A Tale Of A City: San Francisco and Its “Lost” Child

In a past blog, Journey of Acceptance, I wrote the story about my family’s immigration to San Francisco. The city, as well as the surrounding Bay Area, was to be my “home” for most of my life.

Stanyan Street with Mom and my brothers,
 Settling into the new city,
the new home.

Without a doubt, San Francisco is a place of natural and man-made beauty. And when I was growing up within its spell, the city’s ability to showcase its finest grandeur was at its peak. It was a time of
neighborhoods that, though themselves concrete and barren, seemed to drop their roots and define themselves amidst a wondrous cityscape.

Our first "flat" on
Golden Gate Avenue

Rossi Park

I grew up in one of the city’s stucco-ed, treeless neighborhoods that was lined with rows of faceless flats and houses. But it did not seem to matter, even on the foggiest and dampest of days. For at the top of each stone staircase awaited a friend. Together we would venture to playgrounds encased by barb wire fences but we did not care. We chose to focus on the grassy patches that allowed us to tumble with laughter and daring abandon. The local “main” streets such as Clement and Geary bustled with little convenience stores, the neighborhood butcher, a toy store with shelves spilling with Barbies and model airplanes, neon lit theaters boasting life sized posters of fantasy worlds and glamour. The schools were old, multi-storied buildings that dominated the streets and became our defining meccas. There I would learn an unquestioned curriculum. Also, there I would walk through hallways with classmates who would ultimately become permanent images in my memory as first crushes, mean girls, or best buddies. In some ways, it was not unlike all childhood neighborhoods but, in that place and time, it was mine. I was a city kid. 

One of my fondest memories is of a school assembly. We all lined up, kindergarten through eighth grade, forty to a class, and sang our homage to the city that defined us:

“It only takes a little corner of
This great big world to find a place we love…
San Francisco, open your Golden Gate.
You let no stranger wait outside your door”

The Golden Gate Bridge, the grand lady overlooking the neighborhood

Downtown Market Street in the Day

In many big cities, life often does not evolve beyond the avenues of local community allegiances. Or in today’s vernacular, there was nothing beyond the “hood”.  But that was not so in my childhood San Francisco. I felt and sought the promise of the entire city. I was free to venture. I would take the bus downtown and walk around Union Square to peer into department store windows. I learned about Jade artifacts, fine jewelry, and fashion. Another bus would take me to Fisherman’s Wharf where I would sit on the piers eating fresh crab that only cost $6. And I would walk amongst the charm of Russian or Telegraph Hill and Pacific Heights and dream that the mansion on Green Street could be my very own home one day. And there were also rides to Montgomery Street and the “financial district” to imagine working in one of the highrise buildings. It was always so easy to go anywhere, anytime and simply stare at the city lights or a bay dotted with sail boats or the roller coaster hills that allowed me to hang on to a cable car clanging clarions of promise. That was the city that held present adventures and future dreams That was my city.

As well, the events that defined the times seemed to elevate the experience. I listened to the psychedelic music of the 60’s flower children who actually lived down the road on Haight Street. I drove the same hills that Steve McQueen raced through in the film “Bullit”. I sat at Candlestick Park and waited, with mitt in hand, for Willie Mays (the best baseball player that ever lived) to hit a home run. I watched George Moscone and Harvey Milk as they changed political and social landscapes. A local, iconic writer, Herb Caen (Yes, I lived through him as well), described the city as Baghdad By The Bay. I believe that the symbolism of such an obtuse metaphor explained that the city seemed to have an exotic fervor for change. It was the birthplace of newer, albeit “different” worlds. It was intoxicating, it was all encompassing. And there I was, in the middle of all this magic.

But we all grow up. Life experiences enrich but they also stop us in our tracks and challenge.  Each of us decides how to accept, confront and, yes, change.  In my particular life, though I was fortunate enough to travel, I continued to live within the San Francisco Bay Area. I went to college and chose to live in Berkeley which I recognized as my new bastion for possibilities. And I was always a bridge toll away from the city. It was always there and the emotionally charged allegiance never waned.

A few years ago, I had to come back to live in the city. I thought it made perfect sense to literally go home. After all, I knew what lay around every turn; at each street corner. Or so I thought.

“San Francisco isn't what it used to be, and it never was.”
Herb Caen

Suddenly the city was different. It has always been a bust and boom place…that was part of its fabric. But this latest burst had brought strangers and strangeness. I wrestled with the challenge of a changing skyline and the loss of community in the name of acquisition. There was a constant sense of disconnect; of not belonging. That city, that friend that had always been there with promise and possibilities, was gone.

“When the truth is found to be lies, and all the joy within you dies…”
The Jefferson Airplane

What happened? Why was I “lost”? Had I had been too young, too blinded by immersion to really understand the city? Was it an illusion that led me to believe that San Francisco was and would always be special? 

Or perhaps, just perhaps, I never really liked the fog.

As with any love story that does not last, the explanations are complicated.  But, slowly and surely, this had become unquestioned and clear…I had to say good bye.

The Ocean SunsetFrom Point Lobos...Farewell San Francisco