What immediately comes to mind when you hear the name Frankenstein? The monster, right? Well, it shouldn’t since Baron Victor von Frankenstein was the manufacturer, not the product.
So that begs the question: What was the monster’s name? In the Mary Shelley novel of 1819, he didn’t have one. Dr. Frankenstein saw no need, and the best the monster could dredge up was: “I ought to be thy Adam.”
That was awfully biblical and philosophical for a guy with bolts protruding from his neck, don’t you think? Still, the book character was much better spoken than his early movie counterpart, Boris Karloff, who couldn’t do any better than “Roarrrr!” and “Yes, master.” Still, how much patter do you need when your job is to ravage the countryside.
But what if ravaging wasn’t really his thing? What if he eventually got tired of catapulting little girls over treetops, throwing villagers down wells just because, and strangling anyone who dared to toss a pitch fork his way?
What if, instead, he made his way to Oz and crossed paths with Dorothy on her journey to the Emerald City?
I can see her now, dancing and skipping down the yellow brick road, arm in arm with Scarecrow, Tin Man, and Cowardly Lion. Suddenly they felt the ground shudder beneath them, one firm stomp at a time. “Oh my, whatever can that be?” whispered Dorothy. They didn’t have to wait but a second when, out of a corn field, the monster appeared while strangling a poor, unlucky corn stalk.
The monster roared, Dorothy and company shrieked and cowered, but Dorothy – not to be one-upped – stood, stuck out her foot and sent the monster tumbling to the pavement while poor Toto shit himself.
The Monster Tells All
You can guess what happened next. The monster claimed he acted all mean and scary because he knew that’s what others expected of him, when all he really wanted was to become a kindergarten teacher. “Why, that’s wonderful,” exclaimed Dorothy. “But what’s stopping you?”
“No name.”
“No name?!”, the others gasped in shock and wonderment. “How can that be?”
“Because the seamstress never thought of it,” sighed the monster. “Now, she and Dr. Frankenstein are gone. So without the proper ID I need for my teaching certificate, I strangle talking corn stalks just to pass the time.”
“Well, I think you’d make a wonderful teacher,” Dorothy offered. “And I bet the Wizard can give you the perfect name to help fulfill your dream!”
“The Wizard? Who’s that?”
“Why, he lives in the Emerald City and that’s where we’re headed. He’s going to send me back to Kansas and give my new friends exactly what they need, too: a brain, a heart, and courage. How could he possibly say ‘no’ to you?!
“Do you really think he can help?”
“He must; oh, he must!”
So off they skipped and danced to the Emerald City, even though the monster never quite got the hang of skipping.
The Monster Gets a Name
After doling out the other life-changing gifts, the Wizard turned to the monster and mused out loud: “A name, eh?
“Yes, your scrawniness, if you please.”
“Well, back where I come from, all a name ever got you was 1040’s and late filing fees.”
“But I still want one…a name my kindergarten students will respect and love me for.”
The Wizard thought and thought before offering up a few suggestions.
“How about Wilfred?”
“Not doing it for me.”
“Buster?”
“Nope, sounds like a school yard bully.”
“Donald?
“Don’t even go there.”
“Wait, wait, I got it…Frankenson!”
“The good doctor didn’t sire me, I was crafted!”
Just then, the great and powerful Oz opened his bag of goodies and pulled out a name tag though he hid it from view. “Why, I’ve met people with names who weren’t loved at all. You see my fine, ferocious friend, it’s not the name that makes the man, but the man who makes the name.”
Dorothy and the others nodded their approval while the monster, tempted to roll his eyes, let the Wizard continue. At that moment, the Wizard turned his back, pulled out a magic marker, wrote something on a slip of paper, and placed it inside the name tag’s plastic cover.
As he turned to face the monster, he proclaimed: “By the power vested in me, I hereby present you with this authentic and permanent name tag and do hereby dub thee Patches!”
“Patches?”, the monster groaned in disbelief. “What the hell kind of name is Patches?”
“My son, it reflects your true self – the sum of your parts, as it were. All hand sewn, stapled and bolted together to create the fine, upstanding person we know you to be, and one your students shall come to love and pet!””
The Monster and Wizard Part Company
After thinking that over for a moment or two while Dorothy and the others cheered with glee, Patches (a name he quickly dropped) hoisted the Wizard by the seat of his pants and slung him through a stained-glass window. The Wizard died on impact of a broken neck and bad naming skills.
“Why on earth would you do such a thing?”, Dorothy wailed. “Now I’ll never see Auntie Em and Uncle Henry again!”
“Never mind Kansas, babe, I’ve got big plans for you right here…if you catch my meaning.”
To this day, the Frankenstein monster remains nameless after threatening to squash the skulls of Tin Man, Lion and Scarecrow should they ever utter the name “Patches” again. As for he and Dorothy, they became the proud parents of three nameless kids, all of whom were born with pigtails and ruby slippers. If they only had been girls.