Some find it strange and unique, a funny quirk in the history of
Gilroy. Others call it baffling or just plain stupid.
Gilroy – Some find it strange and unique, a funny quirk in the history of Gilroy. Others call it baffling or just plain stupid.
After all, how do you have a street with no name? And what would you call such a street?
“No Name Uno,” of course. Not “No Name Uno Road” or “No Name Uno Street.” Just No Name Uno. Period.
The northwest Gilroy street has a storied history that includes a battle between the city’s hospital and a handful of neighbors who live on the 2.5 mile road, which hugs the east side of U.S. 101. Fifteen years ago, a few of those neighbors shouted down Saint Louise Regional Hospital when it proposed renaming the street. The hospital had just opened in 1989 and officials backed off the effort, despite their desire to make the address less confusing for patients, visitors, vendors and countless others.
But now, hospital officials are quietly exploring the prospect again. And this time, they may not run into the same resistance as they did in the early ’90s.
In recent weeks, hospital president Ted Fox met with City Planning Manager Bill Faus to inquire about the history of No Name Uno, according to Faus, who is also a member of the hospital’s community advisory board. He told Fox that the hospital could sidestep a fight with neighbors by simply naming its driveway, instead of trying to rename No Name Uno. The circular drive at 9400 No Name Uno is home to the hospital and a number of medical offices.
Faus said Fox agreed to pitch the idea to the nonprofit hospital’s board of directors, while the city explored the regulatory issues of naming the driveway. Fox was unavailable for comment Thursday.
“We talked about that as an alternative approach and everybody thought that that was the best thing to do,” Faus said.
For the moment, hospital officials are keeping mum about the plan, or the possibility of a renewed effort to rename No Name Uno.
“We were seeking information on what happened in the past and that’s how this question came up,” said hospital spokeswoman Vivian Smith. “It’s not something we’re pursuing right now. This would require input from many others before we would even think about moving forward.”
But some residents say the hospital should not give up on renaming No Name Uno. In the ’90s, the hospital pushed to recast the road as Community Drive. Some residents complained about the hassle of changing their checking accounts, letterhead, land records and a myriad of other documents bearing their address. Others simply had a soft spot for the name.
Marco Renella was not one of them.
“I don’t really have any letterhead,” said Renella, who lives at 9790 No Name Uno.
Renella said it’s a “cute name,” but one that’s caused plenty of minor frustrations. Online credit card sites routinely convert the “No” into “Number,” requiring Renella to resolve the issue over the phone with confused credit agents. And a Christmas gift or two has gone missing because a relative assumed the “Uno” should be a numeral and tacked it to the beginning of the address.
“It can be a pain in the neck,” Renella said, adding he wouldn’t mind a name such as Medical Drive. He called the squabble 15 years ago “much ado about nothing.”
Robert Mozzone, 75, once owned the 23 acres where Saint Louise Regional Hospital now stands. He has lived on the corner of Cohansey Avenue and No Name Uno, just north of the hospital, for 43 years. Mozzone said that “luckily,” his mailing address is off Cohansey.
“I’d just as soon No Name changed,” he said. “If I lived there, I’d still think I’d want to change it. It’s kind of a stupid name … There are so many more appealing names.”
Over the years, a bit of folklore has grown around No Name Uno. Some say the street was named after an Indian chief – Noname – who lived in the hot springs east of Gilroy, a myth likely born from a street sign in which “No” and “Name are printed as a single word. Another legend says the name was thought up by a spiteful farmer who was ordered to name the road by a judge.
No Name Uno has been known to inspire creative interpretation. In recent months, an anonymous caller to the Dispatch admitted to have always assumed the “Uno” was a play on words: “No Name … You Know.”
But the name’s origin is less clever and exotic than the legends suggest. Faus explained that it’s a relic from the ’70s, when state transportation officials were constructing U.S. 101. The smaller access and frontage roads built around the freeway were given temporary names – No Name Uno, No Name Dos, No Name Tres. Condit Road in Morgan Hill, for instance, was also once a “No Name” road, according to Renella.
“Through the years of construction, there were several residences that sprung up and people said we like this unique name and we want to keep it,” Faus said. “And Caltrans said OK. They didn’t have any reason to deny it.”
Less than a half-mile of the 2.5 mile road lies in city limits, just north of the Gilroy Premium Outlets off San Ysidro Avenue. City officials have no control over whether county officials would rename the portion outside the city, though Gilroy planners would recommend the change to avoid confusion, according to Melissa Durkin, a city planner who is a member of the street naming committee.
Mayor Al Pinheiro welcomed the “compromise” of naming the driveway instead of recasting No Name Uno.
“I don’t have an odd affection for the name,” Pinheiro added. “Nor do I think it’s a great name. No Name Uno? It doesn’t sound right. It doesn’t make sense to me. But beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and if somebody lives there and loves it, then who am I to question that?”
