yobech505

I’ve always considered San Francisco ‘my’ city.  I was born across the Bay, but lived in ‘The City’ at almost the onset.  Went to high school (class of ‘68) and college there, worked at various locations, from Powell and O’Farrell to Golden Gate and Van Ness to 3rd and Hubbell for years.  Even survived the Loma Prieta of ‘89 at the latter.   My father was 2nd generation.  Herb Caen and Jack Rosenbaum were my heroes.

I almost resent changes.  They’re necessary, as times evolve.  Doesn’t mean I have to like them.  I’m aware they’re not icons to be battled with, but more evolutionary to be adjusted to.  Generalizing, it’s my city, don’t mess with it. Everybody does.

The father of a friend I grew up with owned Twin Peaks Tavern at Castro and Market before the area surrounding it was upgraded and modernly improved by an influx and participation of The City’s gay community.  His friend owned Club Unique across from the Nasser Brother’s Castro Theatre.  The area had a time period character,  There were ruffians, all manner of race, and the streets weren’t swept too often, but I never felt unsafe or otherwise, getting off the 37 Corbett at the intersection.

Going home again has its pitfalls.  A trip back did not bring the desired results.  

It was different.  Evolution had taken place.  The shops were updated, more modern content, and the little grocery stores were gone.  The names over the bars were changed.  The angled corner where Castro touched Market seemed institutional rather than neighborly.  Coffee and breakfast overtook a cold beer or a shot of Jack Daniels. The human clientele was different, not from memory.  It’s all because, once again, things evolve.

I got a sympathetic ear.  Sitting in a covered Muni stop, a young lady strolling past asked me if I was okay.  I was taken aback, as I didn’t think the look on my face was that forlorn. “Just missing what used to be.” I replied.  

She was about five foot three, dark shoulder length hair, brown eyes, a petite figure and was wearing a black dress with a matching blouse.  “What’s different?” She didn’t appear to be afraid or intimidated. I suppose I looked as harmless as I actually was.  She sensed it.

San Francisco has always been an adventurous variation of an unusual city.  The unique flair of difference has always permeated its existence.  Even today, nothing compares.  Its character changes, sometimes in the middle of a generation. Its reputation gets flawed responses from the rest of the country.  But San Francisco doesn’t follow paradigms and it never has, from the Sydney Ducks to Boss Reuf to Mayor Willie Brown.  That is its consistency.

Laurie from Houston talked to me for almost two hours.  We walked towards Duboce, stopping for coffee that wasn’t available in the times I reminisced.  I talked about a city I remembered and she asked questions.  We parted with smiles.

I never saw her again. Never was able to figure out why she stopped to talk to me.  She was adorable, yes, and at least while talking to me, unattached.  I didn’t get her phone number, her last name or where she was headed next.  It just didn’t seem appropriate or even necessary.  She did take my hand for a short block and I remember asking an 8 Market Muni driver for her if the route still went to the Ferry Building.  

Eventually, she went on her way, just like the San Francisco I used to know. Pleasant memories still pop up now and then. Even though The City is not what I remember, it is still in the process of evolving, creating new memories for the next reminiscer.