Happy (day after) Halloween! I have to admit, I’ve always found it to be a really strange holiday. How exactly did it come to be tradition for folks to pretend to be somebody else and ask for food? Anyway, I’ve discovered in my travels that once in a while towns masquerade, too.
The most famous of these is surely Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. Once upon a time, it was a place called Hot Springs, famous for its medicinal mineral baths. Granted, it was one of more than a dozen Hot Springs around the country, but the name fit.
However, in 1950 there was a wildly popular radio game show named “Truth or Consequences,” which announced that any town in America willing to change its name to that of the show would be honored by being the location of its 10th anniversary radio broadcast. So they took a vote in Hot Springs and 1,294 of the 1,589 voters opted for the name change.
On April Fools’ Day, local radio station KCHS broadcast the program from the newly famous town. “Here we are,” said host Ralph Edwards, “the whole, lock, stock, and barrel of us in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. What a name! What a city!” No one was fazed by the fact that KCHS stood for Keep Coming to Hot Springs. It wasn’t just an April Fools’ joke. It was permanent.
Seriously. Think about that. It’s as if tomorrow a town changed its name to that of a popular lowbrow TV show. Survivor, Nebraska… SpongeBob, South Carolina… Wife Swap, California.
Is Hannah, Montana just a matter of time?
Actually, there’s already a Joe, Montana. It was originally known as Ismay, an amalgamation of Isabella and May, the daughters of a railroad superintendent. That’s the kind of history that is lost when you mess with your town’s name. Yet that’s what the town did in 1993, voting 21-0 to change its name for the duration of the 1993 football season. So this eastern Montana hiccup named itself for the quarterback of a West Coast offense.
And you know what? He wasn’t the first Hall of Fame football player to earn himself a town. In 1953, following the death of a renowned football pioneer, the Pennsylvania hamlet of Mauch Chunk actually bought the athlete’s remains and erected a monument. And changed its name – to Jim Thorpe, Pennsylvania.
It’s still Jim Thorpe. Just like it’s still Truth or Consequences. And just like it’s still Bicknell, Utah.
It used to be Thurber, Utah, a hamlet founded in 1875 and honoring an early explorer named Albert Thurber. But forty-one years later, Thomas Bicknell, an educator and author from Rhode Island, offered one thousand books to any town that would name itself after him. Thurber’s residents agreed; it remains Bicknell to this day.
As an author, this appeals to my vanity. As a geography buff, it appalls me.
So sometimes towns go all out with the name change. Others go halfway… like Halfway, Oregon. Located in sparsely-populated eastern Oregon, it originally earned its name in the 1800s as a water stop for horses between the Gold Rush towns of Sparta and Cornucopia. But in 2000, the town council was approached by the marketing staff of an Internet start-up. In exchange for $110,000 in services, including 20 computers for its elementary school, Halfway became Half.com, at least unofficially.
Me? I believe change is good. But not when you’re talking about the name of a town. You’re erasing origins. You’re sacrificing history and identity for a certain celebrity.
That’s why I applaud the residents of Fishkill, New York. Thirteen years ago, the animal rights group PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) took issue with the town’s name, which has been around for centuries. Hey, said PETA, why don’t you call it Fishsave instead.
So what did the mayor of Fishkill do? Did he seek out publicity? Did he push a vote through the city council? Did he put up a sign at the entrance to town showing a little boy hugging an adorable trout?
No. Instead, he said simply, “I think their proposal is idiotic.” Amen.
