by Tom Kelly
Editor and Publisher

By the time you read this column, I will have passed another of those birthdays that occur on the far side of the Biblically-authorized "three score and ten." We won't say how far on the far side; just say that I probably qualify for that category sometimes referred to as "of a certain age," the indeterminately polite designation for those of us who are somewhat beyond "senior," but not quite yet ready to admit to "old."

Even so, I still pause in brief puzzlement when someone of a certain younger age, or even one of my fellow over-the-hill gang members, addresses me as "Mister Tom," often spoken in the Southern vernacular as "Mist' Tom." But then I quickly realize that, unless the speaker is either purposely pulling my leg or being deliberately down-putting, this is someone who follows the same conventions of personal address that I grew up with, and outside of which I remain uncomfortable and occasionally irked. You know, like "Yes, sir," and "No, ma'am," and "Mister Jones," and "Miz Simmons."

It always jolts my social equilibrium when a perky-sounding voice, male or female, comes on the telephone and very smoothly says, "Oh, Hi, Tom." I can't help interrupting my attention by wondering, "Do I know you? Who are you? What's this about?" When the voice continues by asking the dead giveaway question, "Are you the owner?" it is obvious that the speaker does not know me, but expects me to be reciprocally cheerful and attentive because of his or her chirpy comraderie. I am always tempted to say, "No, I'm the yard man," and hang up. I admit, I have yielded to that temptation once or twice, just as I am sure you yourself have done when the occasional telemarketer interrupts your serenity.

As I have lived it, there are conventions, mostly unspoken but nevertheless real, about polite personal conversation, and I suspect that while I am comfortable with the standard Southern rules, I think it likely that they are pretty universal in the world of human relations. So, how do we get from the official birth-certificate nom de vie that's on the deed to the house, the title to the car, and the high school diploma---Troy Thomas Kelly---to "Mist Tom?" (Insert any name, including your own; this isn't about me.)

Each of us begins life as a tiny person with only the beginnings of an independent identity, and spend our early years probably answering to some diminutive of our sure 'nough legal name. Tommy. Sally. Little Johnny. Sometimes we carry that familiar name on through life, and genuinely "become" the personality that the name identifies. A Thomas who spends his childhood as Tommy may become the more mature-seeming Tom, as he elbows his way into the adult persona he aspires to, shedding the diminutive. Somewhere along the way he may become, for public and certain interpersonal relationships "Mister Kelly," by which according to the Southern convention he will be addressed by people who have business with him but who are not close in a personal way. This title will serve him for all those occasions in public and private where contact is only occasional, whether the contacts be friendly, or formal, or confrontational. And over time, as relationships mature, we may become on a "first-name" basis, whether the conversation is friendly, fractious, or otherwise.

First names, even nicknames, become the norm among people who work, play, worship, or live together on a socially equable basis. In the absence of some special closeness, he will continue to be "Mister Kelly" to people who are considerably younger than himself, and to others in formal or public situations. And finally in the conventions of the South, to those very much younger, even children, or who are friends or friendly, or for whatever other reason feel a connection but would feel awkward addressing him as "Tom", he may comfortably become "Mist' Tom."

There are many other variations, ins, and outs of the conventions of personal address--some or which relate to age, gender, race, relative status, and whether the address is private and personal, or public and formal. Most people grow into a comfortable understanding of polite discourse and are welcome wherever they find themselves. There is also the tone-deaf individual who presumes upon his welcome by glibly playing everyone as "Boy," affecting a power relationship that seldom goes down well with the recipient of put-down.

A case in point: Last month, I listened, and fidgeted as President George Bush said in a formal news conference over an international media hookup, "I said to Vladimir . . . " and "I told Jacque . . . " Not President Putin, or President Chirac. I doubt that "George" and "Vladimir" are real first-name chums, but, as older folks used to tell brash youths in a day gone by, "Would it break your jaw to say Mister?"

Oh, well. They're foreigners, not Southerners, and they probably think that's just the way we Americans talk to heads of state who are a little uppity for their britches.

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