Pity the poor Katrinas of the world.

Until late summer, they were fortunate indeed to be able to go through life with such a perfectly lovely name, a noble name they could carry proudly.

And then they woke up one day to find their good name being smeared endlessly in headlines across the country until it has come to represent absolute misery and despair and ruin.

“Katrina wreaks havoc …”

“Katrina devastates …”

“Thousands left homeless in Katrina’s ruthless wake …”

No, this is probably not the best time to be a Katrina.

One Katrina, who’d had it with the constant disaster-related teasing from friends – “Katrina’s coming! Run for your lives!” – complained in a New York Times article on hurricane-induced name shame that she thought it was time to start naming killer storms after widely disparaged vegetables or other lowly life forms that are not easily embarrassed when their monikers are maligned.

It’s unlikely, of course, that we’ll ever see a Hurricane Brussels Sprout, Hurricane Okra or Hurricane Slime Mold. But those name-sensitive Katrinas out there can take at least a small measure of comfort in knowing that they’ve been retired, or soon will be, from the list of possible storm names, not to be reused for at least 10 years and probably much longer.

The World Meteorological Organization does this with most hurricanes that have had a truly devastating impact on lives and property. They’ve retired 37 names so far, much like a great athlete’s jersey or number is retired but with none of the warmth and adulation from adoring fans.

Mitch, Hugo and Hazel are retirees, along with other wrathful notables such as Betsy, Camille and Agnes. My wife got retired out of the storm business in 1960, after Hurricane Donna blasted through the Bahamas and Florida. My son, Andrew, was pulled from further consideration when his namesake storm clobbered southern Florida and Louisiana in 1992 and killed 23 people.

He survived his youthful brush with infamy just fine, if I recall correctly, although he did go through a tempestuous period for a few years afterward.

Growing up as a good Catholic boy, there were times when I didn’t exactly appreciate having my name associated with Peeping Toms and Doubting Thomases. But at least I never had to endure the ignominy of having a nasty blowhard use my name to tear innocent people’s lives apart.

Perhaps they’ll get around to me next year, about the time I finally get tapped for jury duty.

Though a familiar practice to most of us these days, hurricanes weren’t always known by common names. That started in the United States in 1951, when officials began using the phonetic alphabet – Able, Baker, Charlie, etc. – to identify storms more easily than using longitude-latitude coordinates.

By 1953, when a new international phonetic alphabet came along to confuse the process, weather officials went with common female first names. For the sake of gender equity, male names were included starting in 1979.

At the beginning of each Atlantic storm season, the National Hurricane Center in Miami publishes a list of 21 male and female storm names in alphabetical order. The letters Q, U, X, Y and Z are excluded, as are the names of really despicable figures in history, such as Adolf and Idi, who have done enough damage to humankind already.

Until now, this nonsexist hurricane-naming system has always worked fairly well. But with weeks to go before the 2005 hurricane season ends Nov. 30, experts are worried they might actually run out of storm names for the first time. With Wilma already having attained official hurricane status, the season’s 18th, any more storms will be named for the 24 letters of the Greek alphabet: Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta and so on through Omega, if necessary. It would be first time this happened in roughly 60 years of naming storms.

Not exactly the personal touch we’ve become accustomed to – Hurricane Iota? Eye of Pi? – but names anyone could learn to live with.

Just ask the Katrinas of the world.