How (and why) I Named My Leg

I’ve always thought people who named inanimate things were a little weird. A high school pal who was a good guy if uncreative, named his VW Beetle Herbie. Paula, my college roommate named her classic Ford V8 Crown Vic sedan “Victor.” My neighbor named her aging Toyota “Whitey.” Then I got a prosthetic leg and started hanging out with amputees. I learned it’s quite common for people to name their prosthetics. I guess it made sense; there’s something about a replacement for a body part that implies a level of personhood. My prosthetic leg seems to act of its own accord from time to time, and I find myself assigning it character flaws. Still I wasn’t sold on the idea of naming it—besides, I had no idea what would be a good name for my leg.

After the accident we had to defer or cancel lots of plans. One of the things I had to cancel was attending a reading by author David Sedaris. My best friend Jean and I had made seeing his appearances a regular thing to do anytime he came within driving distance. I would always take his most recent book for him to sign. I first heard Sedaris on NPR’s radio show Morning Edition in 1992. He read entries from his “Santaland Diaries,” essays about his gig as a Macy’s elf in NYC. I was hooked. My first opportunity to hear him read in person was in 1997, when his second book, “Naked” was published. The little bookstore that hosted him was packed. I sat on the floor inches from his feet. At that reading he signed everyone’s book, including mine. I was impressed because he not only signed my book, he drew a picture in it and talked to me for a few minutes. It’s not that I was special; he did that for everyone. These days his appearances are held in large theaters and sell out months in advance. He’s a Big Deal now; he’s a frequent commentator on CBS Sunday Morning and appears on all manner of programs. He was awarded the Thurber Prize for American Humor for his book, Me Talk Pretty One Day, along with awards for his audiobook recordings and other works. All those accolades aside, he is still generous with his time. Hundreds of people line up for his book signings which he does before and after shows. The faint of heart need not bother getting a book signed; he still draws pictures and still talks to every person—and he signs everyone’s book no matter how long it takes. I think one time Jean and I stood in line for two hours, and there were many in line behind us. I am a total fangirl; I have all his books and most are signed. Jean is the most patient of friends; over the years she has wasted many hours standing in line with me.

Sedaris is a diarist; he started keeping journals long before he ever wrote essays and books. His material for his stories comes from the people and experiences he encounters. Nothing is too mundane for him to note about. He always tries new material when he is on the road; as he reads pages and notes to the audience, he carefully makes notes where he gets laughs or groans. He often reads diary notes collected from conversations he has at book signings.

It happened that Jean had gotten tickets the instant she got wind of his October appearance in our city, many months before the accident. The seats were nearly front row and in the center, and we were excited. I was still laid up when the time for the show came around, so she recruited her husband Frank to attend in my place, and I asked her if she would take my book to be signed. I also told her to tell him the only reason I wasn’t there in person was that I had lost my leg.

After the show, Jean and Frank stood in line with my book. When she came up to him, she asked him to sign it for me, telling him the reason I wasn’t present. He signed my book. As they were walking away, a woman who had been in line with them stopped them to say that he spoke to the assistant with him to make a note about what Jean had said. Jean called me the next day to let me know. We laughed about it and figured that was the end of it.

Two months later, I got a very late evening text from a friend. It read: “Hi! Sorry to text so late. I’m visiting family in Vegas and I’m leaving seeing [sic] David Sedaris. He wrote a diary entry about your book inscription and your leg!! But he changed your name to “Beverly!”

I was stunned. Every Sedaris fan dreams that he will one day write something about them. I pressed her for more details. “He spoke about how a woman came up to him after his show for a book signing. He said this woman told him she was supposed to be there with her friend Beverly but Beverly was in a terrible car accident that left her injured and she lost her foot, and then he read the inscription he wrote in the friend’s book To Beverly….”. The punch line is the book inscription, but I’m going to make you read to the end to find out. Unless you’re a cheater.

I was a little bummed he didn’t use my real name, but Sedaris understands how prosodic information like cadence can make a story more engaging, and he may also have had concern for my privacy. “Beverly” is a funnier name than “Pam,” (sorry all you Beverlys out there, but it’s true). Still, there’s no way it could be anyone else’s story. I realized then and there I had to name my leg “Beverly.” How could I not?

Jean and I made a pact that when we go to the next Sedaris appearance we will make sure we are in line so that we don’t have to wait two hours after the show. I will make sure that I have the book he signed. I’ll tell him how he made my life a little brighter over the years by signing his books in such a personal manner and expressing interest in me whether it was feigned or real. Then I’ll introduce him to Beverly and give him the opportunity to add something to the note he sent me via his book “Happy Go Lucky: