I was torn between laughing out loud and feeling disgusted by this article:
Some Katrinas wave goodbye to name
Negative link to hurricane enough to make some women drop appellation
Jon Kamman
The Arizona Republic
Sept. 19, 2005 12:00 AM
She's not Katrina anymore. Call her Renee.
Like tens of thousands of women nationwide with a once-princesslike name that suddenly became a symbol of destruction and grief, Katrina, or make that Renee, McDuffie of Phoenix is fed up with insensitive jokes, funny looks and constant reminders of devastation.
"I've always wanted to use my middle name anyway," she says.
"I had no control over what they named the hurricane, and I didn't have any control over what my parents named me," McDuffie says.
"I'm not responsible for any of what happened, but I feel sad, having my name linked to that."
From coast to coast, it's the same story.
People named Katrina are surely the least of the victims of Hurricane Katrina, but they're hurting nonetheless.
The constant association of the name with trauma could even warp the personality of an unfortunate person who bears it, a psychologist says.
"It's like one shot stamped into your brain for all time to come," says Aaron Bolin, whose research with Arkansas State University students on the stereotyping of names was published this year.
"There can be a conditioned response to those stimuli for the rest of your life," Bolin says.
Katrina Smiley, 26, of Oklahoma City, isn't sure whether her name is ruined for life, but she's heard enough about being destructive, or one of the few people who can be "smiley about Katrina."
"I sure wish my name wasn't Katrina," she says. "It's like everybody who knows your name (says), 'Why'd you do that? Why'd you go over there tearing up stuff like that?' "
Livonia, Mich., businesswoman Katrina Grant, 30, says the storm has made her look back on her childhood, when Kate and Katie were her nicknames.
"I probably will use Kate more often," she says, although her professional identity is firmly rooted in Katrina.
"With such devastation and the horrible, horrible situation all those people are going through, it's not fun to have that name right now," Grant says.
Up-to-date figures on how many people are named Katrina are hard to come by, but there are well over 150,000, judging by a 1990 census compilation.
In those days, it ranked as the 299th most-common female name. Roughly two-thirds of women and girls had more-widely used names.
Social Security Administration records show the name has stayed almost stationary in popularity through the years.
Last year, Katrina came in at No. 281 in rankings of names, with 1,150 newborns given that name.
Derived from Katherine, the name means "pure," but it's unlikely to be associated with anything except pure ruination for years to come, psychologist Bolin predicts.
If a hurricane bears a more-common name, such as the 1992 killer Andrew, the name association with individuals is diffused, he says. A storm with an extremely unusual name would affect relatively few people and pass from memory more readily.
"It takes almost a 'Goldilocks effect' - not superrare, not supercommon, but just right - to drive the stereotyping of the name," Bolin says.
And if Katrinas become stereotyped as rampaging, it can be a self-confirming label, he warns: "If a person is treated in a certain way, it may make her react that way."
Katrinas are everywhere, except perhaps in the path of Katrina's destruction.
Katrina Robertson's phone in hard-hit Gulfport, Miss., is "not in service," a mechanical voice announces.
The phone just rings and rings at Katrina Sanders' home in storm-ravaged Biloxi, Miss.
Katrina's Bakery in New Orleans is closed, although the place appears to have gone out of business before Katrina hit.
A few people even have that last name.
"I've always hated it," Escondido, Calif., retiree Robert Katrina says, explaining that he's been ribbed about its feminine denotation and its similarity to the name of an early-day cartoon character, since his youth.
He considered changing it, but now, at 82, he'll live it out, he says.
In the meantime, Katrina says, people who make his name the butt of their jokes do it "all in good spirits," but "it goes on, over and over, and gets a little too much."
Pharmacy technician McDuffie wonders why hurricanes have to have human names.
"I don't think they understand fully what they're putting us through, people who have that name."
As the storm hit, an acquaintance sent her an e-mail saying, "When I heard what they named it, I knew it would be bad," McDuffie says.
"They think they're being funny, but there's nothing funny about it."
Through a girlfriend, McDuffie quickly signed up to help displaced people brought from New Orleans to be sheltered in Phoenix.
"I told her to register me as Renee," she says. "Those people have already been through enough. I don't want to come in and say, 'Hi, my name is Katrina.' "Unlike those born on September 11, and feel bad about celebrating on such a national tragedy, these people can do something about it. I think it's silly, and in a few years will resume their Katrina names.
I have a kid of my cousin who is named Andrew. I don't think he ever felt bad about sharing a name with such a destructive storm. Perhaps this is a double standard thing - it's okay for guys to be named after terrible hurricanes, but not women?
Next thing you know, all the women named Katrina will file a class action law suit against the National Hurricane Center for emotional distress.
Give me a break!!As long as the National Hurricane Center names storms after people, this will happen. I suppose it's easier for people to remember a name than storm #05-17 (except for perhaps me).
