Call Me Katz

My mother, full of airs and graces, named me Suzan. I always hated it. As a child, some people called me Susie, and some called me Sue.

Once I went out into the world at 17, I preferred the name Katz, which I associate with my dad, whom I loved. It suits me so much better. I published all my essays and short stories in the 70s under the name Katz. Then I went abroad.

When I lived in Israel, people did not know the name “Sue” – it didn’t really sound like a name to Israelis. And the name Katz is full of meaning. It is an ancient name and is actually an acronym made of the first letters of the words Cohen and Tzaddik. The Cohens were the priestly class in the days of the Temple (1000 BCE), and the Tzaddikim were the Righteous or High Priests. Probably crazed Fundamentalists. So I could not really go around there with the name Katz. In the end, my students determined my name: Suekatz, with the emphasis on the first syllable.

When I lived in London throughout the 90s, my political and work friends knew me as Sue – Katz was far too a Jewish name to attempt in a country that had in the 15th Century expelled or killed all the Jews who would not convert. But the center of my life was dance, specifically “gay and lesbian dance,” as it was then known. Because I scored quite a serious job in London, with an international platform, I didn’t want to mix my writing with my work. I thought the queer things I wrote could lose me my job. It happened that my Boston friends Stan and Gladys were visiting and as we sat on the banks of the Thames, with much hilarity we came up with the pen name Spike (a name I used as a baby butch in the 60s for a quick minute) Pitzberg (a Jewish-ish re-spelling of my home town.) I wrote an article about our dance classes for the local gay paper and the next week, participation tripled. I was forever known, in London, as Spike because of that.

Since returning to the States twenty years ago, I’m running with multiple names. My very close friends from college, whose community in Vermont is the closest thing I have to “home,” call me Katz and Uncle Katz and Katzeleh. Some old comrades from the revolutionary days of the 60s and 70s call me Katz. One of them, my old buddy Maddog, calls me Q. If I had thought it through when I got back to Boston, I would’ve been more conscious about wanting to be Katz again. But I didn’t push it hard enough, which was a big mistake on my part. My friends from our group Jewish Women for Justice in Israel/Palestine call me Katz, Katzeleh, and even Katzilla – the concoction of a Swiss friend. But they are the exception: most new (since 2000) people know me as Sue.

The pandemic reminds me that, at 72, even with luck getting through this public health catastrophe, every moment is a moment that should not be wasted. Every available delight is one to be embraced. I’m using my best bowls and glasses – instead of saving them for gawd knows what. And as every revelation and every
connection and every means of finding comfort is precious, why should I be called by a name I don’t like, instead of one I love?

I want to break with the tyranny of the first name and return to my young adulthood when I claimed my last name. For who decides that first names must predominate, when one has such an honorable and ancient last name? Of course, as a writer, I remain Sue Katz. But in personal exchanges, if it doesn’t feel too awkward or too difficult for you, do me the pleasure of calling me Katz.

Comments

[Sheila Parks]

Thanks dear Katz. Wonderful story - again. You are such a great writer

[Dr Susan Corso]

Katz. Always and forever. Big kiss!

[Marj]

I particularly like Katzilla.

[SUE C KELMAN]

Katzeleh...
I have always thought of you as Katz (never Kitty - heaven forfend), but I am partial to the Yiddishization of your name. Since we share the name Sue, I, too, have struggled with having to explain that it's not Susan. My family (some of them) call me Suzie (as I've chosen to spell it). But people who know me best often happen upon the name that my Grandpa Mike (Meyer) and Grandma Annie used to call me -- and it's the one I love the best: Suselah.
Be well, Katz.

[Debi L]

Go Katz! Hereby adopted. I resonate with your article, as I have never liked my name either. But I have not been able to come up with an alternative that I prefer. Most of my friends call me Debi Levine, presumably to distinguish me from other Debi’s that they know, but I always joke that it’s because my personality requires at least four syllables. I have one friend who, when she wants to tease me, calls me Debbie, long emphasis on the first syllable, which I absolutely hate, because it makes it Makes it sound like a joke. And don’t get me started with Deborah. So in the meantime, when you’re feeling loving towards me, I give you permission to call me to DeButchkaleh, As my mom often does, tho without the Capitol B.

[Gila Svirsky]

I remember seeing you in Boston years after we were activists together in Jerusalem (where you had taught basic, self-protective judo to the Women in Black, which greatly boosted our self confidence). In Boston, I had a momentary lapse of memory, and addressed you as "Sue" - which sounded funny to me, too, after I had said it. You looked at me as if I had dropped in from outer space. "Katz," you responded, and that was sufficient.

[Verandah]

Katzelah,my dear, I can give you an ah, because you are a revelation. And you match Verandah.

[Doug]

Katz it is. Always such wonderful revelation in your writing. You make me happy.

[Tracy Moore]

Haven’t I always called you Katz?
Love, Tracy

[Alicia Bay Laurel]

Katz fits perfectly. Cats are dancers, rebels, cool, grace in motion, unconquerable. So glad you voiced your preference.