From the out-of-print book Americans and Germans: A Handy Reader and Reference Book with 258 Illustrations by Wolfgang Glaser
Our surnames are among the oldest evidence of family history that we have at our disposal. Passed on from generation to generation, they often reach back to times from which no documents have survived. It should therefore come as no surprise that interpreting them to gain information about one’s origin almost always proves to be an exceedingly difficult task.

For those emigrants who carried their names to a foreign country where they were more or less exposed to the pressures of change and conformity exerted by the new language, the possibility of misinterpretation is even greater. The following brief journey through the history of German surnames in the Old and the New World does not intend to awaken exaggerated hopes for practical application, but it does hope to arouse the interest which this fascinating branch of genealogical research most certainly deserves.
Today’s surnames of European origin first appeared in Northern Italy around the end of the first millenium A.D. Reaching Germany, they spread from south to north and by the year 1500 were in common use everywhere. This development has been attributed to the growth of cities and to the gradual emergence of writing in municipal administration. Cologne, for instance – at that time the largest German city – already had between ten and fifteen thousand inhabitants around the year 1200. One can just imagine how many Johanns, Ludwigs or Heinrichs must have been bumping into one another there! If one wanted to distinguish these given names from one another by adding a cognomen, the most immediate solution was to add the name of one’s father – thus the son of Peter acquired the German cognomen Petersohn, which in the course of time was shortened to Peterson, Petersen, Peters or even the original form of the given name Peter. In those cities where crafts were flourishing, cognomens derived from the designations for the various trades soon acquired even greater significance. If Peter was the village miller (in German Müller), then in the church register and in the tax records he would first be entered under the name Peter the Miller (Peter der Müller). And in cases where a son took over his father’s profession, as was common practice, the cognomen would simply pass over to him. Thus began the custom of inheriting names. Once the name Miller (Müller) lost its article facilitating pronunciation – and began to be passed down within the family, it was ultimately retained even for those descendants who chose to pursue a different profession. Other examples of names originally serving as occupational designations include Färber (dyer), Bäcker (baker), as well as Eisenhauer (ironcutter), the German name of a family which emigrated from the Oden Forest near Heidelberg to America in 1741 and of which former President Dwight D. Eisenhower is a direct descendant. Schmidt, the most frequent of all surnames in both German and English (Smith), owes its prominence to the fact that originally it represented a collective term for all metalworking trades (Hufschmied – blacksmith, Zeugschmied – toolsmith, Silberschmied – silversmith, Zirkelschmied – maker of compasses, etc.). Likewise, the notoriously abundant German Meiers (from the Latin major) and Schulzes (from Schultheiss – “der die Schuld zu bezahlen heißt” – Engl.: “the one who orders that a debt be paid”) were in the very first generation feudal functionaries employed to supervise vassals and collect duties. The manager of a feudal estate (a “hide” of land Ger: a “Hufe” or “Hube”) took on the name Huber – which leads us to the name of another American president, Herbert Hoover, whose ancestor, Andreas Huber, also emigrated from Germany to North America in the 18th century. The next significant group of surnames are derived from the original bearer’s place of origin or residence. A person from Silesia obtained the cognomen Schlesinger, not to mention those immigrants pausing in Silesia on their way elsewhere or even the merchant who specialized in Silesian goods. The original Kissinger, early ancestor of the Fürth-born Henry Kissinger, probably had some connection to the Franconian city of Kissingen with its famous spas – but the name doesn’t tell us precisely what the relationship might have been. Another surname probably indicating a place of residence is Bamberger, which may well refer to the city Bamberg, thousand-year-old seat of German bishops and emperors on the Regnitz. But it may just as well represent merely a modified form of Baumberger, a cognomen which would have seemed obvious for anyone whose house was located near a wooded hill (Baum – tree; Berg – mountain, hill). If a farmer’s yard bordered on a rye field (Ger: Roggenfeld, then perhaps he adopted the name Roggenfelder, whence the famous American Rockefeller family might have its origins. And if a person’s property was located near a church or a chapel, his name became Kappelhoff, which is the original surname of actress Doris Day.

Finally we come to that altogether vast group of appellations which, for want of a better term, we shall call “nicknames”. These are surnames which refer to peculiar characteristics or idiosyncrasies of their original bearers. Some immediate and common examples are such names as Lang (long) and Weiss (white), which may be traced back respectively to especially tall persons and those whose hair was either blond or prematurely gray. However, Weiss could also be interpreted as an occupational designation carried over from such trades as launderer, dyer or house-painter (“Weisswäscher”-Engl: “white-washer”). Finally an extreme example of just how misleading nicknames can be – and this should serve as a warning to all those with serious ambitions in the field of genealogy. Some members of the Förster family succeeded in tracing the name back to its very first owner who, much to their surprise, revealed himself not to be a forester, as the name would indicate, but rather a notorious firewood thief!

Most genealogists of course would consider it impossible to go back to the period when names first began to emerge. So far as the European origin of North American names is concerned, it is hardly sensible to do so. For one thing, most names originated many centuries before the period when Europeans began emigrating from the Old World. For another, inasmuch as a name doesn’t in fact lead one totally astray, it often immortalizes merely a brief and incidental episode within a lengthy family history. The unequivocal connection of names to specific territories is present only in the case of nobility; otherwise one has to rely upon supposition, as indicated by the example of Schlesinger cited above. Nevertheless, the linguistic form of a name is capable of saying a great deal about the region in which it is distributed, if less about its meaning. Thus the cognomens formed by adding sen to various Christian names (Petersen, Jansen, Hansen, etc.) are characteristic for the northern German coastal region as well as Scandinavia. Similarly, the avoidance of diphthongs normally present in standard German (Hinrich for Heinrich, Burmeester for Bauermeister, Suhrbier for Sauerbier) and the writing of p for f (Koopmann instead of Kaufmann, Scheper instead of Schäfer) are indicative of Northern Germany, whereas the vast multitude of Meiers spelling their names with ai or ay are probably of Southern German origin. If particular terms are associated only with specific regions of Germany, then the same can be assumed for names derived from these terms. Such is the case for the occupational names Fleischhauer (in the Southeast), Metzger (Southwest), Schlachter (Northwest) and Fleischer (Northeast), all of which mean butcher. The German name Miller, a variant spelling of the more frequently occurring occupational name Müller, suggests an origin from the region around Swabia and Alemania.

Admittedly, such orthographical nuances can only be considered by those able to use original documents containing information about the names of European ancestors prior to emigration. Of course not all American Millers hail from Swabia, that is, between Lake Constance and the Danube. Many came from England, where similar names developed – which is not surprising, considering the linguistic closeness of German and English. And most of those stemming from Germany were more than likely Müllers whose names either were translated after arriving in America or were changed in the course of time to adapt to the English pronunciation. Names of occupational origin were literally translated especially when there existed an analogous term in English. A German Zimmermann became Mr. Carpenter in America, a Koch – unpronounceable for English tongues – became Cook and Schuhmacher was changed to Shoemaker. According to estimates, only a third of English surnames in the U.S.A. can actually be traced back to English ancestry; the other two thirds are translations which actually conceal ethnic background. Thus it is no longer possible to determine just from the name alone whether an American Smith descended from English Smiths, German Schmidts. Portuguese Ferreiras, Polish Kowalczvks or Czech Kowars. To be sure, immigrants were often less opposed to a name-change when they found an immediate English analog awaiting them; especially when translating from German to English, this was quite frequently the case because of the etymological affinity between the two languages. The emigrant Blumenthal actually didn’t even need to translate his name in America; like the Müllers and Schmidts, he often came upon the linguistically and tonally similar form Bloomingdale ready for use. Gustav Weisskopf who in 1901 is supposed to have successfully piloted the first motorized aircraft in aviation history, made a similar discovery when he disembarked at Boston in 1895 and immediately adopted the name of Gustave Whitehead. If however there arose discrepancies between the German name and the corresponding word or translation in English, then many immigrants preferred a kind of hybrid or partial translation of their names. Thus, the name Wannenmacher, which literally means tubmaker, was transformed into the German-American combination Wanamaker; instead of choosing Stoneway, the piano-maker Heinrich Engelhard Steinweg changed his name to Steinway when he came to America in 1851. The Wistinghausens from Westphalia went down in technological history under the name of Westinghouse, and the Stutenbeckers from the Palatinate became the Studebakers of Detroit, General Nicholas Herkimer, who fell in the Revolutionary War, descended from a Herr Herchheimer who was born near Heidelberg in the year 1700.

But even families who wanted to retain their German names after immigrating had to accept certain adjustments in spelling and pronunciations. Often changes were made when first registering with the immigration authorities but they nearly always developed in the course of subsequent generations. The modified vowels (“umlauts”) ö, ü and ä which occur in German but not in English, were either reduced to their original forms or spelled out as oe, ue and ae. Thus a Sänger who didn’t want to become a Singer, ended up as Sanger or Saenger; the lumber merchant Wilhelm Böing from Hohenlimburg in Westphalia had already transformed himself into a Boeing by the time his son William began constructing airplanes. Actually, the adaptation of the German name to the English pronunciation and spelling usually went a great deal further. For example, the name Köster wended its way from Koster ultimately to Custer; the Pfoerschin family which emigrated in 1749 smoothed out its name to Pfirsching and finally then to Pershing; the rather common name Klein, which originally meant “small of stature” or “young in years,” disappeared behind the spellings Kline or Cline; Schulz was changed to Shultz; and many a Weiss, the prosaic interpretation of which has already been discussed above, was conferred with the sagaciously sounding title of Wise. Schlesinger, whether he came from Silesia or not, may go under the name of Slazenger today. And while the 57 varieties of Heinz may still exist in the original form, in most other cases the name has been transformed into Hines.

It is of course obvious that such adaptation to the English language, stemming from the need to facilitate spelling and pronunciation, can lead to misinterpretations in the meaning of names. Bowman for example, a common American spelling for the German name Baumann, calls to mind a maritime or military origin, while the old German name refers to a landlubbing trade that could not be further from the military: farming. And the name Cooper, for which the earlier German spellings Kuper, Küpper, Küper or Küfer are all documented, certainly can be traced back to the caskmaker (which the English name also indicates), but also to a Küpenfärber (tub dyer), whose name is derived from the tools of his trade the dying vat (“Küpe”).

To wind up our exploration of the genealogical mysteries hidden within family names, some improbable occurrences should be cited which, however unlikely they may seem, actually did take place – and some rather frequently. For example, there is the case of a German immigrant family which – within a single generation in America – split up into three branches, each with a different name. United under the name of Schneider, the family set foot on American soil. One son retained the name and the original spelling unchanged; a second translated his name to Taylor; and a third adapted the spelling to the English pronunciation and became a Snyder! It wouldn’t be difficult to imagine, at least in an earlier century, that a fourth scion of this fickle clan might have adopted a totally new name, whether it be to visibly “begin a new life” or, for whatever reasons, to cover up his trail. Such radical changes of names were, incidentally, a common occurrence among Eastern European Jewish immigrants who, having experienced anti-Semitism in their homeland, thereby wished to conceal their religious affiliation. They probably found the changes all the easier to accept since, as a rule, their surnames had been forced upon them by the authorities as late as the 18th and early 19th centuries, and those names had, after all, remained relatively foreign to them.

Finally, an exceptional case of linguistic caper-cutting was immortalized by H.L. Mencken – himself a German-American – in his monumental standard work, The American Language. A man from Portugal by the name of Soares emigrates to America and lands up there in a “Little Germany,” a quarter of an American city where German immigrants have settled down. He soon discovers that no one in his new environments is able to correctly write or pronounce his name. Finally, in resignation, he adopts the vaguely similar sounding German name Schwarz! Some of this man’s descendants, assuming they don’t bear the name Black by this time, are probably convinced today that their roots lie somewhere between the Alps and the North Sea coast…