My maiden name is Roffe. As in “coffee.” You pronounce the final “e.” It’s not silent. We’ve been told that the name was corrupted from the Hebrew word that means “doctor.” I don’t really know. (Are there any Hebrew scholars in the house?)
But I do know that my father was very proud of it and encouraged my brother, Kenny, and me to feel the same way. (I’ll never forget how insulted he was when a rabbi accusingly said “Roffe? What kind of name is that?” My father, the kindest of men, and the most respectful, was deeply hurt by this.) Okay. So it wasn’t traditional. Not a “Stein” or a “Berg” or a “Cohen” in the place. But we liked it- despite its singularity. But I also know that everyone left off the “e” and called me “Ellen Roff.”
It started at the Avoca School in Wilmette, Illinois. First day first grade. Mrs. Dale was taking attendance. “Susan Rasmussen?” “Here.” “Butch Ream?” “Here.” “Ellen Roff?” And without even thinking I answered “E. Here.”
This teacher mispronunciation took place every September whenever I entered a new grade. It was a real fall ritual. Mrs. Carmichael: “Ellen Roff?” “E. Here.” Miss Ostlund: “Ellen Roff?” “E. Here.” Mrs. McLaughlin: “Ellen Roff?”
But by now, the other kids had learned the drill. They’d wait and in unison- in a show of support and boredom- (things weren’t all that lively in our little fourth grade class) they’d all shout out “E. Here!”
It was great. It made me feel special on every first day of school. And the practice continued through high school. Even though I went from a class of eighty-three into a class of twelve hundred at New Trier, there was always someone who, whenever attendance was taken, would chime in with me “E. Here.”
That came to a halt in college. Not the dropping of the “e.” Having someone around who knew what to say when they called my last name.
University of Wisconsin, Madison. First day freshman English 101 class. Our professor, Mr. Grande (Italian, and ironically, I was the only one in class who knew how to pronounce his name) gave the class a writing assignment. He had us read a longish paragraph and then summarize it in one sentence. After a few minutes, we handed in our papers and watched as he read them. I waited. I knew what was coming.
Dutifully, and by rote, I saw his bowed head as he scanned each entry, and with a sigh, put it into a discard pile. Then he got to one, read it, stopped, read it again, and put it off to one side. He looked up, his eyes sweeping the classroom.
“Where is Ellen Roff?” he asked.
“E. Here,” I replied.
“See me after class.” I did. I knew.
“What are you doing in here?” he demanded. “This is English 101. You clearly belong in 181- the honors class. What happened to you?”
I didn’t really know. I knew a mistake had been made. I had been in the honors English class ever since Mrs. Dale’s Blue reading group. I had always been in four level English at New Trier and had aced it most of the time. I had been teacher’s pet of the Great Books class and that was tough. But I didn’t know what happened exactly. Maybe I hadn’t done well enough on my English Achievement AP Test or something. Like I said I didn’t know. All I did know is that when I got my fall class schedule, I had been put into English 101 and now I was stuck.
“Well, there is only one way out for you, Miss Roffe,” Mr. Grande told me. “If you get an A this semester you will automatically be placed in English 182 for the next semester. But I must warn you that it’s very difficult. People who are here usually belong here and never get an A in my class. But I think you can do it.”
I did. And second semester, when I caught up to my old New Trier four level English buddies- now in English 182- I was greeted by a chorus of catcalls of “Where have you been?” and “Nice detour!” and “We’ve missed you!” and “Welcome home.”
It felt great to be back. And I was kind of famous again for having gotten that rare, elusive A in English 101.
I left Madison and the Roffe name behind in 1969. And I have been Ross since 1976. So I’ve been Ross much longer than Roffe by now. Well, that’s okay by me. I like Ross. It’s short, my by-line, and an homage to my maiden name.
Yeah, that’s right. On the phone, whenever I say it, people mis-hear it all the time. Somehow the “ss” gets lost in translation. The person on the other end of the telephone usually asks “Roff? Roff?” until I spell it out. (“R-O-S- as in Sam-S as in Sam” I have tell them.)
But I’m always tempted to say E. (still) Here.
For 21 years I had to spell out Rubnitz. You can only imagine how that was butchered. Who would ever have thought the next 37 would be spelled out as well. R-O-F as in Frank, F as in Frank, E! Lovely article. Both great names. But sorry, never produced a doctor like the name is supposed to translate in Hebrew.
Thanks ML. And in your next life, maybe there will be a “Smith” in your future monogram. And you will be saved from the spelling bee that our name always is. No doctor, but lots of other good things. You and your kids have done the name proud. Now let’s watch what Eliza and Susannah do with it. Onward!
Actually often at an Italian restaurant they hear it as Rossi. I don’t correct them. You never know.
You’re right! I forgot about that. And “Rossi” in Italy is considered a “good” name. I probably used it there myself. Grazie and ciao, Olimpia.
I just spoke with my father about today’s post. He’s been the proud bearer of the name for ninety-three years and still going strong. I asked him if anyone ever pronounced it right on the first time in his recollection. He said “no.”. And we can’t forget the ski clothes company! I’ve got some great Roffe posters.
Reminds me of the patient I had many years ago. I first looked at the patient’s chart and it showed the name of the patient (a baby) as shithead. A little perplexed, I walked into the examining room and told the mother that there was probably a misprint of her child’s name – to which she replied, “oh, I hear that all of the time – it is pronounced Shi-theed!!!!
OMG! That’s unbelievable. It’s one thing to be proud of your name and another to expose yourself to constant ridicule. I wonder how many times the baby got beat up defending his honor? This is worse than “A Boy Named Sue!”
Thanks, Jimmy. FELD. You’ve got it easy. Love to Betsy and Dr. Parker.
cute and clever- I can relate- my last name is Usow- we always tell people it’s like I LOVE YOU SO– Not U-Sow— not ooh-so like some Chinese dipping sauce- not—well- you get the point!
And I loved this comment Usow much. Thanks, Leslie!
Ellen, I know what you have gone through with your name. My last name is Lindeman, but everyone always wanted to put an “R” in my name making it Linderman. So all my life I have always pronounced my name Lindeman….no “R”. However I will always thank my Great-Grandfather for shortening our last name from Von Lindemann….no”R” thank you!!!!!!!!
Nice. “Roff” was/is my nickname. Started at Ojibwa 1966 and I still like it!!
And it was Dad’s, too. I know it’s your favorite nickname but don’t forget about “The Rocket.”
Funny. My baseball buddies gave me that one! And I like it.
Names and Roots
Upon immigrating from Russia in 1900, my great-grandfather changed our family name from Rubenzik to Ruben. So, naturally, when born in 1924, my dad’s birth certificate shows his name as Ruben….
Although a dentist by profession, my grandfather took up painting as a hobby shortly after my dad was born. Influenced, and hoping to be connected to the Flemish master Peter Paul, he changed their name to Rubens.
I recall whenever giving his last name, my dad would pronounce, “RubenS”, with a long, deliberate, and slithering “S”, and the person asking would invariably repeat, “Ok, Ruben”. Unlike his father, I think my father was more annoyed than impressed with that 17th(?) century artist who painted fat ladies……
Other side of the family…. Born in Hyde Park in 1902, my mother’s father was from a rooted and established German Jewish family, but even so, being a tad paranoid, during the WWI years, his family changed the spelling and pronunciation of their last name from Deutsch to Deitsch….Despite success, maybe they didn’t feel as welcome in America as they would have liked?
Fascinating, Arnie. Really. Assimilation was such a huge theme for so many. Today, led by Hollywood, with names like Zellwegger, Streep, Fassbinder, Elizondo, Pacino, De Niro et all, maybe people will celebrate their roots instead of trying to disguise them. Still, it’s a pain in the neck to constantly have to correct a pronunciation or spell the name out. Thanks for this personal history.
Maybe actor Martin Sheen isn’t thrilled his pillar of society son Charlie is identified with him by taking his Americanized name Sheen….. Or perhaps Martin feels he doesn’t want to tarnish his Estevez roots and can better handle Charlie’s escapades, than his other more solid son actor Emelio Estevez.