July 21, 1998
      
      NYC
      
      Hi, I'm Bill; I'll Be Your Law From Now On

      By DAVID GONZALEZ Bio
      
     This is in no way intended to make light of issues that could not
     be graver. But why, more and more, are we on a first-name basis
     with our laws?
     
     Not so long ago, legislation about serious matters went by serious
     names. The Federal gun-control law is called the Brady Bill, after
     Ronald Reagan's press secretary, who was shot in 1981. No one
     thought that a more folksy Jim's Bill sounded better. But now we
     talk about new legislation as though it were an old chum.
     
     Maybe it started in New Jersey with "Megan's Law," which requires a
     public notice when a convicted sex offender moves into the
     neighborhood. Whatever its origin, the practice is spreading fast.
     
     New York City recently adopted "Christopher's Law," requiring
     trigger locks for new guns. For two years New York State has had
     "Elisa's Law," loosening confidentiality rules in child-abuse
     cases, and two weeks ago it got "Lee-Anne's Law," preventing people
     who kill their spouses from getting custody of or visitation rights
     to their children. For months, the State Legislature has wrangled
     over the parole-restricting proposal called "Jenna's Law."
     
     Please note with the new eponymic laws that the victim was either a
     child (Megan Kanka, Elisa Izquierdo and Christopher Murphy) or a
     woman (Lee-Anne Cruz and Jenna Grieshaber). It does not take an
     ardent feminist to see that men are accorded greater dignity. Like
     James S. Brady, they get to keep their last names.
     
     This latest fashion in legislation is not universally admired, even
     setting aside the gender gap.
     
     "Putting a first name on a bill, particularly that of a child,
     exaggerates the emotional appeal," said Assemblyman Richard N.
     Gottfried, a Manhattan Democrat opposed to Jenna's Law. "You don't
     have to sell people on whether a bill is good or bad. You can just
     focus on a victim who's appealing.
     
     "It's part of the degrading of the public's deliberative process,"
     he said. "It shortcuts thinking."
     
     Perhaps first-name bills were inevitable in a society that has been
     Jimmy-fied since President Carter's day, with national leaders
     insisting on being called Bill or Al or Bob; disarmingly homey
     names for men itching for the power to wipe out the world with the
     push of a button.
     
     And fast fading, indeed all but gone, is the time-honored civility
     of using last names and honorifics when addressing strangers.
     
     Someone you have never met rings you up and calls you by your first
     name, as though you and he were long-lost pals.
     
     Before you dismiss this as a stuffy complaint, listen to Letitia
     Baldrige, the etiquette expert. She is convinced that the passion
     for instant first-name relationships is misguided, reflecting a
     false sense of democracy.
     
     "It is bad, bad, bad," Ms. Baldrige said. "It destroys deference.
     It destroys authority. It destroys respect."
     
     Ask yourself how you cling to self-respect when you are in a
     doctor's office, wrapped in a skimpy gown, and the nurse calls out
     your given name to announce that Doctor Smith will see you. Sure,
     he gets to be called by last name and title. Isn't it bad enough to
     stand there with your tush hanging out, without the added
     first-name abasement?
     
     There may be no turning back, though, not when everyone from
     unfamiliar store clerks to telemarketers addresses you by first
     name only, not when television personalities are known mainly as
     Oprah or Sally or Geraldo. Just wait. Before long, Hollywood will
     remake a classic like " Smith Goes to Washington" and call it
     something like "Jeff Does D.C."
     
     We even have some parents and teachers urging children to call them
     by their first names, offering an illusion that egalitarianism
     reigns in the family and in the classroom. Schools Chancellor Rudy
     Crew, for one, disapproves.
     
     But all may not be lost. Remember the legendary Bruce, as in, "Hi,
     I'm Bruce and I'll be your waiter tonight"? The hyperfamiliarity
     that he represented has largely disappeared in New York. "It got to
     be a joke," said Tim Zagat, the restaurant survey publisher.
     
     Danny Meyer, an owner of Union Square Cafe and Gramercy Tavern,
     added: "So many young people in restaurants today are serious
     professionals and don't want to be called by their first names. And
     guests aren't looking for a friend."
     
     In short, there is still hope that verbal displays of mutual
     respect are not forever gone. At least, that's how Haberman
     understands it.
     
     _________________________________________________________________
   
   
     Copyright 1998 The New York Times Company