The list of top three given names appearing on birth certificates indicated that the top three of my birth year were (in order) Mary, Susan and Debra. I managed to miss those, and I don't recall there being a surfeit of Marys or Debras in my classes at school. Now Susan, on the other hand, was a hard name to duck. Yell for "Susan" in my high school graduating class of just over 1,000, and you'd likely get 30 or 40 girls yelling back in response. As I remember, we also had far too many Michaels and Roberts. I'll have to go back and see how those names fared on the boys' list.
I see that my real name also doesn't fare too well in the more recent top 1,000 lists, although it does show up (in a slightly modified form). I'll admit to being surprised it's there at all, since it isn't a name I come across frequently. In fact, unlike my sisters, both of whom had rather common names for their time, my name was unduplicated in my high school class. It was uncommon enough a name that when three of us with similar names appeared in my freshman college class it caused everyone a world of confusion. We three same-names fixed the situation by agreeing to go by three slightly different forms of the name. One girl kept hers unchanged, while the other girl and I used our full given names. While I had never used my full name before college, I discovered I rather liked using it, and kept the practice after I graduated.
When my parents married, they made a deal with each other. Mom would get to name the boys (except the first-born male, whose name had been determined six or seven generations previously) and Dad would name all the girls. Mom got off easy; I have no brothers.
Dad, on the other hand, had to work at this name thing. I actually have no idea where he got the idea for my older sister's first name, but her middle name was my mother's mother's middle name. He named my younger sister by giving her a first name he liked that was very popular at the time of her birth and a middle name that was the same as his mother's middle name. I might add that her middle name is exceptionally dowdy and out-dated sounding, and the younger sister has always despised it. But I digress.
When I was born, my parents were firmly fixed in the "it's got to be a boy because the first one was a girl" mode. Remember, back in the fifties there was no nifty way to ID a baby's sex before it was born, so labor always ended with the big revelation of what color you should have painted the baby's room. My mother was in labor a relatively short time with me (unlike the three-day labor she had with the first), and Dad was taken by surprise when he had another baby girl to deal with.
He was at home when I was born. He rushing about trying to get back to the hospital (Mom had sent him home because they were both expecting another three-day labor marathon), when the neighbors checked in to see if they could do anything. Of course, when they learned I was a girl they wanted to know what my folks were going to name me. Dad confessed he hadn't a clue, that he hadn't even considered girl names. One lady (who happened to be the wife of my first dentist) said "Well why don't you name her [Insert my name here]. I always liked that name." When my father got to the hospital, he couldn't think of anything better, so that's what went on my birth certificate.
I've often wondered what I would have been named if Mrs. Frank hadn't offered that suggestion. I'd probably be one of the Marys or Susans or Debras of my year, given Dad's track record. All good, solid names, but none with the stamp of uniqueness mine has. Thanks, Mrs. Frank, and know that you're still fondly remembered thirty years after your death because a favorite name of yours became my name.
Easter, 1960