Stanley B

As a child growing up in a neighborhood filled with children, where I was one of the youngest and the smallest, I came to have strong negative feelings about my name, Stanley. The bully-boys in the neighborhood would always say it in a whiny tone, Stannnnleee, oh little stannnnnleee. I hated that, oh I did not like that at all. Why could I not have a name like Bill, or Tom, or even Joe, you know, something strong. But, no, I was Stanley.

The only thing worse than Stanley was George, the other small boy in our neighborhood. George and I became fast friends. For the bullies, it was always Georgie-porgie. He didn’t like his name either, but, what was even worse for him, he was George Junior. We both knew that if that got out he would be “Junior” and that would have scarred him for life.

When I was ten or so, a boy living in the neighborhood, invited me to go with him on his paper route. Those were good days. He would let me deliver papers to the houses high up on the hill and I loved that. I was valued. We would stop at Stucky’s Grocery and he would buy me an RC Cola and a bag of salted peanuts. We would sit out on the steps pouring peanuts into the cola and helping ourselves to the most marvelous treat in the world. And we would talk and he would encourage me. He was the one that came up with a nick-name I really liked – Scotty.

Well, I grew up, hardly scarred at all, despite that name, Stanley. For a brief time my friends started calling me Scotty and I was happy about that! It didn’t last very long but, as I grew older, it didn’t matter.

Time passed, and I became Stanley B. Escott, PhD, Vice President, Professor, etc., respected and, I think, well-liked. One of my favorite student-leaders at the university was Jennifer who would kid me about “what did the B stand for” Dr. Escott? She would speculate all manner of names until one day she approached me with a teasing look, saying, ‘Dr. Bosworth, how are you today?’ My secret was out.

Then the questioning and teasing began, again. Why Bosworth? Where did that come from? Why were you named Bosworth? Can we call you Dr. Bos? “Only if you don’t value your lofty student leadership position”, was my reply, and we would laugh.

Eventually I told the story of why Bosworth. They learned that the name was given to me in honor of a man by the name of Dean Edward Increase Bosworth, who was my father’s favorite professor at Oberlin Seminary. Over time, my dad would share stories why Dean Bosworth was so revered and loved by the students. In listening to these stories, I realized what an honor it was to bear that name. I have a clear memory of my father, proudly talking about this man. One time he shared a bit of poetry that had been written to honor the man whose name I now bear.

He met me in the quiet village street—
Stopped and stood and talked a while—
Did lend himself entirely to me.

Moments fleet, raced by!

He taught me how to be a Friend.

He led me in my groping to a King,
And in his meek simplicity I caught
A soul-illumined likeness of the thing
That man call Love in this his own person wrought.
He lifted me to the eternal crystal height
Where he abode from early morn ‘til late,
The while he walked the earth with kindly might
In quiet gentleness that makes men great.
My friend, my Teacher, Prophet, God-filled Man—
A Masterpiece in life’s unfolding plan.

And so, with that historic honor, I proudly bear that name, Bosworth, and in doing so, I find that bearing Stanley, ain’t so bad. But, please, just call me Stan.

For What It’s Worth.

-30-