Name-Droppers Alter Ill-Suited Identities

After 19-year-old Debra Jean Jones got a divorce, she cut her hair, lost 50 pounds and moved into a new apartment. But nothing seemed to pull her out of her doldrums.

Then she seized upon something dramatic: She would change her name.

After a five-minute court appearance, plain Debbie Jones turned into exotic Cybal Fabreona Del Vecchio. Now 27, Studio City resident Del Vecchio says: “It was like getting a face lift, but cheaper and more fun.”

Unlike plastic surgery, though, the possibilities are limitless.

‘You can call yourself whatever you like,” says Los Angeles County Commissioner Christine B. Hickman, who presided over the Los Angeles name-change court until late July. “That’s the way it should be. It’s really no one’s business what you call yourself. The court really can’t step in and tell you what is proper and what isn’t.”

Every week, dozens of people change their names in Los Angeles County Superior courthouses. Many are divorced women wanting their birth names back, children seeking to adopt stepfathers’ names, aspiring actors looking for catchy monikers. Some are transsexuals desiring names to accompany new genders. Others are homosexual couples petitioning for identical surnames.

But the majority of those who seek new names do so simply because they don’t like the ones they were given at birth.

A case in point is William Wilson Bobo, a 27-year-old insurance worker from Van Nuys, who decided he had heard enough jokes about his surname. The final straw came soon after he learned what his name meant in another culture.

“I married a Colombian woman, and she informed me that the word bobo in Colombia is slang for idiot,” he said. “She got tired of being married to Mr. Idiot.”

So in early July, William Wilson Bobo became Beau Wilson Williams. Upon leaving Los Angeles Superior Court, Williams smiled and kissed his wife.

“This is something I’ve wanted to do since I was 15,” he said. “Growing up with a name like Bobo leads you to a lot of playful harassment. I used to respond when kids called me Bozo or Boo-boo.”

Unlike other courtrooms, in which there are winners and losers, in name-change court, Hickman says, “Everyone leaves happy. People have a look of relief when they get out of this court. It’s a burden lifted.”

Indeed, for many, a name change has a cathartic effect--a severing of ties from an unpleasant past and a hope for the future’s promise.

That’s how Sydne Desiree Holder, a 26-year-old North Hollywood woman, said she felt when her change was granted last month.

‘Delicate, Prissy’

Before she was Sydne, she was Sabrina, named after the title of a 1954 film starring Audrey Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart. Holder has hated the name Sabrina for as long as she can remember.

“You think of a delicate, prissy little creature when you hear it, “ Holder said, avoiding even a mention of her former name. “I have almost a pathological hatred for the name. It’s just not me anymore.”

While no records are kept on the number of name changes granted, Hickman says about 100 petitions are approved monthly in the downtown Los Angeles court. In the Van Nuys courthouse, the number is about 15 a month, says Superior Court Judge Diane Wayne, who supervises name changes there.

The cost for the process is $164: $99 to file a petition with the county clerk, $60 to publish four consecutive weekly notices in a legal newspaper and $5 to file the decree with the secretary of state in Sacramento. The services of an attorney are not needed.

‘Nothing to It’

“There’s really nothing to it,” Hickman said. Petitioners must make one court appearance, which usually lasts no longer than 10 minutes.

In California, as in all other states, as long as the proposed change is not intended to defraud creditors, a person can legally pick any name he or she wants.

Apparently, the only exception is when a petitioner seeks to change his name to a number, as in the case of a Minneapolis teacher who, in 1978, petitioned to change his name to 1069. A Superior Court judge refused to grant the change, a decision upheld by the U.S. Supreme Court in 1980.

Some of those make the change also make the news, often because of the unusual nature of the switch. Among those are:

Ellen Cooperman, a 31-year-old New York feminist, who legally changed her name to Ellen Cooperperson in 1973.

Robert Earl Lee, a Navy captain from Maryland, who changed his appellation to Roberto Eduardo Leon in hopes that he would be eligible for affirmative-action employment programs.

Frederick Koch, father of Vermont Olympic silver-medalist skier Bill Koch, who changed his name in November to Coke-Is-It. He said he was tired of hearing his name mispronounced “Kotch” or “Cook.”

Enrique Silberg of Marin County, who in April became Ubiquitous Perpetuity God. (Four years earlier, Terrill Clark Williams of Fresno legally changed his name to God, and in 1983 Gary Dion Hanson of Arleta changed his name to Weyoume Supra IV Lord.)

Winfred Eugene Holley, a 63-year-old, white-bearded West Los Angeles resident, who became Santa Claus in 1983.

Hawaii resident Valentine Kekahiolanikapukanehunamokiukakuialonoikaouiaulani Kanehailu, 27, who could no longer put up with people constantly asking him to spell his name. He legally shortened it to Valentine Likolehau Likolehau Neuhaus.

For most, however, the name change occurs with little notice.

Some petitioners seek to match moniker to profession. Los Angeles artist Amy Goldberg changed her name in early July to Amy Color. In 1983, a professional clown in Los Angeles made his name “Are You Kidding.”

Others just don’t feel comfortable with their names.

Thomas Murry, a Newbury Park resident who made headlines as one of 17 hostages held in Beirut in July, changed his name three years ago from Warren Elwood Murry. “He got to be 55 and had fussed about his name for 35 years, so I said, ‘If you don’t like it, change it,’ and that’s what he did,” said his wife, Jeanne.

Ouija Board Used

Valery Karlberg, an 18-year-old Encino college student, petitioned in July to go from Valery to Victoria. One of her reasons, she said, was that during a Ouija Board session she found out that she had lived in Africa 200 years ago; the name V-I-C-T-O-R-I-A was spelled out when she asked what she had been called.

Del Vecchio, once Debra Jean Jones, says she was misnamed from birth. “Debbie Jean didn’t have enough pizazz for me,” Del Vecchio said. She admired the name Sybal but thought it was too mundane. So she changed the spelling and then adopted her maternal grandparents’ name, along with a long-lost relative’s surname.

“I had a low self-esteem when I was Debbie Jean,” she said. “With the new name, I thought more men would be attracted to me. I wanted to start all over, to get away from everything.”

Like Walter Mitty

Now, as Cybal Fabreona Del Vecchio, she says the name change has an almost Walter Mitty-esque effect on her life.

Getting reservations in Hollywood and Beverly Hills restaurants, Del Vecchio says, now is much easier. “People think I’m important. As soon as I give the maitre d’ my name, I get a seat. I also seem to be able to make quicker appointments when I have to see a doctor.”

Her desire was to exchange a fairly common name for a colorful one that sounded ethnic. But for other name-change petitioners, the problem is just the opposite: They feel their names sound too foreign.

A Los Angeles Vietnamese-born family with a name impossible to pronounce for most Americans--Nguyen Ngoc Hoang Hong--last month was granted a change to Wilson.

Joyous Reaction

“Wilson! Wilson! Wilson!” the three children shouted joyously, jumping up and down as Hickman granted the name change. The parents embraced and shed tears after the rite of passage.

Some people, such as the former William Bobo, seek to shed names that carry a double-entendre or produce negative reactions.

Los Angeles resident Sandra Ann Fear was fed up with jokes about her surname, so she became Sandra Ann Joy.

Elizabeth Ann Banghart of Studio City petitioned in July to become Elyssa Ann Harte.

Harte, a 33-year-old hypnotherapist, said her old name used to “raise a lot of eyebrows.” To avoid embarrassment, she often skipped mentioning her surname or spoke the name so rapidly that she slurred it. “I’d do anything I could to avoid dwelling on my last name,” she said.

Numerology, Sound

Harte developed her new name based on numerology, as well as its melodious sound, she said. “I’ve thought about it for a long time; now I’ve made it legal.”

But, says Van Nuys Superior Court Judge Joel Rudof, in spite of how many people do it, there isn’t any legal reason to change a name.

“All you have to do is start calling yourself something, begin filling out forms with your new name on them, and voila!, you’re a new person,” he said. “Using a name other than what’s on your birth certificate is your option; it’s not illegal.”

But name changes, whether legally registered or done informally, clearly do not appeal to everyone.

Commissioner Mouron

Superior Court Commissioner Bertrand Mouron, pronounced “moron,” who replaced Hickman last month as presiding name-change court commissioner, says that for years he has been plagued with insults.

“I used to be teased, and some days I had rough times as a child,” he said. “But I never was bothered enough to ever consider changing my name.”

In fact, Mouron said, he can’t understand why people get so upset over a name.

“I don’t see a reason for most of the people who come into court and want to change their names.

“I’ve been called a moron all my life and I’m proud of it,” he said.