Tag Archives: San Francisco

San Francisco streets

Since moving into the City, I’ve made it a habit to rehearse the order of the names of the streets as I go places. Despite them being literally next door, I still get Greenwich and Filbert mixed up. They both have stairs up Telegraph Hill. Filbert is more famous, probably because it is a bit nicer. Greenwich is closer to our place on Lombard.

After Filbert, heading into (what we still call) the Financial District, there is Union, Green, Vallejo and Broadway.

Today Sepi and I walked to our dentist, who is at 450 Sutter. Once on the downtown grid, every corner can be a choice as the distances all come out the same. Some blocks go up hills, though, so generally we go down Sansome for a while to get around the shoulder of Telegraph Hill. Whether the day is warm or cool often determines which side of the street we walk on. Today, before the low clouds burned off, we turned up Washington to skirt (what is still called) the Transamerica Building then going down Montgomery to Sacramento then Grant then Sutter.

What is really interesting to me now are the alleys.

Maiden Lane by Union Square is (or was) famous. Hotaling Place is lesser known but has a cool 1906 story. Leidesdorff Street has a nice mural.

Today, walking towards home on Grant, we saw an alley with no sign. Down at the end was a sign for a restaurant: The Irish Bank. Around the corner, I spied the other end of the alley – it takes a turn at the restaurant – which was named Mark Lane. Is it Mark Lane all the way through? No, according to Google Maps, the other part is Harlan Place. We asked at the restaurant but they didn’t know.

Another block farther on, we walked down Belden Place, which sported at least a half dozen restaurants in its single block. Pretty busy, too, at lunch hour. I’ve never even heard of Belden Place before today.

Many of the streets we walked on today I have driven on but we really enjoy going slow and looking at everything: the buildings entrances and decorations, the store windows, the people. I got a book once from the library that talked about all the San Francisco street names and how they got that way but it works better for me to do it organically. If I stand in a place and know the history, I can remember it better. It’s not as much fun to just jam facts into my brain to be spewed forth later.

Our (try to be) daily walks are often out on the Embarcadero. Certain places on the Embarcadero have brass plaques in the sidewalk with stories about the intersecting streets.

Francisco, Chestnut, Lombard, Greenwich, Filbert, Union . . .

Going the other way: Battery, Sansome, Montgomery, Kearney, Grant, Stockton, Powell, Mason, Taylor . . .

I’ve got to keep at it!

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Addendum: We went out onto the Embarcadero today and I got a picture of one of the plaques I was talking about. It was for Green Street. There are actually six plaques set into the sidewalk. The top two show the name of the street and the direction to it from where we are standing.

The middle two show an image of Mr Green and tell Mr Green’s story. It basically says Mr Green was actually someone else with another name.

At the bottom is a final word. The seagull shit is such a San Francisco touch!

Internments

Much has been made, and rightly so, of the injustice done to Americans of Japanese descent during World War II. Rounded up with little ceremony or warning, sent to faraway internment camps, their business seized or left to wither, theirs is a heartbreaking story of cruelty and hysteria.

The history of Chinese immigrants in America, and particularly in San Francisco in the second half of the 19th Century, is a similar cautionary tale. They were systematically deprived of rights and herded into urban ghettos.

When I was growing up, Chinatown in San Francisco was a fun place to visit. We walked down Grant Avenue and gawked at the souvenirs in the shops. I bought an abacus one time. But I recently saw a documentary that pointed out how the laws of 100 or more years ago led to the development of Chinatown and used the word ghetto in that context. that was an eye opener! For years, I’ve read about the Jewish ghettos of Warsaw and other European cities. It never crossed my mind that a similar ghetto was right here under my nose.

Getting back to internment, a couple of months ago, we were walking around Fisherman’s Wharf when I happened to spot a little sign explaining some of the Fisherman’s Wharf history. Reading it, I was astonished to learn that the San Francisco Italian community – centered in the North Beach neighborhood (not considered a ghetto) – was interned in a similar way as the Japanese. They were taken away from their home and businesses and put in camps. In their case, it was not as long nor as draconian, perhaps because Italy was considered less of a danger on the West Coast.

I took a picture of the sign so I could write about it with accuracy but now I can’t find it . . . I did find this article for those who wish to read up on the issue further. I must say that one phrase leaped off the page at me: ‘Executive Order’.

We will never learn.

Fleet Week

I looked up my post from this time last year when I focused on the Blue Angels flying team. It’s an iconic phrase from my youth seeing them at Moffat Field in Sunnyvale. They’re coming back to SF this weekend but I thought this year I’d take a different slant on it. My current phrase is ‘war machines’.

We’re a little better tuned to the neighborhood this year and so we’re more aware of the Navy ships docked at the cruise ship pier and a couple of other places along the waterfront. We’ll probably go and tour at least one of them. We’ve seen a few sailors along the Embarcadero. They have all been scrubbed clean and in their natty uniforms. I made eye contact with a couple and smiled. They smiled back.

I really don’t want to be ‘that guy’ and I don’t hold anything against any of them personally. (How could I? I don’t know them at all.) But . . .

I want to ask them if they ever think about the core function of the organization they are a part of. It’s about killing or frightening people until they submit to your dominance. The US military does a lot of good things but never forget their main purpose.

The Republican candidate for President has been sounding increasingly unhinged lately. When I read about what he is saying, I can’t believe that he has the level of support that he does. I’ve reminded people that he got 73 million votes in the last election. That’s more than any candidate ever except for Biden.

Who are these people? There are even some in this liberal enclave of San Francisco! Like the sailors, they are probably nice on a personal level. Why do they support this jerk? And, to circle back around to my original topic, why do they support the gigantic sums we, as a country, spend on our military?

As a parent of a first responder, I am particularly sensitive to the adulation given to our military. ‘Support our troops.’ Color guards and flyovers at football games. The core purpose of these things is to destroy. Police and fire men and women are in our home towns actually protecting us from danger. I am aware of the many problems we have in America with policing. I’d still take a police officer over a soldier. At least the training for a police officer is not focused on killing people.

So, if we go one of of these ships, we’ll be nice to the sailors. There’s nothing to be gained by getting in a fight with a worker. I’m sure the ships will be very interesting from a technical standpoint. I’ll try to focus on that part.

Innovation

. . . is quite the buzz word here in the (self-proclaimed) tech capital of the world. I won’t cast judgment on those who work in the industry. By all accounts it is keeping San Francisco from becoming nothing but a tourist town. That’s another topic.

I was doing a crossword puzzle this morning and the clue was ‘Postal area’. The answer was ‘zone’. I thought that was interesting since the US hasn’t had postal zones since the introduction (innovation!) of Zip codes in the 1960s. It struck me that that is an innovation that is wildly successful. No one thinks twice about it and it just works.

I have a vague memory of watching a TV show many years ago. It was probably the ’60s. I think it must have been ‘What’s My Line’ because the guest turned out to be the inventor of the Zip code system. When he was revealed at the end, there was some ribbing about it. Maybe that was the schtick; I wasn’t sensitive to such things then, but I certainly got the sense that mainstream America thought Zip codes were another one of those newfangled things we could do without.

On a tangent, thinking about innovation and game shows of the ’60s, I remember that a common prize on those shows was an ‘Amana RadarRange’. When the contestant won it, there was the usual extolling of its virtues. It all went over my head. Even as a science-oriented person in, say, 1965, I couldn’t comprehend how an oven could be like radar. Of course, now I realize they were talking about a microwave oven. I suppose somewhere someone did a thesis on the moment that product became mainstream in America. I’m going to let it pass. Clearly another innovation success story, though.

San Francisco

I live in San Francisco. When I was growing up, San Francisco was always ‘The City’. No qualifiers needed. The only comparable similar usage is Londoners referring to the oldest part of London. Whenever someone asked my father where we lived, he would say we lived on ‘The Peninsula’. Again, no qualifier.

While I do not know the technical definition of a peninsula, I’m pretty sure that most geographers would say that Santa Clara is not on the San Francisco Peninsula. Dad worked in Menlo Park, which is on the peninsula. Maybe he felt there was a certain cachet to living on the peninsula. We’ll never know.

Anyway, while I was growing up, San Francisco was a place to go on the day after Thanksgiving with my cousins. We went shopping at Union Square or went to Fisherman’s Wharf. I suppose we ate out because I have an enduring memory of watching the Mr Planter sign go by in the total darkness as we headed for home.

I came up here to work and live in 1978 and stayed through 1990. I got married, had kids, and established myself in my profession. We did lots of things around town and it was mostly a good time.

The only thing that bugged me was the weather. Growing up in the South Bay I liked warm summers. Our house in SF had a view to the east and sometimes I would look out the windows at the Hayward Hills and wistfully think, ‘It’s 80 degrees over there.’ At our house it was cloudy and 60.

For a number of reasons that made sense at the time, we moved to Grass Valley in 1990. It had nice hot summers and crispy winters and that was fine.

After many travails, I started working in San Francisco again in 2008. On one of my first trips down here from the foothills, I came around the turn on highway 80 where the Golden Gate Bridge comes into view. I could see the huge bank of fog surging over the city and through the Gate and I thought, ‘This is where I want to be.’

I’ve come to embrace the summer fog and the year ’round mild weather. It suits me. I never go out without at least a light jacket. I never wear shorts or just a T-shirt. I do appreciate that the neighborhood we live in now is not foggy all the time. Sunshine is good!

When we walk around The City™, I am always aware that it is a human construct. Whatever was natural on the tip of the Peninsula™ 250 years ago has been long since covered over with stuff. And, while the weather overall may be changing due to climate change, San Francisco will remain the city between the ocean and the big valley and thus subject to the tug of war between the warm and cool air masses there.

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I put this post in the ‘Travel’ category because none of the other categories seem to fit and I don’t want to add more categories. Do you care? Probably not.

vistas

We have a nice view from our house on the north side of San Bruno Mountain. Actually, ‘nice’ is relative. When I was living in Pacifica, one of my near-daily treasures was looking out over the Pacific Ocean, usually on my way home from work when I went over the hill from Daly City on Highway 1. I liked to call it ‘the mighty Pacific Ocean’. I did a calculation once about how much of the Pacific a person could see from the coast on a clear day. It seemed like a lot but it was only something like one tenth of one percent. It’s a big ocean!

The only water in our view now is a bit of the San Francisco Bay. The view we notice is dominated by the San Francisco skyline which in turn is dominated by the SalesForce tower. I have to say that as weird as that building seemed when it was going up – the best sobriquet I heard was ‘the butt plug’ – it catches the light at sunrise and sunset in interesting ways. I started leaving my camera out so that I could snap a picture now and again to document the variety.

I’m going to include a few here with the warning that they might not look like much; they’re better splashed across a big computer screen. Nevertheless, here they are:

Yes, this one is shaken. I’ve got a tripod now.

And here’s a reference photo in normal daylight:

day 7

It’s getting more and more surreal. Today is day 7 for Sepi’s and my self isolation. The order to shelter in place was effective Tuesday, three days ago. Nevertheless, the water main replacement work continues. Thankfully they are not in front of our house now, although it wouldn’t really matter since we aren’t going anywhere. People go by the house occasionally walking kids or dogs.

Or in groups . . . are you kidding me? Social distancing, people! If not your lives, then the lives of your loved ones or your neighbors depend on it.

When Sepi commented on a group she saw yesterday, I suggested that perhaps they were a family unit. She said, no, she knew them. They were just friends out for a walk, talking together, just like it’s a normal day.

Sepi read me part of a news story from yesterday, commenting on how San Franciscans don’t seem to be taking the orders seriously. People were shown on the Embarcadero walking and skating in groups. Grocery stores with crowds of people, if not stock. Are we blasé, resigned to our fates? Do we believe it’s all fake news?

OTOH, the news media loves to paint SF as a city full of lunatics. What’s LA like? Chicago? New York, where T was supposedly sending the Navy hospital ship. (Except the Navy said it was still undergoing maintenance and wasn’t ready.)

The thermostat and camera is supposed to get here today. We’ll see. That’s a little job I can do. I tried yesterday to get Sepi to go out just for a few minutes’ walk without success. She said she would go with me today. I know she’s terrified. I am too, but I can’t stay in the house for days on end. I’ve gone out for a couple of walks but stay far away from anyone else I see out there.

Hal

I’m never quite sure how to handle writing about other people in these days of identity stealing. I’m following my general rule of no last names. Hal is a colleague of mine and a friend. He’s been the primary SF Symphony sound man since Davies Hall opened in 1980. I had worked on his crew for Symphony Pops at the Civic Auditorium in the late ’80s as well as some other jobs around town. When I came back to San Francisco ten years ago and got sent to a call at Davies, it was good to see him again.

In 2012, my involvement with the Symphony grew and I found myself working with Hal much more. Our birthdays are only about a week apart and our professional paths have some similarities. Neither of us had family or neighborhood contacts to help us get started in the business. We were driven by an intense interest in sound reinforcement and became successful by determination and hard work.

Our experiences coming of age in the ’60s was another commonality. The San Francisco music scene then was world class. We’ve had a lot of fun in the last few years talking about arcana from those days. He grew up in the City and I was on the Peninsula so he had more opportunity to see the various venues but I knew the names of who was in the bands, what instruments they played, and on what albums.

My first day back at work after Zach died was helping to put in the PA at Davies for Hal. (That was before we got the permanent one we have now.) When I asked to leave early he defended me to others who did not understand my grief as well. Over the next few months he showed me constant compassion and understanding for my grief.

After Sepi agreed to marry me, I started to think about the wedding and realized I needed a best man. Hal was an easy choice and he did not hesitate to say yes.

Last week I talked to him about some details of the wedding day and he told me he would take care of them because that was part of the deal. My nature is not to ask for help but, as he did before, he stepped up because he knew it was the right thing to do.

As of a couple of weeks ago, Jeremy was able to get his work to release him so he will be standing with me as well but Hal is still the best man. Sarah will be up there too. I am proud to be supported by such fine people.

Winnie-the-Pooh

Now I’ve got the Pooh books out and I’m looking through them, remembering.

I remember the night at our home in San Francisco when, after reading from one of those books at Jeremy and Sarah’s bedtime, I lost track of it somehow. I asked Jeremy where it was and I thought he said he had thrown it out the window. Jeremy wasn’t more than three then.

The sill for the bedroom window was low and the window opened sideways so it was possible. I became frantic and went out onto the short roof outside the window to look for it. It wasn’t there so I thought maybe he tossed it farther and it went down into the back yard. I couldn’t find it there although it was dark and I could have missed it. All I could think of was that this was the book my father had given me as a child and I’ve lost it.

Then we found it. I don’t remember where it was. Behind a chair or something. Boy was I relieved.

Here’s a little bit from the last story in Winnie-the-Pooh:

‘When you wake up in the morning, Pooh,’ said Piglet at last, ‘what’s the first thing you say to yourself?’

‘What’s for breakfast?’ said Pooh. ‘What do you say, Piglet?’

‘I say, I wonder what’s going to happen exciting today?’ said Piglet.

Pooh nodded thoughtfully.

‘It’s the same thing,’ he said.

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