Sullivan is an old Irish river stone polished anew, born from the Gaelic Ó Súilleabháin—“little dark-eyed one”—yet it slips into English ears as SUHL-uh-vuhn, a sound as smooth as a violin glissando drifting over a Venetian canal at dusk. He carries the sturdy charm of emerald hills and clan firesides, but there is a dash of espresso-bright modernity too, thanks to friendly nickname Sully, the heroic captain who kissed the Hudson like a runway, and even a sprinkle of theatrical sparkle from Gilbert & Sullivan’s comic operas. In the United States this lyrical voyager has journeyed quietly for more than a century, rising from the misty low hundreds to today’s confident perch among the top 400, proof that parents still swoon for a name that feels both ancestral and avanti. Sullivan offers a warm, twinkling wink—at once poet, storyteller, and reliable friend—inviting a little boy to grow into a man whose eyes, dark or light, can see possibility the way Italians see the sea: infinito, bellissimo, and forever calling.
| Rhode Island lawyer and politician Sullivan Ballou, a Union Army officer in the Civil War, is remembered for a heartfelt letter to his wife Sarah written days before he was mortally wounded at the First Battle of Bull Run, dying a week later. |