JIMMY DUMBELL, 82, a reporter and photographer for The Charlotte (N.C.) Observer for nearly 50 years, May 14 in Charlotte of cancer. Dumbell joined the Observer in 1940 as a proofreader and returned following four years in the Army during World War II. He held many jobs before he retired in 1988, including chief photographer, special projects editor, columnist, regional feature writer and travel writer. Survivors include his wife, daughter and son.
Now . . . I’m sure Mr. Dumbell was a swell guy, and his career is enviable. But this obit fails to bring up the main sticking point of is existence: “Jimmy Dumbell?!” How did he struggle through his 82 years with a moniker like that? What a horror his early school life must have been! Did the paper hire him just so the citizens of Charlotte could be entertained by his bursting through the door shouting, “It’s Dumbell of the Observer?” Did his wife keep her maiden name? Did his daughter marry as soon as possible to shed the title of Little Miss Dumbell? Does his son still resent his late father for saddling him with that name? Does Eve have enough to do at the office today? Obviously not . . .
Or like those people whose last name is “Death”, but pronounced “Deeth”. I think there’s some local celebrity here in Vancouver who had that dilemma, and he changed his last name to D’Eith or something like that to stop the mispronunciations.
I knew a guy personally in New Zealand whose name was Grant Dumbell. As far as he was concerned, it was just a name and he didn’t feel any need to change it. I think I would have.
I remember him from when I was a copy boy at the Observer in the mid-70s. I came back to the paper in some odd circumstances in the 1980s, and followed his columns whenever I read the paper.
He was a nice guy, and a good reporter, and, yes, it was pronounced “Dumbell.” I would guess that it’s actually a great icebreaker.
“Uh, Mrs. DuBoise, I’m Jimmy Dumbell from the Charlotte Observer, and I’d like to ask you some questions about your late husband and the sausage grinder accident.”
“Oh my, oh my, I don’t think I can – excuse me, did you say your name was Dumbell?”
“Yes, ma’am. Jimmy Dumbell.”
“Why, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a name like that before. You poor man! Why would your parents ever do such a thing?”
“I guess because they were Dumbells, too.” (Chuckles) "Now, about your husband. . . "
Reminds me of that comedy sketch (Three Dead Trolls in a Baggie?) where an Anglophone in Quebec is trying to pass himself off as a Francophone in a job interview:
Interviewer: But I see on your resume your name is Smith, how do you explain this?
Mr. Smith: Oh, it’s pronounced Thibaultdeaux!
I can only hope the late Jimmy Dumbell had tracked down and married a woman named “Ima Riehl.” He still strikes me as sounding like a character from a 1920s comic strip, maybe a pal of Harold Teen’s.
Now, to search out that fella named “Fuk Yu,” who lives in the East Village . . .
