School Needs Name; Dweebs Not Allowed : One of my colleagues attended . . . Salsipuedes Junior High, which translated from Spanish means “get out if you can.”

Ah, Santa Clarita. Ah, the Promised Land. The people who’ve fled the big, bad city to the south for these rolling highlands to the north often speak of the bliss of modern suburbia. Sure, the drive may be longer, but the air is cleaner, the grass is greener.

And Santa Clarita (or at least some Santa Claritans) has a sense of humor about itself. It was only last year that this young municipality solicited proposals for an official city motto. “Land of the Golden Dweeb,” suggested one proud resident. Another wryly noted the influence of a major landowner and developer: “What’s Good for Newhall Land is Good for Santa Clarita.”

Most of the entries were judged to be too satirical, sappy, vague or not quite right. As my colleague Tracey Kaplan reported in July, 1992, “the council voted 4 to 1 in favor of one of five options presented by the staff: ‘Forget the Whole Thing.’ ”

So Santa Clarita still lacks a motto. But it will soon have a new high school and a new junior high as well. And this week, you can be sure that the William S. Hart Union High School District will not duck the sacred duty of christening these halls of learning.

Naming a school may seem like a simple thing, but this is no small matter. Recent history has shown us just how perilous school monikers can be.

Boards of education across the land owe a debt of gratitude to the Central Valley community of Lindsay, which in 1979 boldly dismissed conventional wisdom and opted to name their junior high after a living, playing sports hero with an All-American image. A good role model and all that.

Well, naming a school after Steve Garvey sure seemed like a good idea at the time. (And, no, the school’s teams aren’t called the Padres.)

Then there’s the Acton-Agua Dulce Union School District, which created a stir earlier this year by officially choosing Tiburcio Vasquez, the 19th-Century outlaw who roamed the area and was hanged in 1875, as the name for a high school to be built in the future. Board members may have bought into the dubious belief that Vasquez was a Robin Hood of his time, even a revolutionary. “His method was going around robbing gringos ,” Cal State Northridge Chicano Studies Prof. Rudy Acuna has said. “He didn’t rob his own people and he had lots of popular support.”

Well, maybe. Other scholars have suggested that Vasquez was just a rank varmint--that there’s little hard evidence that he was so discriminating in his victims and that his romantic image was promoted by the colorful, myth-making press of the age, which--well, what do you know?--was owned by Anglos who wanted to sell newspapers. Still, there is no question he’s an interesting figure of local history. If school board members have any doubts, they can at least say they didn’t name it Darryl Strawberry High.

If Garvey was pure folly, if Vasquez was controversial, the tale of Walt Disney Elementary in Burbank shows just how troublesome a name can be.

Readers may recall the problems at Disney. What seemed a fine idea after Walt’s death in the 1960s has become a strange burden in the 1990s, a time when public schools must scramble for grants and charity help. School officials and parents are convinced that the Disney name gave outsiders the mistaken impression that the school was financially supported by the Walt Disney company. Certain that the Disney name was hurting their efforts at getting grant money, the principal and parents formally sought a name change. Burbank school officials rejected it.

Such disparate figures as Garvey, Vasquez and Disney may explain why so many districts, eager to avoid controversy, go the safe route and avoid human beings altogether. New Yorkers prefer numbers to names. In these parts, the preferred approach is to choose names that reflect the communities, streets or geographical landmarks. This is practical, but it can be dull.

Not always. One of my colleagues attended Arcane Elementary in Simi Valley, which seems like a contradiction in terms. Another attended a Salsipuedes Junior High, which translated from Spanish means “get out if you can.” The name, Hugo Martin says, “referred to a nearby creek that settlers used to get stuck in.”

You may rest assured that, unlike their counterparts in Acton-Agua Dulce, the board members at William S. Hart Union High School District--named for the cowboy star of silent films who lived in the area (Newhall)--are going to play it safe.

True to their suburban souls, they will name the junior high something like Mesa Verde or La Mesa. And, mark my words, they will call the high school Valencia to reflect the planned community it serves. It’s not a bad name. Very pragmatic. Arguably historic.

But what will the sports teams be called? The Oranges? (It beats the Golden Dweebs.)

As for me, I still prefer schools named for human beings. They lend a certain character to a school, even if those characters are flawed. I like the fact that my grade school was named for Herbert Hoover, a humanitarian who wound up taking the rap for the Great Depression. And I’m proud to be a graduate of Frances E. Willard Junior High. Most people don’t remember Frances E., but I happen to know that Frances Elizabeth Caroline Willard (1839-98), American educator and reformer, was a founder of the National Women’s Christian Temperance Union and the first president of the National Council of Women.

OK, so I looked it up. But, really, even then I knew she was some sort of feminist-type who didn’t like to party. So she wasn’t a role model for me. Still, it’s better than having attended Ross Street Intermediate.

Even so, if I may be so bold, Acton-Agua Dulce might want to reconsider Tiburcio Vasquez for a name that received a lukewarm reception in Santa Clarita.

The name is Cesar Chavez. His memory has stirred mixed emotions. In San Fernando his birthday was declared a legal holiday. Fresno named a street after him but reversed itself amid political pressure. So the growers don’t like him. Big deal. There is no question he was a hero to his people in fact, not just in legend.

Chavez made enemies while making history. That’s what political heroes do.

Makes me curious. How many schools are named Lincoln down in Dixie?

Scott Harris’ column appears Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday. Readers may write Harris at The Times Valley Edition, 20000 Prairie St., Chatsworth, CA 91311.