I used to live in Appalachia.
No, I'm not making this up for parody. I actually did, while I worked in Shenandoah National Park. I did this for quite a while when I was in my twenties, and reveled in the "mountain folk" culture.
In that part of the country, people describe where they live based on their "holler" (hollow, a small valley between mountains) and the hollers often have colorful names with interesting back stories.
Well, spill my moonshine! It turns out we have a "holler" right here in North Minneapolis and like certain cartoony stereotypes of mountain people...
...these "hollers" ain't partial to progress and just want to live simple, unchanging lives in their humble little home, treating property rights over a crappy looking hovel as some kind of sacred religious article, i.e. "No, Mister government man, I ain't selling this place for ANYTHING. No, siree, bob! GET OFF MY PROPER-TEEEEE!"
Behold, pictured above, Scorn Holler. So called because this is the place where the Holler family killed the dreams of a neighborhood for a new library where fancy "book learning" would take place. Oh, sure, we could have called it "Holler Holler" but like they put it so well in Oh, Brother Where Art Thou, "That don't make no sense."
Because the Holler family's "mountain man" refusal to make way for modernity and progress made them into, well, sorta social outcasts as a result, folks 'round these parts just call the house at 1423 45th Avenue North "Scorn Holler."