What’s in a name

What’s in a name?

Ask a local in Aspen, and they’ll tell you it’s about preserving history. Ask someone who just moved here last week, and they might tell you it’s about sounding smart. But for the people who built this town, the pronunciation of a name was just how you said it.

The Aspen Times published a column Tuesday that tackles this exact friction, arguing that modern attempts to "correct" local names are actually doing Aspen’s history a disservice. The writer, whose last name is Vagneur, argues that the way we pronounce our landmarks and founders isn’t just a quirk — it’s a record of who was here first.

Take Walter Paepcke, the architect of modern Aspen. To the uninitiated, or perhaps to those trying to sound more European, he’s "Pepka." But to the old-timers, and to Mrs. Paepcke herself, it was "Pepkey" or "Papkey."

“If you’re a long-time Aspenite, the ‘correct’ pronunciation can only be Pepkey, or perhaps Papkey,” the columnist wrote. “That’s how it was from day one in this town and how it likely will remain for some time forward.”

It’s a small distinction, but it matters when you’re trying to understand the town’s identity. The columnist recalls a brief encounter from his youth with a high school girl whose father was writing a book about Walter. She introduced him to the name as "Walter Pepka." He asked, “Who the hell is that?”

The disconnect wasn’t just phonetic; it was generational. The family was trying to align with modern nomenclature, while the town was clinging to the way the founders said it.

This friction shows up everywhere on the Western Slope. Drive over to Koch Park, near the old Midland RR right-of-way and the ice rink. You’ll hear people say "Coke Park." But if you go back to one of Aspen’s founders, you’ll find the name Koch was pronounced "co."

“Growing up around Judge Shaw and his imperious wife, Dorothy Koch Shaw, we heard the name often enough that it simply became part of the local language,” the columnist noted.

Even the ski slopes have their own version control. There’s a popular bump run on Aspen Mountain named Seibert’s, honoring Pete Seibert, an early Ajax ski patrolman and one of the founders of Vail. Skiers might say "Seebert," but Pete always pronounced it "Sibert."

“Pronounce it something closer to the French — ‘Vawn-yoor,’ or my best approximation thereof, and they spell it correctly without hesitation,” the columnist said of his own name. “I have to admit, that always makes me smile.”

It’s not just about pride. It’s about function. When you call a heli-skiing outfit in Canada to make a reservation, saying "Vagner" gets you asked, “How do you spell that?” Saying "Vawn-yoor" gets you booked. The history is there, but the utility of the original pronunciation often survives longer than the spelling.

The column touches on other local names, like Stutsman-Gerbaz in Woody Creek, noting that these names carry history. When we pronounce them the way the families did, we’re preserving a small piece of that history.

It’s a reminder that language here isn’t static. It’s lived in. And as long as we keep saying "Pepkey" instead of "Pepka," the town stays connected to the people who built it.