Editor:
Once upon a time I wrote an article in the Toronto Star about the misadventures of local people burdened with famous names. A guy named John D Rockefeller couldn’t make a reservation over the phone. James Bond, not quite blessed with Agent 007’s good looks, had trouble introducing himself to girls. A genuine Mr. Toronto, the head of the Church of Latter Day Saints in Canada, newly arrived from Utah, started pronouncing his name Mr. Taranta. I didn’t interview people named Adolf.
My first name is Donald. When I was born my name was seventh in popularity. Since another Donald first became President, my name has continued to plunge in popularity, and now ranks 1,407 according to The Bump, a baby goods company.
Is this Karma, because of my article about name woes? Or because Trump is a chump?
These are troubling times, and being linked in any way to that other Donald could be seen as a frivolous complaint or worse. So I take solace from Thomas Malthus, the pessimistic economist, who thought tariffs were ultimately pointless, and that man will ultimately become an ostrich.
An ostrich, not a duck.
D Townson, Gibsons
