My grandfather came off the boat from Greece in 1920 and our last name was changed.
My wife is into genealogy and she was having a lot of difficulty finding anything on my side of the family. She had our current last name and the original Greek spelling, but the only thing she had found was the ship’s manifest from when my Grandfather had come to America (the ship was Greek and the crew was Greek, so it makes sense that they had the original Greek spelling of our name correct). Mrs. Geek asked me for all of the ways our last name could be misspelled (I’ve had a lot of experience with folks spelling my name wrong over the years) and she was ale to find two other forms. On the 1920 census, our last name was misspelled, and all of the names on that page of the census were written in the same handwriting. So we’re fairly certain that the census-taker just wrote down everyone’s names and probably just guessed at the spelling (he probably didn’t speak Greek).
Mrs. Geek also found my grandfather’s immigration form, and you can easily tell how poor his English skills were. He literally misspelled every single line on the form, including his own name. He didn’t know how to write “John” using English letters, and wrote “GOHN”.
If you translate our name directly from the Greek version, you end up with a cluster of letters at the front of it which are difficult for Americans to pronounce. What we ended up with was a very simplified version of our name that is easy for Americans to pronounce.
It’s also unique. I am related to every person in the U.S. with that last name, and none of them have the same first name that I have.
I always hated having a “weird” last name. I would have preferred something more ordinary, even if it did mean that I would end up with the same name as a lot of other guys.
My first name though is very common, so common that there were four boys with the same name in the neighborhood where I grew up. And this was a fairly small neighborhood. All of the other boys in the neighborhood also had common names, but they were unique within that neighborhood. My name was the only one that was duplicated.
Usually you could tell from context which one of us someone was talking about, but it did get confusing at times.
About 10 or 15 years ago or so, my mother started getting calls from a collection agency looking for my father. The important thing to note here is that my father died in a car crash in 1971. After several attempts at trying to tell them that they were trying to collect money from a dead man who could not have possibly created the debt, my mother gave up and just gave them the phone number to the cemetery where he was buried and told them they could find him at that number.
They stopped calling. 