Here’s an oddity: No doubt you’ve noticed that some of our states bear Native American names. But have you ever counted how many? Illinoisans, of course, know we’re surrounded by such states: Iowa, Wisconsin, Michigan, Indiana, and, of course, our own Illinois (a Frenchification of a Native American tribe, the Illini).
We’re so used to it, we take it for granted. But keep going: Minnesota, Missouri, Ohio, Kentucky, North Dakota, South Dakota, Tennessee, Alabama, Mississippi, Arkansas, Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas, Arizona, Connecticut, Massachusetts, Hawaii, Alaska, Idaho, Nebraska, New Mexico, Utah, and Wyoming.
Twenty-eight out of 50. More than half! Add the six states with Spanish names, California, Colorado, Florida, Montana, Nevada, and Oregon (a little less definitively), and the tally is 34. For good measure, throw in the French-derived states, Louisiana, Maine (also less definitive), and Vermont, plus one from the Dutch, Rhode Island (anglicized from Roode Eylandt, referring to the red clay near the shore, which resolves the mystery of why a state that isn’t an island should be named “Island”).
That brings the total to 38 out of 50 states bearing non-Anglo names (the remaining 12 are Washington, Virginia, West Virginia (Kanawha, the lovely name of a principal river, regrettably, didn’t make the cut), North Carolina, South Carolina, Maryland, New Hampshire, New Jersey, Georgia, New York (changed from New Netherland when the English took over), Pennsylvania (William Penn wanted it named just “Sylvania” for the forests), and Delaware (which sounds Native American, and there is a Delaware tribe, but the state was named after Lord De La Warr, the first governor of Virginia, go figure).
One would expect, in a country culturally “descended” from the British, that the majority of states would bear Anglo names. No, they are but a small minority. And one would definitely not expect — given the long-established pattern of disregard, disrespect and outright cultural contempt and hostility, bordering on genocide, demonstrated by the Anglo and European majority toward Native and Central and South Americans — that the vast majority of the states would bear Native American and Hispanic names.
Odd doesn’t begin to cover it. And even though many of the states simply adopted the Native American or Spanish names of the principal rivers in those states, I would fully expect that said states, after ethnically cleansing themselves of native influence, would then change the state name to something more European. Maybe they just couldn’t be bothered. Still, you might think that, after expelling said tribes, the glaring reminder of a Native-American state name might induce some measure of historical guilt. A haunting of conscience perhaps. But maybe they just couldn’t be bothered about that, either.
In the best of all possible explanations, retaining such names might be seen as historically honorific, but that doesn’t jibe with the majority’s actual behavior (i.e. misbehavior) directed toward Native American and Hispanic peoples.
And it doesn’t begin to explain our longstanding fetish for Native American mascot names for our sundry sports teams.
Here’s an extra oddity: North Carolina’s original western territory (it was a long territory) broke away in the late 1700s and adopted the name Franklin, for Benjamin Franklin. But after much back and forth and congressional involvement, the new state was named “Tennessee,” a Cherokee word, even though a few decades later, they evicted the Cherokees, subjecting them to a forced march west, infamously known as “The Trail of Tears” (1830). Curious and curiouser, as Lewis Carroll said, speaking from beyond the looking glass.
Other, less infamous, curiosities about the names of states: Sir Walter Raleigh named Virginia for Queen Elizabeth I, also known as the “Virgin Queen of England.” So yes, Virginia (and West Virginia) refers to virginity.
Washingtonians wanted to name their state Columbia (after the river), but the District of Columbia already existed. So they chose Washington to honor the Father of our Country and to avoid redundancy. Then the District of Columbia became known as Washington D.C. Sometimes you just can’t win.
Massachusetts was the first state to choose a Native American name, followed by Connecticut, making them the two most difficult state names to spell — except for Mississippi.
The oddest oddity of all, of course, is the name of our country itself. Most of us learned the peculiar historical footnote that our beloved, idealized-but-never-realized “America” was named for an Italian explorer/navigator named Amerigo Vespucci. The world’s greatest act of egomania or the greatest practical joke of all time? And why his first name? I suppose we should be grateful we didn’t end up being named the United States of Amerigo — or the United States of Vespucci.
As you ponder all of this, I’ll leave you with Russian comedian Yakov Smirnoff’s signature signoff:
What a country!
Details for this column were gleaned from the Bureau of Indian Affairs – Office of Public Affairs (www.bia.gov/as-ia/online-press-release/origin-names-us-states). And the Wikipedia entry on Amerigo Vespucci is a real hoot.
