Timothy “Ace” Holleran splices street angles and curvatures that drives you to places unknown and, yet, recognizable. He’s a master of duality, and a marvelous escape from, well, snow-covered streets, and all the BS going on in the world.
In this 2026, OIB’s 20th anniversary year, we asked Ace: what’s in a street name? He obliges. Grab your favorite beverage and sip on Ace Man speak. It’s unique. Our Poet Laureate.
No, I Said Lesbia!
Before you get your Spanx in a knot, I’m talking street names here, Beepo style. And yes there’s a Lesbia Street in the West End. I’m not sure, but my money’s not on a reference to a lifestyle here. Wouldn’t it be cool, though if a club opened up on that street and it became a hit with a certain diverse client base? Ouch, did I say diverse? I’m not sure how many fans of the Roman poet Catullus showed up at the naming meeting way back then, but Lesbia was his main squeeze, and, well, she was a she. Read on; there are some weird ones.
Fear not, there are no Chipshot Lanes or Papoose Courts here. We’ve got good, solid names: Madison, Capitol, Noble. But there’s also George E. Pipkin’s Way (around East Main, near Pulaski). Or, off Park Ave., there’s Monsignor Insiella Street. That part of Park, by the by, is the home of the “Whee’s.” Just drive north and keep close to the curb. As you cross the presidents (Taft, McKinley, etc.), your passenger side will experience church-bazaar-ride-like gut reactions. Whee indeed. Drive safely.
Remember when the train to Gotham cost $3.51 (round trip)? Just journey up to the St. V. (do I even need to spell it out?) area to reach the metropolis of Bronx, Harlem and Manhattan Avenues. Running perpendicular to these street is Morningside Drive, known to many North End denizens as the Cross Bronx Expressway.
Got your German on? Be patient (Geduldig St.) or weird (Seltsam St.). The latter will take you upward to Whiskey Hill (Sylvan/Reservoir) where alleged bootleggers plied their trade.
P.T. also left his mark, aside from Iranistan (I know: “Arnistan”) and Waldemere. Helen was his second daughter; Charity Hallett his first wife. Add in sons-in-law Hurd and Seeley.
If you can tell me why Beach Street is nowhere near the water or Black Rock Avenue is in the South End, I’d like to know.
Perhaps the oddest fable is that of a Paugusset Indian from the eighteenth century who occupied a reservation near to what became the site of Trumbull Gardens. The dude’s name was John Pork Chop, from which we got Chopsey Hill Road.
Check in with me here, gang. More stuff on the occasional way. Brickbats and treacle welcome any old time.
