One-time presidential candidate and lawmaker George McGovern. English Romantic poet William Wordsworth.

Disgraced former congressman Anthony Weiner.

The last names of these men are aptronyms, or aptonyms, depending on whom you ask. While “aptonym” may not roll off your tongue, no doubt you’ve delighted in how some people’s names reflect their occupations or, uh, quirks.

Central Oregon has its own set of aptonyms. For the past 23 years, Joe Wheeler has managed the Les Schwab Tire Center’s southside location. When Wheeler hands customers his business card, it’s not uncommon they do a double take.

“I get customers who raise their eyebrows. They say: ‘Oh? That’s an appropriate name,’” Wheeler said. “But wheels are just a small part of what we do here.”

Wheeler, who is only somewhat certain his name is German in origin, doesn’t think he hails from a long line of wheel-makers. Wheeler said his surname hasn’t given him a leg up in the wheel and tire business. Inexplicably, the uncanniness of his name didn’t come up in his job interview. A father of daughters “who will probably never work with wheels,” Wheeler assumes his aptonym will not be carried on.

The term aptonym was allegedly coined by 20th-century New York columnist Franklin Pierce Adams as “aptronym.” He reordered the first letters of patronym (a name derived from one’s father’s name) “to denote surnames that suit the occupation of the name’s bearer,” according to The Encyclopedia Britannica.

Frank Nuessel, a professor of English, Spanish and linguistics at the University of Louisville, wrote extensively about aptonyms in his book “The Study of Names,” published in 1992. In an email to The Bulletin, Nuessel wrote that the use of Anglo surnames to denote occupations began in the Middle Ages.

Some common examples Nuessel gave include Baker, Cooper, Mason, Weaver, Miller, Cook, Fisher, Shepherd and Gardener. These job-tied surnames existed among personal given names, such as Robinson (son of Robin) and so on, Nuessel wrote. Place names and nicknames were other sources of surnames, such as Hill (a reference to an area with a hill) or Swift for a person who walked rapidly.

“The role of surnames that denoted occupations became rare because when the names of extant occupations during the Middle Ages were ultimately exhausted,” Nuessel wrote. “Thus, place names, given names and nicknames supplemented occupational surnames.

“Aptonyms are often the source of humor in conversations,” Nuessel added. “I have heard more than a few people remark that their plumber’s name was ‘Plumber,’ or that their carpenter’s name was ‘Carpenter.’”

Mark Plummer, a plumber previously based in Bend who recently relocated his business to California, was not available for comment.

Brad Wehde, whose last name is pronounced “weedy,” manages The Herb Center, a Bend marijuana dispensary. Wehde, who previously operated a horse-training business, said he wasn’t aware his last name had become an aptonym until customers at The Herb Center began snickering.

“They said, ‘Oh, how ironic, how funny,’” Wehde said. “I think the funny thing was when I started in the (marijuana) industry, I didn’t give it a thought.”

The owner of The Herb Center did not respond to several phone calls inquiring whether her hiring Wehde to manage the marijuana dispensary was inspired by a runaway love of aptonyms.

While Wehde did say he would consider capitalizing on his aptonym should he ever open a marijuana dispensary of his own, there are those who have already cashed in on their own fortuitous appellations.

Veterinarian Deborah LaPaugh, whose last name is pronounced “la paw,” is the owner of La Paw Animal Hospital in Bend. LaPaugh is her maiden name, which she kept after marriage.

“It’s too good of a name. I wasn’t going to change that,” she said with a laugh.

La Paw was the only name she considered for her veterinarian hospital when she opened it in 2001.

“When I named the clinic La Paw, my whole family was like, ‘Gosh, how did you ever think of that?’ I was like, ‘Um, it’s our name?’”

The original meaning of LaPaugh’s last name was lost as her European ancestors immigrated to the United States through Quebec.

LaPaugh said she encountered some memorable aptonyms when she was in veterinary school. Dr. Love was a reproductive specialist. Dr. Blood was a surgeon.

The veterinarian said aptonymic fruition didn’t inspire her career path, but the built-in branding didn’t hurt.

“I knew I had to have my own clinic because I couldn’t fight the name,” she added.

Early advertisements featured an orange tabby extending a foot toward viewers, imploring them to “talk to La Paw.”

Nuessel said several studies show that medical doctors and lawyers were disproportionately more likely to have surnames that resembled their professions. “There was a significant correlation between name and medical occupation,” he said.

LaPaugh’s grandmother never tired of how her granddaughter turned the family name into an aptonym.

“She was like, ‘Wow, that’s really amazing that you’re just going with that!’” LaPaugh said. “She just kept going on about it for 20 years.”

— Reporter: 541-617-7816, pmadsen@bendbulletin.com

“When I named the clinic La Paw, my whole family was like, ‘Gosh, how did you ever think of that?’ I was like, ‘Um, it’s our name?’”— Veterinarian Deb LaPaugh, owner 
of La Paw Animal Hospital in Bend