Chilly Willy

There was this guy I went to high school with – a nice fellow, eager to make friends – who had this quirk. No, it wasn’t what you’re thinking. He didn’t fart in the pool or grow a mustache in 8th grade or die in a train wreck or anything like that. Instead, this guy was desperate to give himself a nickname.

I can still recall the way he used to introduce himself:
“Hi, my name is Williams Espino, but you can call me Chilly Willy.”

Chilly Willy. This guy really wanted to be called Chilly Willy. He took numerous opportunities to remind everybody that this was his preferred nomenclature. He had it sewn into his letter jacket. As editor of the yearbook, he inserted a large picture of himself with the caption, Williams “Chilly Willy” Espino.

Here’s the problem – I never heard anybody else call him Chilly Willy. No one. Not even the damn foreign exchange students.

Looking back, I guess I feel a little sorry for this guy. Sure, at the time maybe we thought it a bit strange, but all in all he was a sincere person with good intentions. I don’t pretend to know why the hell he insisted on adopting the name of an obscure 1960s cartoon character with basically no redeeming qualities. I don’t need an explanation as to why he went to such lengths to remind the student body of his deep, almost troubling desire for acceptance via nickname. Frankly, it isn’t necessary to understand how this could have gone on for years despite the near-total indifference from his peers.

All I know is that I needed to make fun of something this morning, so why not some dude I went to high school with?

Just be glad it wasn’t you.