I used to envy my brother his name, and recall once accusing my mother of having favored him, else why did she name me Nathan and him Philip, tell me that, ma, tell me that. He had king Philip and if day-dreaming that association wasn't pleasure enough, there was the then movie star, Phillips Holmes. All I had was Nathan Hale. Admittedly, Nathan Hale would have been fine — except among our schoolyard ditties was the couplet: Nathan Hale, / Nathan Hale, / He shit in a pail, / Shit in a pail. Being a Nathan was sometimes trying.