Richard

The Normans brought it and three English kings wore it, but Richard was already old before any of them: from the Old Germanic ric — power, ruler — and hard — brave, strong — making it, in compound, something close to powerful courage, a sturdy promise packed into two syllables. Richard the Lionheart's legend still does half the work when the name is spoken aloud, even eight centuries on.

Shakespeare wrote two monarchs named Richard; Nixon made it presidential; Richard Pryor made it electric. The name spent most of the mid-twentieth century inside the American top twenty, one of the great durable names of the postwar era. It has softened since — sitting now at rank 232 — but it has never left the chart, a name that has survived every generation's attempt to call it dated.

Two syllables, the first landing hard, the second closing with a soft consonant that holds everything in. It pairs well with names in its neighborhood — Richard Brandon, Richard Edward — and offers a full range of nicknames: Rich, Rick, Ricky, Dick, each carrying a slightly different personality. The boy named Richard grows up to be the person in the room who has actually read the original document, can cite the relevant clause, and does not bring this up unless it matters.