been called dung, slop or burps, would anyone want to smell them in the first place?

Take my name for example, Angier, pronounced ain-jer (like ranger without the R, danger without the D or stranger without the STR). It's a French moniker and many people have asked me why I don't pronounce it in the French fashion -- on-jay?

I usually tell them I'm not sure if that is the French way of pronouncing my name. I've never been to France and I've never heard my name roll off the tongue of a bona fide French person.

Who knows, they might pronounce it in a way that makes it sound like a flushing toilet.

Also, I'm not officially French. Someone in my family tree was French; I don't know who. I'm an American (pronounced Mer-Kan). We Americans don't pronounce our names in any way that could remotely be considered exotic, original or correct.

I know this to be true every time I look at a map of Southeast Missourian and Southern Illinois.

Names like New Mad-rid, Kay-ro, Vi-anna, New A-thens and Hay-tie make me wonder what we as collective Americans are thinking?

First we name our towns after some of the oldest cities in the world, which shows an interest in tradition and culture on our parts. Then we butcher the pronunciation of them in an effort to separate our towns from those of the Old World. Like anyone is going to mistake Cairo, Ill., for Cairo, Egypt.

But it's an effort to find the American blend.

We all came from somewhere else and are trying to find ourselves and our new culture.

But why do we have to go to the extreme of putrefying such beautiful names? I think Vienna and Madrid are wonderful names for cities. Vi--anna and Mad-rid -- I don't know they just seem wrong.

I was reading a book the other day about archaeologists in Egypt. Of course, they traveled a great deal through Cairo and every time I read that name I heard myself pronouncing it Kay-ro. When I realized what I was doing I stopped and made a conscious effort to pronounce it correctly as I read it.

As I continued on and slipped out of that effort I became confused as to what the correct pronunciation was. Is it Ki-ro or Kay-ro? After a very few minutes of that I just put the book down and walked away.

I am able to correct newscasters who mess up the pronunciation of the New Madrid Fault. I guess that's a bonus but in all other ways I am scarred.

I already have a jumbled background that forces me to pronounce a variety of things in different ways.

I was born in Bas-tun, Mass., and was raised by New England parents. I was brought up in Florida which means I was exposed to a unique New York-Southern accent for most of my life.

Then I went to work in the true South and learned a sing-song style of talking.

Now, this Southern boy with New England parents, French heritage and a weird last name is living in the land of tongue-twisting towns.

This is going to be one of those things that will be with me for a long time after I leave Cape Jerada, Missoura.

David Angier is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.