Patience is required when your last name begins with Z
Remember the phone book? Its disappearance has deprived me of a favorite pastime — seeing who’s last.
As a “T” in school, I always was near the end of the line — in the last homeroom and among the last to receive my high school and college diplomas. Thank goodness for those named Williams, Yanchak and Zofchak.
Behold the alphabetical inequity — the ABCs of discrimination. In a schoolhouse fire, we would be last to leave the building, the bleating sacrificial lambs.
There’s some clinical psychology involved here. Culture celebrates the first and shames the last. Alphabetitis should be a disorder on par with restless leg syndrome.
Explain to me why there’s no steak sauce named Z- 26?
Phone books nowadays are as hard to find as Bigfoot. A search led me to the Carnegie Library in Oakland that had only a 2017 edition of the White Pages that listed a Zywiolek as last. I tried calling the phone number, but it no longer works.
Next to last was a Zywiczynski, but Agnes and William of West Mifflin unfortunately have passed away since 2017, Pittsburgh Post- Gazette obituaries indicate.
Third from the end, Mark Zywar answered the phone. He now could be last. But Matthew Zywica of Carnegie Mellon University was a fairly recent arrival to the area, and his name would come after Mr. Zywar’s if
only he had a landline. His phone number is unlisted on whitepages. com.
( Responding to an email I sent him, Mr. Zywica said he remembers always being last in line but couldn’t talk right then. He was busy potty- training his son — a much recommended task given that the little Zywica will forever be farthest from the bathroom.)
So evolution kicks in, with biology demanding patience from those with Z surnames.
Mark Zywar graduated from East Allegheny High School in 1970 — last in the class of 405 to get his diploma. In time, he would join the Navy, where he was last in every official military lineup.
“When they said to get in line in alphabetical order, I would just wait because I knew I was at the end,” he said. “Simple as that.”
Retiring in March 2018 from Wabtec, Mr. Zywar, 67, was a drill- press operator and a ball- valve maker, with his focus now on caring for his 98year- old mother, Helen.
A Navy veteran, Mr. Zywar spent most of 1971 through 1973 aboard the USS Detroit, with trips to the four corners of the world. These days, he enjoys reading “entertaining fiction,” including romantic comedies, and painting by numbers with his masterpiece being a large “Last Supper” on canvas.
He once ran two half marathons with a vow to run marathons until he finished one under 4 hours. On his first try, the 1990 Pittsburgh Marathon, he broke the tape at 3: 55: 23 — about the length of time he waited in line to get his high school diploma.
“I have patience,” he boldly declared. “I don’t mind waiting. If there was a big line anywhere, I didn’t care — and there are big lines everywhere. I take it as it is. People are just in a big hurry to go nowhere.”
OK, just a word about those with the surname Aaron. I once interviewed one. Point blank, he said he expected to be first. He graduated first. Enjoyed the most attention. Entered college graduation ceremonies immediately behind the dean. He didn’t say he was a prince and Z’s were paupers, but I’ll bet he said that behind closed doors.
Once when a teacher switched the order and he was last, he was angry, impatient, psychologically damaged.
“I never heard anyone say, ‘ Let’s start with the letter Z,’” Mr. Zywar said, ruining my reminiscence about the Aaron interview.
When Mr. Zywar votes, he tells the poll worker to hand him the card at the bottom of the stack. When he was receiving unemployment decades ago, his appointment was last, which meant the official was tired and cranky.
Once shy, Mr. Zywar had a heart attack at age 50 and underwent quadruple bypass surgery. He was told the surgery could change his personality, potentially making him angrier or happier. Being a Z, he emerged happier, thankful, more talkative.
“That’s why I’m kind of mouthy now,” he said. “I’ll talk your ear off about any subject.”
And after two hours with Mark, I had only one ear.
So, teachers, caseworkers, social scientists, switch it around occasionally. Give the Z’s some ease. Let them go first. Make those Aarons stew at the end of a very long line.
Hold a Z festival. Give them keys to cities. Name bridges after them. Make gourmet Z- 26 steak sauce.
And like Mr. Zywar, Z’s should take full pride in being as special as the final few.
“When it comes to being last, not too many people are going to beat me,” Mr. Zywar proclaimed, declaring victory, while I sat there with one ear and a patient smile.