There’s a hidden treasure in the Adirondack Park.

You don’t need a treasure map and it’s not marked with a great big “X.” Instead, it’s marked with a great big “S.” Followed by a “t.” Then an “e.” Then “w, a, r, t, apostrophe, s.” Put them all together and what do you have?

You have an incredibly diversified treasure of resources. As all of you probably already know, but I’ve only recently discovered, Stewart’s is a place where one can pick up ice cream as well as gasoline. Advil and motor oil. Pizza, air fresheners, beef jerky, smokes, bungee cords, nail polish, Cup-O-Noodles, fishing lures, coffee, kindling, pudding, bug spray, a damn good sandwich and, of course, Super Softee Donuts. But that’s just the beginning.

Stewart’s is also where you can pick up the latest news. Yes, they carry the Adirondack Daily Enterprise, but I’m talking about “supplemental news.” For instance: I was in Stewart’s recently and, while waiting in line to buy my Super Softee Donuts, I happened to overhear a conversation between two women that maybe I shouldn’t have … but did. Now, I fully expected to hear something about the rail trail or the fire that took out Aubuchon’s, or maybe an insight about our local school board.

Instead, I heard a tidbit regarding Jesus, of all things. Yes, that Jesus. My ears perked up immediately. What I heard was this: According to one woman, Jesus had a middle name. The other woman was astonished, as was I. Despite years of Catholic school under my belt, I had never heard that He had a middle name! This was exciting stuff!

The funny thing (and I mean funny) is that the first woman said that his middle name was Harold. Harold? I wasn’t sure my ears were working properly. I wanted to ask, but of course, being polite and fairly new to the area, I didn’t: “You mean Mary actually named her son Jesus Harold Christ?”

Okay, all of you Harolds out there can cool your jets. Harold is a fine name. It just seems odd for someone in the Bible, let alone Jesus Christ, to be called “Harold” don’t you think? It’s just too … current. Might as well be Gus or Charlie or Skeeter. It does, however, explain the one phrase that I’ve heard which never made any sense to me. But I suppose He could have signed His checks with, “Jesus H. Christ.” Or maybe I’ve just been hearing the lyrics to that one Christmas tune wrong all my life: Maybe it’s actually “Hark the Harold angels sing.”

Now I know His mates probably didn’t go around saying things like “Hey, Harold, what’s with the sandals?” But I do wonder what name He went by every day. Now, the ladies in line at Stewart’s didn’t get into this, but they made me wonder: Did folks have nicknames back then?

As I crept closer to the Stewart’s cashier, my Super Softees begging to be opened, I asked myself, did Peter, Mark, Matthew and Paul call Jesus things like Jeez? Or Halo-head? Or Cool J. Messiah? I mean if His middle name could be Harold, nicknames are hardly a stretch. It was then that I finally reached the counter and saw the cashier’s name tag on her lapel. It read simply, Liz. This only fueled my nickname fire.

I’ve got a neighbor we call Pot Roast. His wife is called Shanky. Another neighbor is called Woody which, given our location, is a little more understandable. Strange thing about some nicknames, though, is that they have a life expectancy — it’s hard to continue calling someone “Stinky” when they grow up to be a neurosurgeon.

On a personal note, the author has a lot in common with the Kennedy clan. First, my legal name is John, but everyone calls me Jack … same as President John F. Kennedy. When I was a little shaver, my grandma used to call me John-John … same as JFK Junior. Jacqueline Kennedy was often called Jackie … my entire family called me Jackie until I was, uh, well, they still call me Jackie.

I got in my car, eagerly ripped open my donuts, and, on my journey home, with white donut powder wafting in the air, I felt a little sad. A little sad because, first, I was leaving Stewart’s, but mostly because, unlike Jesus “Harold” Christ, I was given a nickname but never assigned a middle name and I’ve always felt cheated by that.

Call it my cross to bear.

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Jack Cardone is a resident of Piercefield. He’s retired after working as a creative director at a major New York City advertising agency for over 40 years. Have feedback on this column? Email us at news@adirondackdailyenterprise.com.