“When you’re down on your luck, you gotta do it,” –
Andrew W.K.’s feel-good song Got to Do It
After my wife found she had cancer a couple years ago, Thanksgiving took a different meaning for me. I felt guilty that it took her illness for me to appreciate the holiday for what it is, but I do now take the time to remind myself and my kids about how thankful we should be at this time of year for what we have rather than next month when people start wishing for what they don’t have. Tonight I sat on my brother’s couch after dinner, half napping as the tryptophan kicked in. Fighting the lure of a nap, I picked up the recent Sports Illustrated and started to read an article about Jill Costello, a local girl from San Francisco with a big heart who graduated from the University of California at Berkeley this past Spring and as the coxswain for the women’s rowing team, led them to second place in the National Championships.
Jill Costello - former Cal rowing star
I had read briefly about Jill back in May in the local newspaper after I heard about her through the UCSF Medical Cancer newsletter that my wife gets. Jill had been diagnosed with stage IV lung cancer although she did not smoke.
Although I hadn’t kept up with her story, as I read through the article I felt myself tearing up. I knew what was coming. I looked over at my wife smiling and laughing with my family and felt truly blessed.
Thanksgiving is truly THE family holiday of the year. It isn’t long enough for most people to travel far away. It isn’t about presents or religion. It is about celebrating your place and those around you and being thankful for what you have. Sometimes hearing stories about the loss of others who really are special people reminds me of this.
I want to give a special thanks to my friend Donald Wilhelm who we lost this year. A good guy who inspired many and left us too soon. In the article in Sports Illustrated: The Courage of Jill Costello, we read a great story about another inspiring person who can teach us to appreciate what we have today. Although the article did not mention it, Jill lost her battle after graduation, but her strength inspired many to give more than you receive.
As her coach so succinctly put it at Jill’s funeral, “There are givers and there are takers, and you want to be more giver than taker. She never complained. She gave far more than she ever took. She was an inspiration to all of us. I hope when we face something as daunting as this, we can show some of the courage that she showed.”
The trouble with baseball is that it is not played the year round. – Gaylord Perry, ex-Giants pitcher and Hall of Famer
Me and Hall of Famer, Gaylord Perry
What a beautiful weekend it was in San Francisco. A great weekend to get out to play and watch sports. Many Sports weekends of my youth were spent with my dad at sporting events.
If you grew up in my generation in San Francisco and played sports or followed sports, there were three main sports you followed: football, basketball and baseball. We had a hockey team (the San Francisco Seals) but they weren’t followed by many. For me though, my dad took me to see the main sports. My fondest memories of my dad were days like this weekend. I remember my first baseball game and meeting the pitcher Gaylord Perry and my dad talking about his spitter. I also remember that the pitcher did not appreciate the connotation that he was noted as a cheater. We stayed after Warriors basketball games too so I could get Rick Barry’s autograph. We hung out after 49er games so I could get Steve Spurrier’s autograph.
A beautiful day this weekend, my son and I got out to see the 49ers with a nice victory over the Rams 23-20. The same seats I sat in many times with my dad. The same seats we high fived in and shared many Sundays. It was just too warm! This was summer baseball weather! Candlestick Park in November is supposed to be cold and extremely windy. Instead we sat there in short sleeved shirts looking to keep hydrated.
It was a great game and win, but I took note of how quiet it was. In the 70s, the Warriors brought a basketball championship to the Bay Area. In the 80s and 90s, the 49ers turned San Francisco into a football town, but now the Giants own this town and I noted to my seatmate (a baseball executive) that we are definitely a baseball town now.
It has been two weeks since the World Series ended, but the buzz is still there. At the 49ers game, many people were dressed in Giants Orange and Black, including me. A couple weeks back before World Series Game 2, I ran into Gaylord Perry outside of AT&T Park. I introduced him to my son I didn’t mention anything about his spitter. I just told my son he was the starting pitcher at the very first game I ever saw. I could see the relief on his face that I didn’t mention the thing he was most noted for, and he graciously signed my son’s autograph book.
Yep….only 90+ days left til Spring Training. I can’t wait..especially if we continue to have baseball weather and not football weather.
“The triumph of this team allows us to flash back and connect to our past, to experience the beauty of our memories and shared experiences with unbridled joy. This day is a blessed reminder of a dream fulfilled for all of us” – Larry Baer, Giants President speaking at the San Francisco City celebration of the Giants championship
Orange October
It has been over a week now since the Giants took the baseball world by surprise. In fact, for many die hard fans who have rooted for the team for at least more than a decade, it took them by surprise too. The shock is just wearing off.
Having had the chance to bask in the orange glow of San Francisco’s first World Series Championship, everyone who has closely followed the Giants is now realizing the true impact of the accomplishment is bigger than a stadium filled with 35 thousand fans during the dog days of summer.
The Giants parade was littered with converts (bandwagoners to those who sport Croix de Candlestick pins from the days of watching baseball in the ice cold winds of Candlestick Park. If you don’t know what a Croix is, good look it up). Converts who couldn’t name the whole starting lineup for the Giants. Converts who couldn’t tell you who are the 4 Giants greats with statues erected outside of AT&T Park. Converts who now own well over $100 worth of brand new Giants merchandise. Converts who know who Mark Zuckerberg is but not Bill Neukom, but that is okay. By the way, my 8 year old daughter can tell you all about the statues.
A parade of champions is not the same as a Christmas Day parade or a New Year’s Day parade. Most parades are for people on the side to watch the spectacle of the parade. A parade of Champions is different. It is for, in this case, the Giants, to see how wide an effect they had on people. For them to see beyond the walls of the stadium. For them to see how crazy they made people. A chance for them to see all the crazy people they converted into fans. Their biggest public audience…..over 1.5 million people (estimated) lined the mile and a half route, the same route taken by Willie Mays and the Giants when they first arrived from New York. This was not a parade for one team. This was a parade for 53 teams and 53 years of long-suffering. One can only imagine what will happen when Chicago and Cleveland win their next World Series.
During the stretch drive of the regular baseball season, my family and I sat in front of some elderly men and screaming high school girls. All the girls could talk about who was cuter, Buster Posey or Barry Zito. The men were questioning about having a rookie catcher was a mistake. My 8 year old daughter looked at me, ready to say something and I had to tell her that it was okay. “But they’re not REAL fans, Dad,” she said. I was proud of my daughter for her aptitude, but I was also glad to see more people enjoying the Giants. true, it was hard to listen to for a diehard fan during a pennant drive, but baseball can not live on die hard fans alone. If that were the case, AT&T Park would be empty.
San Francisco is a melting pot. Being a San Francisco “native” is such a novelty. Only 37% of the residents are even born in California and 35.5% aren’t even born in the US. What shocked me even more is that in my son’s class recently 19 boys signed up for lacrosse while only 11 signed up for baseball which indicates where “America’s past time” sits with the families living in San Francisco. There are few legacy Giants fans in San Francisco. These 2010 Giants had to earn new fans and recruit them through more than a history lesson. They needed to tell their own story. And they did it the San Francisco way. In many ways they represented the city and its crazy mix of citizens. If you didn’t like the story of the hero old guy, the star young pitcher, or the wacky reliever, there was a human interest story somewhere on the roster that you could relate to.
What was more important and maybe something we all could take a lesson or two from is that this was the right team to represent San Francisco and bring it it’s first World Series Championship. Like the 1981 49ers and the 1975 Warriors, each team that brought San Francisco its first championship in their respective sport was made up of underdogs. Each team did it as a team, with unsung heroes and a style that made them distinctive. The ’75 Warriors some consider to be the least talented team to win the NBA title, but they played like a team. The ’81 49ers showed the NFL that the “West Coast Offense” would bring a whole new schema to the game of football.
Winning builds community and that is what all these teams did. The Giants have written the latest chapter and the city still is awash in orange a week later. People feel guilty still talking baseball when football and basketball are being played. It’s okay. At least we’re talking. Some satirists joked that the Giants parade was much bigger than the Gay Pride parades in San Francisco. I think it just proved that San Francisco is a real baseball town. It proved that San Francisco has a way about doing things with style. Finally, it proved that teamwork breeds a great community atmosphere. Long time fans and bandwagoners partied equally hard, and partied together. In San Francisco we are known to be accepting of all types of people (except Dodger fans)..so welcome aboard the bandwagon.
It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone. ~A. Bartlett Giamatti, “The Green Fields of the Mind,” Yale Alumni Magazine, November 1977
For 53 years and 53 teams, baseball broke the hearts of San Franciscans, but tonight an improbable team ended years of frustration and enhanced the love of a sport and 25 guys who worked as one. As their management and the team tried to convey, the victory was for a city, for fans, for past players and for past generations. The atmosphere has been electric for the last month. You could feel how badly people wanted this one and perhaps needed it.
Torture was the word of the year to describe this team, but it really wasn’t one year. It was 53 years. A team of underdogs, a team of misfits, a team that nobody ever believed had a chance, was the team that everyone fell in love with. The team with a rich history of Hall of Famers had its most successful season with a bunch of no-names. In the future, many will not remember some of the names that helped to bring San Francisco it’s first baseball championship. As I mentioned previously, the City of San Francisco loves its champions, but more they love their champions who do it the right way. The 2010 San Francisco Giants did it the right way. There will be many who say they knew this team had it from day 1, but if they tell you that, they are liars. A team of misfits, discards from other teams, showed the world what teamwork is all about. They have said repeatedly this post-season that the most talented team doesn’t always win. It’s the team that plays the best that wins. As late as the beginning of August this team was in 4th place and 7 or 8 games out of 1st place, but the team showed how baseball is a parallel to life. You work hard, you keep grinding, and you never stop believing.
Nick and I Fear the Beard!
As a San Francisco native I am overwhelmed. There are hundreds of thousands and perhaps millions of natives who grew up in the same generation as me, who had moms or dads that introduced them to baseball at Candlestick Park or Seals Stadium and had to wait their whole lives. Everyone has their own unique story. There are many people like me who wish the dad that introduced them to the sport were here to enjoy and celebrate with them. Yes baseball is just a game, but it is America’s past time. It is like life itself. Unlike those in New York who have 27 Championships, this is San Francisco’s first. For those who have waited their whole lives for this day, it is a day to be savored. Hopefully it won’t be 53 years until another championship is won. Those who had seen things go wrong in the past know the heartache and how sweet this victory is. This will not be taken for granted. It will be cherished. It will be savored. The team itself reminded everyone of the history of the organization. It reminded those not old enough about the heartaches of the 3 previous attempts at the World Championship. It reminded me of the great history of San Francisco, and it reminded me of all the great things the City has to offer. The team helped me to teach my son about all the great history and people that built this City. My son saw Joe Montana, Bob Weir, Steve Perry, Danny Glover, and a slew of other celebrities from the area cheering for the team just like him. Somewhere around the 7th inning of Game 2 he started to grasp the gravity of the situation and understood the passion around the desire to win the whole thing. A World Series victory would be the beginning of a big healing process.
There is an old adage in baseball that as Spring Training begins, hope always springs eternal. No matter what I am always optimistic about the Giant’s chances. This year I wasn’t. I really felt this team didn’t have what it would take. It shows how life is so unpredictable, how what is perceived could also be deceiving. Baseball and life are unpredictable and just when you least expect it, it will serve you up a surprise.
Growing up watching Mays, Marichal, Perry, Cepeda, McCovey, Clark, Mitchell, Speier, Fuentes and all it is amazing this team has accomplished something that those other teams couldn’t. No heroes, just a bunch of blue collar ballplayers. Fortunately for me I was able to share a little bit with my own son and helped him to understand how unique an experience this is and how unique this team is. Attending the last game played at home and also participating in the Opening Ceremonies of Game 2 of the World Series was not only a unique experience, but it was the creation of a memory that he will keep forever. Having my son tell me, “I will never ever forget this day” was a highlight for me. I remember when my dad took me to see Ed Halicki’s no-hitter back in the late-70s as if it were yesterday. I know my son will be thinking the same even 30 years from now.
Carrying the US Flag
It is only fitting that Edgar Renteria, a player that is at the end of his career and contemplating retirement was the MVP of the series. He spent many months on the bench, has a torn muscle in his arm, yet was one of the many heroes in the end. Hard work, determination and a never say die attitude, were Edgar’s message to all. It’s one we should all learn to employ in life.
I am speechless to say the least. I am more choked up than anything else. The memory of all those who never got to see this day, but taught us to love this team, this City, and the game of baseball would be proud of the 2010 World Champion San Francisco Giants. They were not only a team of destiny, but true deserving champions in every sense of the word. A team of misfits who fit perfectly together.
As I write this, there is honking and hollering in the streets. The younger generations are celebrating in the bars and dancing in the streets, but I know there are many like me also sitting at home with not so dry eyes thinking of those who never got to see this but helped us to appreciate this moment. They taught us how to “love the laundry” (as Seinfeld calls it). Such a bittersweet time in San Francisco.
The much maligned announcer, Joe Buck, said it best….”America’s Most Beautiful City now owns Baseball’s Sweetest Accomplishment”.
“I arrived in San Francisco with no job, a pregnant wife and less than $1,000 to my name.” – Walter Shorenstein, billionaire, San Franciscan and owner of the largest private real estate company in the US.
Clinton and Shorenstein
RIP Walter Shorenstein. Herb Caen, famed Pulitzer winning columnist, used to be so mad at Walter Shorenstein for ruining the San Francisco skyline and views with the large buildings that he owned (the Bank of America building was his most famous) and built. Now two of San Francisco’s largest fans can continue their conversation in heaven. Herb will tell him not to build any buildings in the afterlife. He’ll also tell him that it is cool, but not as nice as San Francisco.
I only met Mr. Shorenstein personally once. He was a very quiet billionaire, but if you knew San Francisco and politics, you knew the name. In fact it was hard to escape in San Francisco and New York where his name could be found on buildings (his daughter just won a Tony for the revival of August Wilson’s Fences). San Francisco is a small town in many ways so it is hard not to run into people some time in our lives.
Like Herb Caen, I hated Walter Shorenstein too! 16 years ago I got married and came home to San Francisco from my “Big Italian New Jersey Wedding” on our way to Hawaii. We were dropping off our bags and picking up our honeymoon bags and flying out the next morning. The problem was that our car (with house keys in the glove compartment) had been towed from in front of my parent’s house. This crazy rich guy had our whole street towed for his wife’s funeral which took place at San Francisco’s Temple Emanuel. By the way, I live on a street where homes were built before people had cars so we all parked on the street back then on the street. Needless to say I never carried my wife into our first home. I spent my second night of marriage at the tow yard. Ironically the World Cup was going on that year as well as I remember sitting in the tow office watching soccer.
Four years later I was still holding a grudge about that night and was out for a run when I got jumped by several secret service people outside of Mr. Shorenstein’s house in the Sea Cliff neighborhood where I lived. Seems that I was of poor timing as President Clinton had been spending the night and was about to go for a run. Mr. Shorenstein had said that he’d seen me in the neighborhood and apologized. I thanked him and he introduced me to the President. I wonder if they both remembered my sweaty and stunned handshake. Not often that you get to shake hands with a current President and a billionaire in the same minute. I never got to tell Mr. Shorenstein about my towed car story, but it was now pointless. This man was a philanthropist. He saved our baseball team from moving, he donated his money freely, and he did it as many would call “The San Francisco Way” (with style).
Now almost 16 years later to the day of his wife’s passing, the quiet billionaire and supporter of Presidents has passed and I’m bracing myself. Monday will be his funeral and now that I’m back living across the street from the Temple, I’m expecting multiple Presidents in attendance. My guess is that I will have an unobstructed view of President’s Clinton and Carter as well as VPs Walter Mondale and Al Gore. Others I expect in attendance are Senator Diane Feinstein (a former neighbor), Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi (also a former neighbor) , and Mayor Gavin Newsom. So I guess I will be there as well.
Well that is my story about Walter Shorenstein. Attached is the article from the San Francisco newspaper to get a broader view of his career: SFGate – Click Here for article
Baseball in San Francisco enjoys a rich history although not one of success with no World Series victories to call its own. 52 years of baseball in San Francisco and while there have been many faces of the franchise, there is no doubt that Mays, Bonds and now Lincecum for the forseeable future will be the legacy names depending upon the generation you call yours.
Mays and Lincecum
I think the Barry Bonds era is officially over. He’s pretty much forgotten as Tim (“The Freak”) Lincecum has captured the imagination and how holds the torch for the San Francisco baseball community. And while many not have lived long enough to know it, while Barry was so long the face of the community, he really didn’t capture the imagination of San Francisco as much as Willie (“The Say Hey Kid”) Mays and Tim Lincecum have done. He stood on a pedastal while Willie and Tim have personalities that reflect the San Francisco of their times. Although I was only 5 years old when Willie Mays handed me his autographed baseball while I handed him some steaks as we stood in the freezer of my grandfather’s butcher shop, I remember it like it was yesterday.
Willie moved to San Francisco and the City was electrified by this young “African-American” who had enthusisam and personality that transcended racial barriers. Willie Mays, along with my grandfather, a Chinese butcher, who through some luck had come into some money were still in a racially divided society despite the liberalness of San Francisco in the early ’60s. My grandfather, was unable to purchase a home outside of the Chinatown community. My grandfather had earned some money from the sale of his butcher shop to the City of San Francisco so they could build what would eventually become the current Moscone Convention Center.
At the same time Willie Mays was refuted the ability to purchase a home and later chased out of his neighborhood. Then mayor, George Christopher, a Greek man who embraced civil rights, took both men in at separate times and they became friends. My grandfather was eventually introduced by the mayor to another Greek man, John Vrahos, who helped my grandfather to become one of the first Asian homeowners in the ritzy suburb of Menlo Park which ironically today is heavily populated by the Asian community despite small print on most land deeds which still state that the property should not be sold to a person of color.
Although my grandfather died almost a decade ago, when I see Willie Mays today, he still greets me and calls me “Phil’s grandson”. I never got to ask my grandfather but in many ways I feel like Willie might have been his first black acquaintance and the for Willie, my grandfather might have been his first Asian acquaintance.
Tonight I watched my son sit mesmerized in front of the television as he watched Tim Lincecum mow down the Houston Astros. Lincecum’s long hair is being copied by children all over San Francisco’s Little League fields such that you can barely tell the boys from the girls. More importantly he is relating to a new generation of fans. Walking his dog around the city with his girlfriend, Lincecum looks like any 20-something on the street. His dimunitive size for a baseball player allows him to mesh in with the tourists and not call much attention to himself.
What is happening in San Francisco with Lincecum is truly unique. Mays is undoubtedly the best player that ever played the game and those who grewup watching him were lucky. With 2 Cy Youngs in his first 3 years, Lincecum is definitely one of the brightest stars in the game and I hope my child will some day look back and see how lucky he was to have grown up a Giants fan idolizing a future Hall of Famer.
Most everyone is proud of where they are from and holds dear to them many memories.
As a native San Franciscan, I know there are many traditions and memories that keep the natives coming home. Some traditions are gone and no longer can be shared with my children Playland, Doggie Diner, etc.. And yet some other traditions are even better than the past. No matter what, being a native of wherever you are from, you need to embrace change and thus the San Francisco Bay to Breakers is one of those reflective of the culture of the city it represents and what makes San Francisco unique.
The Famous Pink Gorilla
In it’s 99th year, the Bay to Breakers has become known as many things: The Largest Road Race in the World, The San Francisco Fun Run, The Biggest party in Sneakers…. but attracts all types. Where else can you see World Record Kenyans, costumed avatar runners, Centipedes (runners tied together who need to run in a circle at every mile marker), people pushing kegs, and yes, runners au naturel.
I’ve run the race approximately 15 times, my first coming as a 10 year old the last almost 20 years ago, but I took my son out to watch this morning in the chilly damp air in Golden Gate Park for a good laugh, some world class athletics, and a preview of our first run next year to cement his stature as a “True Native San Franciscan”. The race grew to as many as 100,000 runners back on the 75th anniversary and there were around 60,000 registered runners (an estimated 15K “fun runners”.
Make sure to set your plans for the 3rd Sunday in 2011 for the 100th running and look for registration details here: http://www.ingbaytobreakers.com/
Please see attached photos for some of this year’s costumed highlights. Don’t worry, I have edited this for frontal nudity!
Bay to Breakers is a party
Below is a link to my Facebook page with all of my photos (yes, including the nude ones) of the top runners, fun runners, costumed runners, etc.
Before everyone takes off on their vacations from their virtual world, I just thought I’d wish you all a very Merry Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwaanza, etc. Please be safe if you are traveling this season!
As I pushed through the chilling temperatures and blustery winds of San Francisco during my run last night I kept reminding myself of those cold December nights I’ve spent in New York City, Chicago, and Pittsburgh. Nothing will ever compare to those cold bitter nights when I wore long underwear under my wool suits and wondered why I left my “City by the Bay”. I do remember telling myself that I would remember those days so I would appreciate San Francisco that much more when I would eventually return. Although cold, my run was dry and I ran down the festively lit shopping areas of Sacramento St, Fillmore St., California, and Clement St. distracting myself with the observations of the decorations people had in their windows.
While the glittery lights were dazzling and the quietness of the air still reminded me of how our economy is not quite back up to speed, the most warming images of my run were of the people.
First, there was the elderly couple walking together with their arms around each other as they left their party at Spruce Restaurant (http://www.sprucesf.com). They stopped and kissed saying “I love you” and touching their foreheads together in the middle of the sidewalk as I dodged them. It was a split second of our paths crossing but it was a beautiful image.
Second, there were the two inebriated young ladies in their short cocktail dresses stumbling out of the Elite Cafe (http://www.theelitecafe.com/) before crashing to the ground. I say crashing because they fell backwards into me as I ran behind them. Fortunately I caught one before she hit her head on one of the tables outside. They were inebriated because as the cabbie and I helped them to their feet, neither of them could pronounce their destination. I laughed when she said they were going to New York. A great guy, the cabbie, a little Frenchman in his beret and scruffy clothes had me and one of the waiters watch him as he helped one girl open her purse to find her address. She kissed his scruffy face as he pushed her back into the cab. “Welcome to Christmas on the Barbary Coast”, he said as he tipped his cap to us while mentioning one of the many long-gone nicknames of San Francisco. I think I ran a whole another mile before the whole incident washed behind me, turning towards home. The cab driver reminded me of the kindness of people at this time of year.
As I passed by San Francisco’s only 24 hour Starbucks in Laurel Village (yes I love running by it at night just so that I can get a whiff of the caffeine aroma) a bunch of Fire Engine’s raced by me. Looking for an alternate route, I followed their sirens. A Portable Potty had been set ablaze nearby. This has been the work of arsons as dozens have been set on fire over the last year.
Not wanting to end my run on a negative note, I continued on and started to notice a pattern that is so familiar this time of year. I had been seeing it over the a past week as cars and taxis pull up in front of homes and the dwellers come out to greet and hug a family member returning home. The tears of joy and happiness really signify what this season is about and while the images weren’t exactly Norman Rockwell-esque, they told the story. The story of family and friends coming together. I even saw a soldier returning home a couple weeks ago in full gear as his mother screamed when she opened the door (adorned with a yellow ribbon).
All of these images (including the fiery portable toilet) told the story of 2009. Maybe they weren’t my story, but they were nice ones.
2009 will be just that for me. “A Nice One”. I’ll definitely take that after 2008. I needn’t look much further than 2008 to remember what was happening last year as my wife was recovering from her second surgery in 3 months and we scheduled ourselves for a very low key Christmas with only enough fanfare to keep our kid’s spirits high. Just 365 days ago I sat by her bedside making sure she’d be okay just to get up and deal with Christmas. While 2009 was no picnic, and we did deal with two more minor surgeries, life today compared to last year couldn’t be much better healthwise.
The holiday is often on its long tail as we’ve already had two family gatherings, a work party and a large bash at a friend’s home yet we are still 3 days shy of Christmas. We still have two more family gatherings to go to. Such is the life of the fragmented world and family. As I sit here in my den, I know of local friends spending the holiday in Hawaii, Argentina, Spain, France, England, Italy & Brazil just to name those places not on this continent. They all sound enticing…. the Champs Elysees on Christmas? How magical does that sound!?
Well San Francisco is where we remain and where we will keep our hearts this Christmas! No snow and no sand! The image above is from Sara Showalter, (www.sarashowalter.com) or @gidget on Twitter. A great local artist, the image was used for our holiday card this year. If you are looking for an artist or photographer, I highly recommend her. And the best thing about her? She is a diehard San Francisco Giants fan!
Cause when I look to the sky something tells me you’re here with me
And you make everything alright
And when I feel like I’m lost something tells me you’re here with me
And I can always find my way when you are here
– Pat Monahan, Train
I was at a concert recently where the group, Train, which was formed in San Francisco, played from their new album, Save Me San Francisco. I thought it an interesting title given that they have to play in about 50 other cities on their tour and I doubt they would tell people how, “Chicago is great, but we’re here to tell you about San Francisco”.
I admit that I have had a lifelong love affair with San Francisco. Fortunate to have been born here and even more fortunate to still work and have a family here, I try not to take it for granted. Even my wife who is from the East Coast finally has broken down and said this is the perfect place to have settled. “It has soul. It has character, ” she once told me. She’s right. But it isn’t just the City. It’s the people too.
Now don’t get me wrong. Having spent years working in Chicago and New York and various other cities, I love those cities for many of their merits as well. And the people there are so real and loveable in their own way and sometimes even more loveable than San Francisco. I’m sure everyone feels that way about where they are from, so excuse me while I gloat. After all, Conde Nast Traveler’s reader poll did say that San Francisco is the best place in America, so they can’t be that wrong, could they?
Yes San Francisco has it’s Golden Gate, it’s nearby Napa wine country, and the beautiful Pacific coastline, but like every beautiful painting or landscape, the object of your desire has to have depth which keeps you coming back for more. It has to engage you, frustrate you, encourage you, entertain you, and most of all, leave you breathless in amazement as you look back over your shoulder as to what you have been through. For me, San Francisco has always been “all points pointing west” whenever I look for that solution.
Maybe there really is something magical about San Francisco. For my whole life I’ve known people who have moved to this city I call home. They come here to find themselves, to discover acceptance for who they are, or just to begin again. In the 1800s there was the Gold Rush, in the 1960s it was the hippies and free love. Today it is still for the technology as well as an alternative style of living.
As a native, I’m not looking for much of the new so much that I am looking to have more of the same and in some way to revisit those things which I’ve enjoyed so much about the past, and some recent small events have gotten me to thinking about those healing powers of the City once called by Herb Caen, Baghdad by the Bay. They might not mean anything individually, but together in reflection they do.
Nick and a Proud Dad
A few weeks back on the golf course in the 56th Northern California Family Golf Championships with my son. The tournament is one that I started playing with my own dad when I was in high school. It was my way of getting closer to my dad doing something he enjoyed. We played many times and it wasn’t until my early 20s that we finally took home a trophy for our flight. I still remember that hug and that smile and laugh my dad gave me when he won, “We did it,” he exclaimed. It was an aw-shucks kind of smile, but it wasn’t until now that I realized he really did enjoy it as much as I did.
With the shoes reversed some 20 years later, I became overwhelmed with a sense of deja vu. I kept looking at my son and remembering all the great times I had in this tournament with his grandfather. Back then I did it to be closer with my dad and I always felt it was for me. But as we advanced each round in this tournament this year I realized how much I was getting out of this and just relished the moments spent with my son to just talk about life, learning to relax, and to tell him no matter what happened, how proud I am of him. It wasn’t just me. Many of the other teams were multi-generation San Franciscans who had played the tournament as youngsters and now were playing with their own children. Such a cool event and yet, such a personal and life building experience.
The kid who keeps me young
Soccer Saturdays was not something I had growing up. Anyone who has children these days knows what it means to be a soccer parent. You spend your days as a chauffeur and snack coordinator. In San Francisco it has been a chance for me to see old high school friends, cousins and classmates who have children the same age. Having the time to talk about old times and fins out about old friends has become a weekly ritual. It just makes you realize how small this City is.
Now getting back to the Train concert, I took my wife and my best friend from high school to see Train at the reknowned Fillmore concert hall (http://www.thefillmore.com), one of those temples of music that has so much hisotry in it (more on this later). Train inspired this posting as they were formed in San Francisco, disbanded for solo careers and just recently moved back to San Francisco to start recording together. They told the story of how although none of them were originally from the area, they felt as though the City had saved them twice. First by bringing them together and then, bringing them back together again. They went through a myriad of songs all about California and San Francisco that left the 3 of us so happy that we went and so proud of the city we call home.
A few weeks later I got a message that one of my childhood elementary school classmates had passed away. We weren’t close, but I saw the grieving that many of those classmates felt. Although our friend died early and a rough life was pretty much the cause of death, that did not matter to us. The outpouring of grief and emotion turned into a beautiful private vigil at San Francisco’s Ocean Beach at sunset. Suddenly the 76 classmates were now back in touch some 30 years later, brought together by the death of one of our own. It makes me wonder if our friend realized how much she was loved and will be missed by so many and by those who she might not have seen in so long. My wife thought it very interesting and touching that our community was that tight. I reminded her and our children ( they go to the same school my brothers and sister and I went to) that history repeats itself and that some day our children might be out there grieving for one of their classmates.
In getting our classmates together I even had the opportunity to go out to a restaurant owned by one of our firends. He even comped us a great meal (http://www.betelnutrestaurant.com). Afterwards we went to the Fillmore to see a small artist named Mat Kearney. It turns out that Mat’s parents have a lot of history in San Francisco and were in attendance. They were flower children who met in San Francisco in the ’50s while working in a diner as a waitress and a chef. Although they hade very little money they were able to see a few concerts at the Fillmore and claimed their favorites were Jimmy Hendrix and Bob Dylan. Well now they have to add their son to that list which has brought their lives back to San Francisco full circle. I love little stories like that.
Yes, San Francisco has its mysterious charm and I’m sure it has healing powers for whatever it is that ails you or those around you..Los Angeles may have its Palm Trees and beautiful people, New York might have Wall St., and all the nightlife you could want, Chicago has great food and spirit, but San Francisco simply has the “it” factor that attracts and rewards those who embrace it.
Life is a roller coaster ride
Time turns the wheel and love collides
Faith is believing you can close your eyes and touch the sky
So shine while you have the chance to shine
Laugh even when you want to cry
Hold on tight to what you feel inside and ride
– Lyrics to “The Ride” by Martina McBride
Kicking off a New Season in San Francisco
Today is officially the last day of summer and the first day of Fall. A beautiful time for me and a wonderful time in San Francisco. I believe if Mark Twain had stayed for the Fall, his famous quote would have read, “The coldest Winter I ever spent was the Summer I spent in San Francisco, but the warmth of its Fall Sunny Days and Foggy nights give the city it’s charm the makes it so beautiful.”
This is now the time to enjoy its 40 hills, its 49 square mile (some say its officially47) and some of its over 3000 wonderful restaurants. Tourists are gone, the weather is at its best, and if you want to venture up to the Napa wine country, it is time to see the Fall crush of the grapes which many say is the best time to visit.
Someone asked me recently, “What is with the midnight runs?” They really aren’t at midnight, but I have to admit they are later than most people run. They are also somewhat of a sore point with my wife as she doesn’t like my running in dark clothes with no identification on me. The truth of the matter is that while I am running sparsely populated streets at night, I do run a pretty regular route, I run on sidewalks and even some of the parking valets around know my schedule well enough to tell me if I’m running late, early or slow. Last night I was even able to tell the valets at Spruce Restaurant the score of the late night ESPN game.
Running the streets of San Francisco is where I do my best thinking. Sometimes those nagging issues you’ve been dealing with for days or weeks just somehow find a solution at mile #2 when you’ve got that lactic acid building in your leg, but you stretch it out running up the steep incline on Upper Fillmore imagining you are Rocky only to find Gino’s liquor store and the last patrons of Jackson Fillmore coming out of the trattoria with sated appetites instead of a big statue at the top of the stairs overlooking Philadelphia.
It is my favorite time to run in San Franciso. The end of summer in San Francisco usually means our hottest days are coming. It means nights filled with low lying wispy fog that drenches your face during your runs. It also means those deep fog horns blaring throughout the night. During the day the fog blows out to sea and the days are filled with 80 degree weather. My dad used to call this fog, San Francisco’s natural air conditioner. It is so refreshing and almost is like our Spring in many ways. In fact with baseball season ending and football season beginning, it is like a whole new season, especially in San Francisco, home of the 5 time champion 49ers. Growing up going to games with my dad it was the time of hope and new beginnings. To me it still is that way. Now it’s with my own son.
Running the streets of San Francisco, with foghorns blaring I just smile to myself thinking about the great time I had at the ballpark with my son earlier in the day, introducing him to the people who have sat around us in the same seats for 30 years. The same people who gave me cookies and milk when I was his age now give them to my son. My son has no clue how he’s just living my life from 30 years ago. Cheering on the 49ers, high fiving strangers after a great play and eating terrible food that give you a stomach ache when you get home. It’s a cyclical pattern in life and yet it is a new beginning.
I can look back 30 years, but these days while I celebrate a year since my wife’s breast cancer surgery, I also look back a year when I was playing nurse to my recovering wife. It still isn’t over with her pending surgery coming. This will again hopefully be the last surgery for a while. This is one cycle I don’t want to have repeat itself. A year can make a huge difference both good and bad. There is no doubt in my mind that my wife and I are stronger than we were before.
So back to my running, I’m not an extremely spiritual person as I’ll go to church for special occasions, but running has been my place of worship and my confessional. Each run is my own search for the truth. I don’t run with others, justw ith my thoughts. It is where I ask myself if I truly believe. It is where I push myself and question my actions and where I look for the answer to many of life’s questions. It is my solitude that allow me to begin a new day every day with renewed energy. There is a running commercial where the person has to get through that first mile before they reach that special runner’s place. Yes, that the runner’s high. It is true for me like many. I feel better after an exhausting run that before I left. San Francisco has a part in that. It is that friend that is with me on every run. Its streets are the paths in life that I go over time and again. Yes Fall is here in San Francisco and my motivation is higher than ever.
