The stories behind words

By Herman M. Lagon

You don’t need to be a historian to know that names carry meaning. Some names build bridges. Others burn them. Most slip into our lives unnoticed—in meals, clothes, and everyday talk. These are eponyms: words born from real names that quietly shape how we speak, learn, and live, long after their originators are gone.

Take the sandwich. For many of us, it’s just baon—something quick, convenient, sometimes soggy, often shared. The sandwich came from John Montagu, the Earl of Sandwich, who wanted meat between bread so he could keep gambling. The teddy bear? It traces back to President Teddy Roosevelt, who spared a bear cub—turning a moment into a toy, and a toy into a timeless childhood companion.

It’s not just names from far away. We have our own. Pancit Molo is not just soup—it’s part of Molo’s heritage, rich with Chinese-Filipino roots and made by hands that fold dumplings from instinct. La Paz Batchoy is more than a bowl of broth—it’s the heart of La Paz, served hot, messy, and full of the flavors of wet markets and weekend lunches.

In many ways, names become dishes. And dishes become memories.

We use eponyms without thinking. Silhouette came from a frugal French horticulturist. Diesel from the inventor of the engine, Rudolf Diesel, that powers our rides. Boycott? From English Captain Charles Boycott so avoided, his name became the word for it. These words carry stories—and quiet lessons.

Not all eponyms are heroic. The guppy was named after a man, Robert John Lechmere, who discovered it. The leotard came from a French circus performer, Jules Léotard. And words like sadism and masochism came from writer Leopold von Sacher-Masoch whose life blurred into the darkest corners of human behavior. Their stories may unsettle us, but their names remain.

We have our own names that echo through time. “Balagtasan” comes from Francisco Balagtas, now a symbol of poetic debate. “Gustilo” isn’t just a surname of Filipino Dr. Ramon Gustilo—it’s the medical procedure in orthopedics that helps determine the severity of open fractures based on wound size, soft tissue damage, and contamination. “Manilamen” refers to the early Filipino seafarers in the U.S.—a story that rarely shows up in textbooks, but lives on in quiet pride.

We Ilonggos carry our stories in names—and many of them come with a serving of broth or a crunch of sugar. Take “Batchoy.” It is more than a dish. It is La Paz in a bowl—steaming, messy, and rich with history. Ted’s, Deco’s, Popoy’s, and Netong’s are not just eateries; they are family legacies, each guarding its own version of the classic recipe, passed down by hand, not by book. Ted Lepura started it all in the 1940s, and Federico Guillergan Sr. gave us Deco’s. Today, their names are shorthand for comfort food with soul.

Not all eponyms are edible, but they are just as flavorful. “Madge” is more than coffee—it is a La Paz morning ritual, brewed since 1951 by Magdalena Dela Cruz and still stirred with the same care. “Roberto’s,” founded by Roberto Ting, turned siopao into legend. Say the name, and any Ilonggo knows you mean Queen’s. These names do not just sell—they tell. They remind us that in Iloilo, culture is not just carved in stone. It is sipped, shared, rolled, and remembered.

Some eponyms lift us—they power our lessons, shape our science, and stretch our minds. Newton gave us force, Ohm resistance, Volt potential, Watt power. Gauss mapped patterns, Riemann challenged how we see numbers, and Doppler helped us understand sound in motion. Hooke explained elasticity, Archimedes made water speak, Einstein bent time, and Maxwell made the invisible visible. These names echo in every STEM classroom, quietly guiding problem sets and lab work. But not all names inspire. Quisling now means traitor. Chauvinism warns us of pride gone too far. Some eponyms push us to think harder. Others ask us to remember where blind loyalty and unchecked ego can lead.

Before students fully grasp ideas, they already know the names. That’s why eponyms matter. They are not just trivia. They are reminders. Who do we remember? Who do we forget? Language, more than memory, holds on tight.

That’s the quiet power of eponyms. They keep history close. In our lunchboxes, our lessons, our streets—they whisper the names of those who helped shape the world we live in now.

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Doc H fondly describes himself as a ”student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.