my new driver’s license

My scientific muse Richard Feynman liked to tell a funny anecdote about agreeing to speak at a city college on condition that he wouldn’t have to sign his name more than thirteen times. (Twelve signatures later, he refused to sign twice more to receive his check, despite the college’s insistence that he must, because they can’t account for money that the recipient won’t sign for.)

I resolved to make Robin Lionheart my legal name on all forms of identification without a court procedure. At last, I’ve got my Holy Grail — the gold standard of ID, a new driver’s license in my new name.

Under common law, US citizens can change their names to whatever they want, merely by adopting a new one. However, changing your name on your driver’s license generally requires a marriage certificate or a court order. But for a judicial procedure in Pike County, I’d have to pay $92 to file a petition, be fingerprinted by the state police like a criminal, and buy a newspaper advertisement announcing the court date. And all that could become a waste of time and money if the judge rejects my petition. Why go through such unnecessary expense and indignity?

The Pennsylvania Driver’s Manual states, If you hold a valid driver’s license from another state, you must get a Pennsylvania driver’s license within 60 days after moving to Pennsylvania and surrender your out‐of‐state license. I tried, three times. When I moved to Pennsylvania, I went to two Department of Transportation offices to exchange my old driver’s license for a Pennsylvania one. Each time I was referred to Bill P—, a belligerent manager who chided me for not getting my name changed the right way.

Well, I reasoned, I complied with the law by duly surrendering my out‐of‐state license. If Pennsylvania returned it and refused me an in‐state license, I had no control over that. So I continued to drive with my valid old license, which I renewed by mail.

Having different names on my driver’s license and Social Security Card was inconvenient. Since local banks wouldn’t open an account for me, I opened one with an out‐of‐state credit union. Yesterday, I had trouble getting auto insurance, so I went back to PennDOT for another try.

This time, I had a passport with my new name as an a/k/a. I also brought tax returns, bank statements, life insurance binders, my Social Security Card, and my voter registration, all in my new name. I surrendered my old license again.

The office had a new manager, who listened to my situation and spent an hour and a half making phone calls to check my credentials. I fidgeted uneasily on a plastic chair in the waiting room, then decided it didn’t matter what happened, and started to read a book.

Just then, it felt like my chest was filled with a warm sense of peace and well‐being. A luminous feeling like being in love. Maybe releasing so many attachments caused me to experience satori for a couple minutes. A wonderful sensation, just sitting there placidly feeling whatever happened, everything was going to be all right.

It was. The polite manager eventually accepted my identification and directed me to a counter to fill out paperwork to get my license, apologizing at least three times but after 9/11 we have to be careful. I wondered what went through his mind as he waited on hold for the State Department, if he imagined himself the hero in a drama, catching an unidentified terrorist in training trying to obtain false identification.