"A Tip Of The Hat To The Irish..."

Whenever my wife and I travel to a distant location beyond the city limits of St. Petersburg, I have made it a habit to find a local phone book and see if there are any listings for our last name: Latchford. Usually not. Occasionally I'll find one...more of a rarity there are two, but nine times out of ten there are none. I have long ago realized that the name Latchford isn't ever going to rival numerically the sir names of Smith and Jones. I guess it is unique, if not odd.

I by chance discovered a few years ago that a new assistant manager for our neighborhood supermarket had Latchford as a last name. I spied his name on his name badge, did a double take to make sure and, believing he had also encountered the same discovery that we shared an uncommon last name, I attempted to engage him in conversation. The operative word is "attempted." The young guy instantly revealed the personality of a stump. You would have thought I had asked him if he realized he had a cantaloupe on his head. Either he hadn't determined how rare our last name is, didn't care, or was too otherwise occupied in making sure that the baked bean pyramid display had just the right amount of stacked cans. "Hi! I noticed that your last name is Latchford." No response. "That's my last name." Still no verbal response, but his eyebrows flickered a little. "That's a very rare last name, don't you think?" He shrugged his shoulders. (I could tell I was making progress). "Have you found that to be the case too?" A blank stare was his pained response. Here's where I began to determine that perhaps the reason why our last name was so rare might be because everyone else sired with that name was declared woefully incompetent mentally and, except for the rarest of occasions, had all been incarcerated to protect society from our intrusive presence. If this was an example of all the Latchfords in the world still left this side of iron bars, perhaps my quest to seek out others of the same last name was in need of serious review. "Well, have I nice day," I said in exasperation, concluding our heretofore stimulating conversation. This fellow didn't last very much longer in his position, as the next time I shopped there his staff photograph had been taken down from the wall. I can only conclude that the fellows in the white coats discovered his whereabouts or his can stacking prowess came into question. (How that eight foot tall baked bean pyramid tipped over just after I left the store still remains a mystery to me).

Despite that disconcerting setback I still seek evidence that there are other folks out there is the vast expanse of our country that share my last name and to perhaps engage them in more fruitful conversation to determine their heritage. I have checked into mine as best I can without spending a small fortune in doing so and have determined that my ancestors all came from either Michigan or Pennsylvania. I even came across a reference of a captain with Latchford as his last name that had served in the Union Army. (I try to keep that discovery under wraps here in the deep south). I still have yet to determine where these great grand relatives hailed from before embarking on the boats for America. Europe no doubt, but where in Europe? Maybe Ireland...maybe? Until I discover evidence that would refute my assumption otherwise, I'll make a leap of faith and proudly lay claim to at least part of my heritage is linked to that fair country. "Ford" is certainly an Irish name. "Latch," on the other hand, is anybodies guess. Maybe that prefix was a precursor of the fact that we all ought to be locked up!

So, for this day I'll proclaim myself to be Irish. With no concrete evidence to the contrary, what can it hurt?