Category: San Francisco

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This One Brings Back a Lot of Memories…

…wandering through new age/crystal shops after taking the ferry from San Francisco across the bay to Sausalito during a balmy late autumn afternoon. It was one of those things you did with new boyfriends or out-of-towners after the obligatory walk across the Golden Gate Bridge. In fact, I believe it was in one of those new age shops that I bought my original copy of this recording. Never fails to put a smile on my face. Simpler times, fer sure!

Some memories of that trip to Sausalito…

I was never that young!
Wildlife
Looking back toward the City
Carl, Kevin (speaking of new boyfriends), and your host
I've always been incorrigible
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This Brought Back Memories

I found this picture in my collection while looking for something else, and boy did it bring back memories. This is where—about a year after I moved to San Francisco—I sold my entire vinyl collection, because you know, compact discs! And it's also where I simply left a box of records they didn't want out on the street for the taking because I wasn't going to haul them back home.

Ah, the stupidity of youth. Ironic because many years later, after realizing the error of my ways, it was the same location where I started rebuilding that same vinyl collection.

In the intervening years I bought and sold dozens of CDs at the same location as my financial situation ebbed and flowed.

Of course this led me down the internet rabbit hole as I attempted to find out what had happened to the store in the years since I left The City.

Apparently the store closed in 2016. The building (including two residential units on the upper floors) were renovated in 2019.

Now it's a hair salon. 🙁

And speaking of places long gone where I spent copious amounts of money…

I was unable to find any photos of the interior of the Tower Records store on Market Street and these are the only ones I located of the exterior. I remember when the store first opened it was Mana From Heaven for music junkies like me. After Tower Records closed all its stores in 2006, apparently the building sat vacant for several years until CVS stepped in and the building was completely remodeled. CVS moved out in 2017 and according to Google Street View, it's now Barry's, a gym/heath & fitness establishment.

And while we're on the subject…

The Record Rack was another of my hangouts.

DJ Neil Lewis, 1998

Neil used to let me root around in the back room where they kept all the used stock that they hadn't put out yet. There were boxes of records stacked on top of each other, loose records spilling onto the floor, unsorted shelves…I easily spent entire afternoons going through the mess and didn't even scratch the surface.

Speaking of Neil, I present Neil Lewis: The Final Performance

 

What has this little trip down memory lane done? It's reminded me that I no longer recognize the city I called home for nearly 20 years. I spent hours on Google Street View over the weekend visiting my old haunts downtown and all the way up Market throughout the Castro, and I scarcely recognized anything. Considering I've now been gone from The City longer than I actually lived there, this isn't surprising. Time does move on, after all. But it's still a little depressing, and really makes me wish I had taken more photos when I lived there than I did.

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"Picture It…San Francisco, October 1986…"

Don't know what prompted me to post this on Instagram last night, but I figured why not do it here as well?

This was the first place in SF my ex and I shared after moving from Tucson.  It was a building that was being renovated by a friend of the architect I was working for at the time.

Bernie and I had already gone our separate ways by this time, but we decided to try living as roommates to see how it went. We were still friends after all, and the parting had been amicable.

There are lots of memories associated with this flat, but one that stands out above all the others was the night the owner (who lived on the third floor) decided to clean oil stains off the new garage floor with gasoline.  Seeing how this was a recipe for disaster, we called the fire department and upon arrival the fire captain screamed at him for the stupidity. "We have a half dozen homes go up every year because of this kind of stupidity!"

Needless to say our relationship with the landlord went downhill from then. The following June, when we put a pride flag on the front of the house he demanded it be taken down because we had "modified the exterior" by attaching the flagpole to the exterior of the building. We complied, and then hung the flag in the front window.

When it came time to renew the lease, he raised the rent an exorbitant amount (3-unit buildings did not fall under the maximum 4% annual increase clause in San Francisco), and after discussing everything that had happened since the gasoline night (including his continually yapping rat-dog that he would put out on the back fire escape) we decided it was time to move on.

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Storytime

(Forgive me if I've posted something similar to this in the past. I'm too lazy to actually go searching through a decade and a half of posts.)

Picture it: San Francisco 1988 (or maybe 1989)…

I learned of The Whispering Bushes at the end of Golden Gate Park long before we moved to San Francsico via Tales of the City. It wasn't until sometime after our arrival that I actually went exploring there, and I'm here to tell you. It's all true. (Or at least it was.)

Over the years of cruising the venue, I had more experiences than I could ever relate (and for some reason, generally did not record for posterity in my journals), hooked up with guys who I became friends with, and fulfilled more than one fantasy (see: Jeff York). Despite AIDS ravaging the gay community, sex was still to be had, and amazingly everything I saw or participated in was considered "safe" sex. Police patrols were rare. I recall only one instance when I pulled up to park before hitting the trails and saw several police cruisers had beaten me there. Naturally I turned around and went home.

Oh, the stories of Golden Gate Park I could tell…

This picture reminded me of one afternoon in particular: It was the day Al Parker relentlessly pursued me up and down the trails until it reached a point where I had to leave the park simply to get away from him.

Al Parker, in case anyone doesn't know who he is. (And to that I say, REALLY?!)

That picture is also pretty much how he looked that afternoon.

When he first started following me I thought, "Well that's interesting. Al Parker. Chasing me? Yeah, he is. I'm flattered man, thanks. I really am, but I've seen where your dick has been and no thanks!"

Now I know that many of my readers would've jumped at the opportunity to service Mr. Parker any which way, but even in his prime, he never pushed any of my buttons, and frankly at the time this happened it was common knowledge in the community that he too was battling advanced HIV. So yeah…no.

After about 30 minutes, it was obvious he wasn't taking my hints, so I ended up going back to my car and driving off.

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Thirty Four Years Ago…Ah, Youth!

20 June 1990

Yesterday I finally got around to getting that card/photo thing together to send off to Bill Poole.  I found a cute card that had an image of a guy stepping off a cliff; down below were hungry alligators.  The caption read something like, "A new romantic steps out into the world" or some such thing.  I covered the inside with a burnt-orange zip-a-tone.  On top of that (on the left side of the card) I pasted the photo of me in the phone booth (the only one I had an extra of), and on the right, a little note.  It read as follows:

Hi…it's Mark.  Yeah, like I was saying the other night…our paths keep crossing, and our eyes keep meeting, but its hard to tell if he's flirting or just wondering why I'm staring at him.  I can't help feeling that I've known him before.  Like another life or something.  When our eyes meet there are all these unresolved feelings.  Pretty weird, huh?  Yeah, I know. Guess I should have said something on one of those occasions…but it never felt right.  Still…I dunno.  Hell–I didn't know who he was until I happened to turn on Channel 35 a few weeks ago and caught some show called Electric City. You've seen it?  Oh, well I hadn't.  His name's Bill.  Call him?  He's not in the phone book. And even if he was, what am I gonna say?  "Hey, you don't know me but we've flirted on the street and in Safeway several times?  No, he'll think I'm a lunatic–and he probably gets thousands of cruises every day anyway–how's he gonna remember me? Any suggest-ions?  The BBS?  Hey, that's a good idea… someone's bound to know him there.  Maybe I can get an address for the program so I could send him a card or something.  Maybe a card with a photo.  Kinda tacky but at least he'll know who I am that way.  But it can't just be a card with a photo. It's gotta be something different.  What?  You gotta go? Okay guy…I'll catch you later.  My number?  Whadda ya mean don't have it?  It's 861-4039.  Call me sometime…

I popped it in the mailbox that afternoon.  Well, I got a call this evening around 5:35 pm from Bill.  It kinda threw me off at first cause he said that it was Bill….and that I'd sent him a card yesterday.  That made the connection.  Seems he's been very aware of me as I have of him.  We're meeting in person tomorrow evening…

Bill Poole

22 June 1990

Last evening was very interesting. Bill called promptly at 5:30 just as he'd promised night before last when he called.  I was already standing in the shower when the phone rang, but still made time for a brief chat.  He came over a bit past 6:00, dressed in a black leather motorcycle jacket, faded jeans, cowboy boots, and black leather motorcycle gloves. Can you say, "Hey Daddy?"

When we were chatting on the phone while I was standing in the tub, we'd discovered that we were both from Phoenix.  He wasn't a native, but had been there since high school (1978), and had arrived in San Francisco only about two years ago.  I had a feeling that he was a newcomer, but couldn't put my finger on anything specific.  Supposedly he even knew Steve Golden, but alas, even he did not know his current whereabouts.

After he arrived we talked of many more things, but the conversation was punctuated with long periods of tongue-tiedness.  I sensed (especially as time drew closer to 7:00 pm—when he had to leave to pick up his lover) that he really wanted to jump my bones.  Frankly, I would have loved it if he had, but at the same time, I want this to be something more than a sexual liaison, however impossible that request may be.  There is an undeniable attraction in operation here, and though he doesn't admit to any "I've known you before feelings", he slipped by saying that it must have been Phoenix where he knew me from.  Quite unlikely, considering his age and the various bars he hung out at during his tenure there.

It was an awkward parting.  We hugged goodbye and that was enough to give both of us a bit of discomfort in the jeans.  He turned to face me as he stood on the deck; his discomfort was quite discernable.  I told him that since it was probably going to be days and days before I saw him again perhaps he had better come back inside so I could at least kiss him goodbye.  He readily agreed.  I didn't want to stop or let him go.  In fact, we kissed twice. The second time I patted him on the butt and told him he'd better get going or he'd be late picking up his husband.  As he left, he said, "Thank you for making a fantasy come true."

There was no second rendezvous and I never really heard from Bill again, although we did cross paths for several years thereafter.

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San Francisco Of My Dreams, Part Deux

A few weeks ago I posted a photo that summed up the twisted, unreal San Francisco that often appears in my dreams. I was scrolling through social media the other day and ran across another; one that perfectly envisions my dreamtime forays to the Mission District (unlike that other photo, my visits there usually occur during the day, with a thick blanket of fog hanging over the city).

In my dreams, Mission Street is narrow, flanked on both sides by multi-story Victorian buildings. You can understand why I caught my breath when I saw this—complete with an old-style MUNI car that was in use during my time there.

Not Mission Street, but certainly looks like Mission Street in my dreams
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45 Years Ago Today

45 years ago today, SF Supervisor Harvey Milk and Mayor George Moscone were shot and killed inside city hall by former Supervisor Dan White. Milk was California's first openly gay elected official and a pioneer in the struggle for LGBTQ+ rights worldwide. Moscone was a first-term mayor and former California state senator.

The shootings were a turning point in San Francisco politics, sparking widespread public outcry. Dianne Feinstein, who was then the president of the Board of Supervisors, was subsequently sworn in as the city's first female mayor.

Dan White was charged with first-degree murder, but was ultimately convicted of voluntary manslaughter. This lesser sentence ignited public outcry anew.

Below are captions for the above photos in order of appearance:

1. Mourners hold a candlelight vigil for Moscone and Milk.
2. Left: Dianne Feinstein bows her head for a moment of silence. Right: Dan White is taken into custody by the SFPD.
3. The body of Harvey Milk is carried out from city hall under a white cloth.
4. Mel Wax, press secretary for Mayor Moscone, announces to reporters that Moscone and Milk were shot and killed.
5. Rebecca Moscone is consoled by friends after learning that her father, George Moscone, had been killed.
6. Thousands gather with candles in front of SF City Hall for an impromptu vigil.
7. People hold signs and candles at a vigil.

📸: Getty Images

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From the Analog Archives – San Francisco and Environs in the Late 1980s

Point Bonita Lighthouse
Downtown SF from the Sausalito Ferry
Downtown San Francisco from Twin Peaks
Castro Street looking south from just north of Market
At the base of California Street
Somewhere in the Richmond District
The bridge from Golden Gate Beach
Downtown from the Golden Gate Bridge Visitor Center
Palace of the Legion of Honor
Golden Gate Beach looking north toward Marin

It's a sad commentary and a reminder that you've gotten old when your own photographs start looking like the shots you see in faded magazines.

And you may be wondering why I'm posting all these analog archives things. Well, I ran across a forgotten folder on my drive called "scans (to be sorted)" and it's full of scanned slides that I'd created when I had a slide scanner (well before the fire and never replaced) with the intent of swapping out the poorer-quality scans in my virtual photo albums that I'd made from photo prints. Obviously life sidetracked me.

So hell…why not post them?

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Memories of My Arrival in San Francisco

Picture it: San Francisco, August 1986. Before I was employed and settled into my own place, I was staying with some friends of my best buddy in a grand old Victorian on Haight Street, and one afternoon I was poking around in the guest room closet and ran across a cache of vinyl. Among the many records I hadn't heard previously was this gem, Boom Boom by one-hit wonder* Paul Lekakis. I had no idea a video had ever been made, so stumbling across this on YouTube  the other day was a surprise.

The full 12-inch version, of Boom Boom if you're so inclined.

Okay, I know it's not the greatest song in the world, but much like Sparks' Music That You Can Dance To (that I also found in that same cache of vinyl) it is inexorably tied to my first few months as a San Franciscan.

*Further research via Discogs and Spotify indicate that Mr. Lekakis has put out work since the 80s, but after listening to (most of) it, I can't honestly say I've heard any of it. (And quite frankly, none of that matches Boom Boom—with the possible exception of Fruit Machine, which has that same mid 80s energy.)

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It's Times Like These…

…that I miss San Francisco more than usual.

Opening today, the new T Central Subway line will begin weekend service between the 4th/Brannan and Chinatown – Rose Pak stations. This new line helps connect Chinatown, Union Square, Yerba Buena/Moscone Center, and SOMA. SFMTA

Each station is quintessentially SF with art installations throughout. Pictured here is "Lucy in the Sky" at Union Square/Market St. station. This permanent installation is part of the #IlluminateSF Festival of light

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Reminds Me…

…of the toilets south of the polo field in Golden Gate Park. Although that place was much skeevier. Or so I'd heard. ? (At the time I was living in the Avenues, only a short distance from the place. And Taraval. And Wawona. And the end of Judah Street. But those are stories for a another time.)

And looking over my journals from 1997, apparently I heard quite a bit.

Allegedly.

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Le Sigh

This screensaver came on our TV earlier today. I may have let out an audible sigh.