Unhappy on Sat-AN-wood Dr.
Neighbors pitch in to rid 'Satan' from their address
Baltimore Sun
COLUMBIA, MD. - The U-shaped street in Columbia was supposed to be named Satin Wood Drive, based on an obscure poem by a whimsical poet. But the devil, it turns out, was in the details.
About 30 years ago, somewhere between the developer's plans and the county's official map, a misplaced letter doomed the residents of Satan Wood Drive.
"You almost feel ostracized, like you're the black sheep of the village," said Jamie Aycock, 31, an electrical engineer who lives on the block. "Sometimes they look at me like I'm a devil worshipper."
Residents have adopted a variety of coping mechanisms. A priest who lives on the street sprinkles holy water around his house each year. Another man obscures the name by giving it a French pronunciation. Others simply call it S Street.
But patience has run thin, and the residents of Satan Wood Drive are petitioning Howard County for a name change. They have collected signatures and begun to raise money, hopeful their days as the butt of demonic jokes are coming to an end.
Their biggest obstacle has been getting people to take the problem seriously: At a recent town budget hearing, as the residents made their case, the meeting erupted in guffaws. "They wouldn't think it was so funny if they had to live on the street," muttered Barbara Chapman, who has lived there four years.
All the residents on the block seem to have a story about how they came to live at Satan Wood Drive and how they have learned to cope.
The Rev. Duane Johnson understands the problem acutely. An Orthodox priest, he lives with his wife, Sandy, in a two-story house on the northern end of Satan Wood Drive.
It wasn't their first choice. His wife didn't even want to look at it, he explained. But the market was tight, the prices astronomical, and here was the perfect house.
But one day, Sandy called to order drapes from J.C. Penney. She spelled out the address for delivery, and the saleswoman dropped the phone.
"When she finally got back on the phone," Sandy recalled, "she said, 'You won't believe this, your order number is 666.' "
People who are superstitious seem to take it especially hard, residents say.
"They talk to you like you have horns on your head," Chapman said. "A lot of my friends won't even say it. It's like you don't know if saying his name conjures him up, but who wants to take the risk?"
As if to counteract its sinister name, the street has attracted a number of ministers. There is Johnson, an associate priest at the Orthodox Church of St. Matthew in Columbia, who sprinkles holy water through his house every year. Until recently, a Methodist minister lived a few houses down. A third minister has one of the street's two signs planted in his front yard.
The other residents have found their own ways to combat the evil name.
At stores, Aycock casually tells the clerks that the street name is spelled "Satan Wood" but pronounced sat-AN-wood. ("I tell them it's French," he said.)
But the most common tactic is fudging the errant letter and using a variation of the intended name: "Satinwood Drive."
Last year, after a particularly frustrating Christmas ordering presents from catalogs by phone, Paige Murphy, a flight attendant, dug through the Columbia Archives, called the Howard County Planning Department and rallied neighbors to show up at village board meetings.
The name change, she was told, would cost the community a total of $2,581.20, and it would require signatures from 19 of the street's 21 homeowners. In December, all but one family signed the petition. Now all that remains is the problem of raising the funds.
Someday soon, they say, the evil name that has troubled them for so long will be driven out of the community.
:scared :scared
Neighbors pitch in to rid 'Satan' from their address
Baltimore Sun
COLUMBIA, MD. - The U-shaped street in Columbia was supposed to be named Satin Wood Drive, based on an obscure poem by a whimsical poet. But the devil, it turns out, was in the details.
About 30 years ago, somewhere between the developer's plans and the county's official map, a misplaced letter doomed the residents of Satan Wood Drive.
"You almost feel ostracized, like you're the black sheep of the village," said Jamie Aycock, 31, an electrical engineer who lives on the block. "Sometimes they look at me like I'm a devil worshipper."
Residents have adopted a variety of coping mechanisms. A priest who lives on the street sprinkles holy water around his house each year. Another man obscures the name by giving it a French pronunciation. Others simply call it S Street.
But patience has run thin, and the residents of Satan Wood Drive are petitioning Howard County for a name change. They have collected signatures and begun to raise money, hopeful their days as the butt of demonic jokes are coming to an end.
Their biggest obstacle has been getting people to take the problem seriously: At a recent town budget hearing, as the residents made their case, the meeting erupted in guffaws. "They wouldn't think it was so funny if they had to live on the street," muttered Barbara Chapman, who has lived there four years.
All the residents on the block seem to have a story about how they came to live at Satan Wood Drive and how they have learned to cope.
The Rev. Duane Johnson understands the problem acutely. An Orthodox priest, he lives with his wife, Sandy, in a two-story house on the northern end of Satan Wood Drive.
It wasn't their first choice. His wife didn't even want to look at it, he explained. But the market was tight, the prices astronomical, and here was the perfect house.
But one day, Sandy called to order drapes from J.C. Penney. She spelled out the address for delivery, and the saleswoman dropped the phone.
"When she finally got back on the phone," Sandy recalled, "she said, 'You won't believe this, your order number is 666.' "
People who are superstitious seem to take it especially hard, residents say.
"They talk to you like you have horns on your head," Chapman said. "A lot of my friends won't even say it. It's like you don't know if saying his name conjures him up, but who wants to take the risk?"
As if to counteract its sinister name, the street has attracted a number of ministers. There is Johnson, an associate priest at the Orthodox Church of St. Matthew in Columbia, who sprinkles holy water through his house every year. Until recently, a Methodist minister lived a few houses down. A third minister has one of the street's two signs planted in his front yard.
The other residents have found their own ways to combat the evil name.
At stores, Aycock casually tells the clerks that the street name is spelled "Satan Wood" but pronounced sat-AN-wood. ("I tell them it's French," he said.)
But the most common tactic is fudging the errant letter and using a variation of the intended name: "Satinwood Drive."
Last year, after a particularly frustrating Christmas ordering presents from catalogs by phone, Paige Murphy, a flight attendant, dug through the Columbia Archives, called the Howard County Planning Department and rallied neighbors to show up at village board meetings.
The name change, she was told, would cost the community a total of $2,581.20, and it would require signatures from 19 of the street's 21 homeowners. In December, all but one family signed the petition. Now all that remains is the problem of raising the funds.
Someday soon, they say, the evil name that has troubled them for so long will be driven out of the community.
:scared :scared
