“The Fine Print”, by M.H. Schrader
WHAT’S IN A NAME?
(Published 15 January 1997
in the Neighborhood Journal.
Posted in toto with Preface and Post Script 31 May 2002.)
PREFACE -- Even if the Shannon Fowler flap had never occurred, I
probably would have eventually gone back to using my own name. The flap just hastened the process.
I think that the reason that I was writing under a pen
name to begin with is that I really did not want my employer to know or for my
opinions to be interpreted as my employer’s.
I was working for the government at the time, and when you work for the
government, thinking is verboten, and expressing them publicly results in
“erasure”. However, as fellow columnist
Johnny Dollar was also a coworker, I guess it really wasn’t a problem. People who knew me and read the column knew
that it was more like a soap opera--one time, and you really don’t know what it
means. As my aggregate body of work grew,
longtime readers understood (I think) that the really understand what I was
talking about, you had to read my column over time.
In
the immediately preceding column, I mentioned in passing that I was now writing
under my own name. This column, the next,
provided the explanation for the change.
Most
of you may not be aware that this is the fourth incarnation of this
column. This column began in March 1994
in Farmington, Missouri. Okay, okay,
technically, the first incarnation was not really a column, but for all
practical purposes it functioned as a column.
You see, I was running for county judge (commissioner) of St. Francois
County and I began writing letters to the editor regularly to express my positions
on various issues.
After I lost the primary election,
the “letters to the editor” evolved into a weekly column. How?
Well, let’s just say if it wouldn’t have been mutually beneficial to
both myself and the local newspaper, it would not have happened. For me the benefit came with the authoritative
voice that tends to be associated with columnists, although my columns appeared
with less frequency than my letters and were subject to editing, which in some
cases meant not being published at all.
From the newspaper’s perspective, I (through my letters and my political
candidacy) had name recognition (although to some, the mention of my name was
followed immediately by violent heaving--but that’s another story), and for
what it’s worth, name recognition sells papers.
When writing the very first column
for the third incarnation of this column in July of 1996, I was faced with an
interesting dilemma: should I use my
real name and should I use a pen name?
Of course, you already know the answer:
a pen name.
Why a pen name? Am I trying to hide something? No, not particularly. There were basically two reasons for writing
under a pen name, actually. First and
foremost is the matter of celebrity, and my aversion to it. To many, being well known (“You know who
that is? That’s Frank Jones!”) is a
measure of success and is something desirable.
I however, have no use for it.
No I’m not anti-social; it’s more that people’s behavior will change
around someone with “celebrity” status.
One of my neighbors in Farmington told me that he was leery to even
acknowledge he knew me at times because of the column. He also worked with the mayor, who would use
my neighbor to get messages to me about the column. Of course, this negatively affected my relationship with my
neighbor. Putting myself in his shoes,
I think I would be a tad annoyed at becoming a messenger. I can’t say that I blamed him for distancing
himself from me. Nonetheless, it was
painful to see a good neighborly relationship strained because of my
“celebrity.”
The other reason I chose to use a
pen name is artistic freedom; namely, it allowed me the opportunity to try
different styles. This is a common
tactic used by authors wanting to try something different. Let’s face it; “The Running Man” (written by
Stephen King under the pen name Richard Bachman) is completely different than
King’s horror books, but just as good.
The use of a different name allowed King to try something
different. So too, with me and George. Using George’s name, I was able to try
various writing styles without pinning myself down to one. When I was writing the column in Farmington,
I had one satirical column; however, it is also the one people remembered the
most. I found myself falling into a
niche of being sarcastic and satirical; I don’t know, it was like it was
expected.
If you read the first of George’s
columns, I had continued with the same satirical writing style. However, as time went by, my writing style
changed; whether for the better or worse, I can’t say. But, the “Out of Time” column was nothing in
style like the “PC-ism Gone Amok” column.
My wife thinks it was far superior.
I do know, that,. if nothing else, George allowed me to exorcise the
sarcasm demon that had permeated my soul.
I am done tinkering and
experimenting. Now, I am back to being me. Which of course, is good for this newspaper,
as they no longer have to worry about somebody hiding behind a pseudonym.
Unlike many pseudonyms, the one I
used--George Steinkrueger--is not just pulled from thin air. It is an old family name, and just by the
sheer coincidence of the order of the birth of my male cousins and that
children have the father’s surname, I am neither a George nor a
Steinkrueger. George Steinkrueger was
my great-uncle--my grandmother Schrader’s brother. His father was also George Steinkrueger--my
great-grandfather. So, Steinkrueger
blood runs through my veins. I am proud
of my German heritage, and there are no more Steinkruegers--George the son never
had any children. So, in memory of my
heritage, I adopted my great-grandfather’s name as my pen name.
It is time, then, in this present
incarnation of this column, to let sleeping dogs lie, to let the past be the
past, and to honor the living.
Good-bye, George. Rest in peace. Hello Mrs. Schrader, and the little
Schraders. I hope I can make you
proud. Hopefully, I am not doomed to
repeat my and others’ mistakes, and will not cause you undo embarrassment. After all, I can’t hide anymore.
POST SCRIPT -- My statement
about celebrity turned out to be eerily prophetic. Within two years, my name had become mud in Cabot, the next major
town from Beebe, and people would not openly acknowledge that they knew me; one
of the top brass of Tyson Chicken called my house to voice a complaint about
something I wrote (I must admit, though, it is flattering to know that VIPs
read your stuff); my congressman, who was also my neighbor threatened to sue me
as well as his vanquished opponent.
Celebrity does have its price, and once you achieve it, you can never go
back to being “just a face in the crowd”...