Reimagining Zimbo

Venice Beach, California - March 29, 2014

Since I will be camping out with Kat for a couple of weeks (or until I sense she is tired of me) I have some time where I am free from to covering my physical travel on a daily basis.  Rather than detail what I am doing, (like climbing Inspiration Peak in LA like we did this morning), I thought I would direct my writing to a little self-reflection.  Starting off modestly, of course.  I am still a little too fragile to directly confront the truly thorny issues of my life. You know, warm up with some layups before I get to launching three-pointers.  (Yes, I did spend part of the day watching the NCAA Basketball Championships.)

So, to begin, I have been thinking that maybe what I need is more than just figuring out where I am going to live.  The process of reimagining my future perhaps should be all encompassing.  Not just a new location, but an entire remake.  A complete personality, location, vocation overhaul.  Forget the past but reimagine than live a new future.

Los Angeles from Inspiration Point

One of the initial thoughts I have had is to legally to change my name. What a concept!  A totally fresh start with a new name that is a long way from Bruce Rogan Thomas.  Leave the past behind and strive out with an entirely new name.  And I know exactly what that name will be – Zimbo.  That’s it Zimbo.  Its what everyone calls me anyway.  Perfect, a unique one name handle.  You know, like Cher, Bono or Madonna.  It’s how they got their starts, I suppose. Do you think these three were the same people when they were Cherilyn Sarkisian, Paul Hewson, and Madonna Louise Ciccone.  Hell, no! I don’t know what Cherilyn Sarkisian thought when she changed her name to Cher, but my sense is she was looking for a different approach to the rest of her life.  Did Paul Hewson have the confidence of Bono? Never.  Paul Hewson would be scared to wear those blue glasses to the White House.   All three were out to imagine than conceive themselves in a new way.   Where better to start with a name change.

How did this most obvious idea come to mind? It sprang to life yesterday when Kat, Loo Loo and I went to what Kat refers to as her “Secret Beach” in Palos Verde north of Venice.  We were met there by Jon, Kat’s boyfriend.  The Secret Beach is Jon’s home base.  Ironically, Kat and Jon met at the beach the last time I visited.   Another boy.  A blind date introduced the beach to Kat.  She didn’t like the guy much but loved the beach.  It is located down a steep cliff.  You have to climb down this cliff to get to the beach.  Not many people make the trip.  It is steep and the clay footing is precarious.  If you did lose your balance you could and easily kill yourself falling down the cliff.  Consequently it is almost always deserted.  Kat loves it because Loo Loo can go.  On our original trip it became obvious to both of us that the place was frequented by some folks who can constructed out of available materials (rocks and driftwood) at little gathering area.  They had also brought down kayaks and surfboards that they simple stored in the bushes.  There was a group of three or four guys making themselves at home in what was obviously their “spot”.  After a while Loo Loo and Kat went over to say hi and introduce herself.  It turns out one of those guys was Jon.

The four of us were sitting in this little area and Jon was asking me a question when he said, “So, let me ask you Zimbo, I mean Mr. Thomas,” his face reddened with embarrassment.  We all laughed.  I said, “Don’t sweat it. You can call me Zimbo, everyone else does. “  I like it that Jon is comfortable enough to call me Zimbo.  It splits the difference between the formal Mr. and the too casual first name use.

The origins of Zimbo are both well documented and obscure.  Zimbo was my grandfather’s grandfather name.  His name was Joseph Edgar Rogan.  He had three daughters, all of whom married and had children.  Even though three of those grandchildren were older than me, I was the first one to have grand children myself.  When my first grandchild, Rogan Crumley was born in Boston I called my brother in Chicago to tell him the good news that I had become a grandfather.  “Well, you’re Zimbo!” he declared.  Everyone thought it was pretty funny.  I did not really want to be called Zimbo.  I would have preferred a more mainly handle like Dude or Rock but it stuck.  Since then I have gotten used to it to the point I really prefer it to Bruce.  (Bruce is an acceptable name thanks to Bruce Willis and The Boss.). 

Zimbo is also a living testimony to my grandfather who was a wonderful person.  Once I realized that the name was going to stick I asked my older brother, “Where did the name Zimbo, come from?  Why did we call Zimbo, Zimbo?”  “I don’t know,” he replied.  “Why don’t you ask Mom?”  I called her one the phone.  “I don’t know, but I bet Dick would know.  He probably mispronounced something that became Zimbo.”  Dick, my cousin, was the oldest of Zimbo’s grandchildren, so it made sense that he had inadvertently nickname Zimbo when he was little and struggled pronouncing some other word.  When I called him he said, “Beats me.  He was always Zimbo.”  That’s the obsure part.  I did some minor research and it seems to be Zimbo is not only is a one word name, it is totally unique.  I have never run into any other Zimbo’s.  (Google mail said I could not be Zimbo@gmail.com but I think they are lying.) Google Zimbo and you get nothng.  One of Google’s famous logarithms automatically changes it to Zimbio which is some lame celebrity web site.  One of my nurses when I had my prostrate surgery was from East Africa, Zambia as I recall.  She could pronounce Zimbo better than anyone I have ever met.  She made a slight “e” sound replacing the “i” and lingered on the “Z” to make it buzz. ZZembo.  She swore it was Swahili and it meant “brave.”   I chose to believe her but then again with the pain medicine I was agreeing with a lot of things.

I have played around with friends of my grandkids telling them to call me Zimbo.  And its funny.  Kids immediately are comfortable with the name.  They remember it and can pronounce it.  The only exception was my granddaughter, Lyle who called me Bimbo for a while.  Thankfully, that one did not stick .  Adults on the other hand can never get it straight.   They call me Pismo or Zumba or Zorro – all sorts of near misses.  And I always say to little kids, “I know you have a grandfather but every kid needs a Zimbo, too.  So, a lot of kids started calling me Zimbo as well as their parents.  And I am comfortable with it.  It’s not as pretentious as Mr. Thomas, but more formal than Bruce while still being friendly.  So, I am Zimbo.  I wonder what the legal formalities are?  I would certainly like to get this accomplished before the divorce is finalized so when I sign the final papers I can do so with a John Hancock like flourish of bold script - Zimbo