Most people feel a natural sense of personal pride when they ponder their family lineage and the intense struggle in which their ancestors engaged in order to cope with the arduous chore of everyday living. In fact, a recent trend towards the tracing of family trees and the decoding of family names has converted the infrequent pastime into a multimillion dollar industry.
Well, like many other compliant, norm-following Americans, I decided to embark on a genealogical journey which would unlock the mystery of my last name, Deaner, and reveal the successes of relatives past. With three of the four members of my family being teachers, I felt assured that I would come from a line of far-reaching thinkers who undoubtedly contributed to the betterment of humankind and the resurgence of the American spirit.
Hey, someone had to help Einstein in his quest to understand relativity; someone surely had to assist Marconi in his radio discoveries; and someone must have assisted Jefferson in the drafting of the Declaration of Independence. We just wondered which of the Deaners made the greatest of all contributions. Perchance Beavis, Butthead, Dweezle?
At first, I decided to reflect upon my childhood years, hoping to remember any events that might assist in uncovering the meaning of my last name. But all I could remember is standing by the monkey bars at age six at Paumanok Elementary school, surrounded by a mob of jeering elementary school peers. They laughed and pointed, calling me Brian "Oscar Meyer Wiener" Deaner.
I also recall that my parents, oblivious to my plight, bought a gargantuan Oscar Meyer Wiener beach towel for my first day camp experience that summer. It's safe to say that I never went swimming that summer or the summer after that or the summer after that. For those taking notes, I still can't swim.
After reliving that somewhat disturbing childhood memory, I decided to pay a professional genealogical service -- the "Psychic Friends Geneological Service" -- in order to get a better grasp of the meaning of my last name. According to Dionne Warwick and friends, Deaner is the German word for servant, lackey and waterboy, and my family most likely comprised the lower portion of a ladder of servants in Central Europe for centuries.
So, in other words, we took out Marconi's garbage, painted Louis XIV's outhouse, tipped Marie Antoinette's cows, and stole Napolean's office supplies.
Ironically, this menial servant revelation was not the most disturbing part of my discoveries. In reading Michael Crichton's book, "A Case of Need", I discovered that a Deaner not only represents a servant, but a specific one at that -- Deaners were employed to clean up the flesh and bodily fluids that remained after medieval dissections. This was the last straw.
With my heart in my mouth, I decided to go straight to the source of word derivations -- The Oxford English Dictionary of Word Derivations. Expecting a glimmer of hope that might propel me to do extraordinary things with my degree from Dartmouth, I found out that a Deaner was literally a shilling.
In other words, we Deaners are pretty much worth less than a penny a piece. You couldn't buy a stamp, sponsor a child in Colombia or get discounted condoms at Dick's house with all the Deaners combined.
Well, my genealogical journey had finally come to a close, and my last name surely didn't evoke any images of intellectualism or unbelievable success.
Oh, one last thing. It turns out after further research by my sister that a relative of mine changed our name to Deaner in order to avoid enlistment in the Russian army -- our original last name really meant Cow Dung.
