VERTICAL, VIBRANT, VOLATILE , VIRTUOUS Personal Memories of San Francisco from the 1970’s

While riding this cable car, the all-to-familiar ingrained scent of the burning wood brakes on steel immediately unleashed an explosion of memories from this hill - Nob Hill.From childhood memories of playing at the Mark Hopkins and ordering room service for dinner with a class mate whose parents managed the iconic hotel , To sneaking in the Venetian Room at The Fairmont late at night to play the well maintained piano and put on shows for my friends, to truly being exposed to the diversity and grit of humanity - It all started here.  

As a genuine native San Franciscan , Powell St is one of the hills I grew up on.I went to school from K-8 here on this hill , Learned how to skate down and up this hill (still do), had my first job as a teenager in the arts at a contemporary gallery on this hill , honed my work skills at a cafe/catering co which serviced the suits in the financial district, and performed my first show at a super club near the base of this hill.  

I have vivid  memories of me, brother, sisters and friends as small unsupervised children helping the charismatic Cable Car drivers to push the cable cars around at the end -of-the-line turnstile and than waiting for them to roll away only to chase after them and jump on board while in motion on the way up the hill to school. 

We used to frequent the ‘Woolworths’ in the Flood Building . It was a magical place where you could watch glass blowers , printers , and other crafts people making their wares for sale . You could buy gold fish off a shelf or glazed donuts at the breakfast counter . We were not too interested in the basement linen dept.

As kids, our school ‘NDV’ was rite next to the gates of Chinatown. We would explore the streets and alleys of old SF China Town , buy edible rice paper covered candies and trinkets, look into the windows at apothecary shops which displayed pickled snakes and other Chinese medicinal herbs, tinctures, and other anomalies. 

 Homeless people, mentally ill, and cults were always present in the streets of the city and very much part of our daily navigations and awareness. They were so present that as kids, we even assigned names to them. A few of the many individuals who stand out are : The ‘Burn Lady’ who would scream in agony on one of the bus lines as if she were on fire. She said she was victim to an inferno, but there were no burns on her. There was the ‘Gamma Ray’ lady who would wear a blond beehive wig that must have been five 5 high and she would tell all of us kids that her husband was an astronaut and was shooting toxic gamma-rays into her brain from outer space and the wig was to protect her. There was the ‘no name’ guy who would publicly masturbate on the street cars. I remember my mom wisely and casually telling us to let the girls sit on the outside seats so that they could get away from him quickly. 

And than there were the cults publicly recruiting in the streets. There were The Moonies, The Church of Satan , and the one we would encounter on Powell St every day- The Hare Krishnas. We would approach them often and buy strawberry incense ( I still remember that sweet smokey smell) and flowers from their street kiosks.

We saw their transparency and basically battled all of these characters with our childish senses of humor and opposing morals installed into us by our parents, who also gave us freedom. We never succumbed, and we were never molested in any way. It was through this worldly exposure that by the ripe age of 7, we were already liberated and self-realized enough to stay on our own paths and together remain safe.


Looking back, ultimately we learned compassion and acceptance.

I recall sneaking into scenes as ‘extras ‘ during filming of The Streets of San Francisco ‘ a popular TV Show at the time staring Michael Douglas and Karl Malden. The City was very violent at the time. There were drug lords who invaded after the Summer of Love, gang warfare in Chinatown, we had sniper drills at our school, the Zodiac  , Zebra and Trailside serial killers were on the loose in the city, the Jonestown Guyana incident occurred , the Patty Hearst /Symbionese Liberation Army saga was playing out, and the George Moscone/ Harvey Milk murders occurred. This hit particularly close to home as the Moscone family kids and our clan of young friends were all classmates and close family friends. Nevertheless, as kids we all navigated together, and unsupervised, through the streets of San Francisco with savy, intuition and street smarts.

One day I was with a group of kids on the Market St streetcar which was held up by a rooftop sniper a block ahead of us. We got off, went to a payphone and called my friend’s dad with the grim news. He simply said  “Don’t worry, we’ll save you dinner”. We got home safe. He knew that our intuition was keen and that, though young,  together we made choices which protected us from harm.

I experienced the surge of the Queer, Sexual, and Female Liberation revolutions simultaneously on this hill.

As kids, we’d sometimes quickly sneak in and out of the Nob Hill male review show, into various Adult porn shops and innocently giggle as we were promptly thrown out! Public nudity on the streets and even on Billboards was commonplace at this time. Polk Street at the base of the hill and Castro Street up Market transformed into global meccas of the queer community.

My Lebanese mother lived on this hill till the end of her life. During the plight of the SF AIDS epidemic , a human crisis ignored by our USA government , she left her Nob Hill apartment sometimes 5 nights a week to go down the hill to the seedy Polk Street as part of a local outreach program that helped educate and guide male prostitutes to engage in safe sex and for drug users to adhere to clean needle practices in the streets. This awareness helped stop the spread of the deadly virus, which wiped out so many of our friends, relatives and loved ones. She was an at-face cantankerous, yet Just woman, with a mixture of conservative and very liberated and accepting ideals.

One day, I remember approaching her apartment which was just above a public courtyard on the California Street Cable Car line across from Grace Cathedral. She was in the window table training a few ladies how to put condoms on a  banana with their mouths- a practice she employed to train the male street prostitutes to protect them from their often violent and careless ‘Johns’ who she said were typically well-to-do suburban and financial district men. (*I jokingly noted that, though a noble cause, she might consider demonstrating away from public view) 

I also learned first hand the truth of this demography while I was working entertaining interactively face-to-face at corporate events before the digital age of sex apps. Conventioneers away from their wives and families would always approach me (regardless of what ridiculous or sacred costume I may be wearing) and ask first off "Where can I find sex in SF?”. I’d always offer up more profound conversation which proved to engage. To this day , decades later , event planners and organizers have 0 idea of who their guests actually are and continue to insist how conservative they are. I’m still in the field and know the truth. Archaeologists in ancient cities find underground tunnels that secretly lead from noble libraries into a rowdy brothels. Nothing has changed.

I am so grateful to make a life in this hilly city as an artist who also employs and motivates so many other artists of varying mediums, international cultures, and inspirations. We all contribute as we earn, bring beauty & kindness where there was once bleakness & indoctrination, and share our dreams & laughter with those who may have veered off their path and lost them. In SF, you can get it back.

I don’t recall ever seeing any expanse of flat ground till I was 6 or 7 years old and it seemed so strange. Still does.

The smell of the burning wood brakes on steel of the Cable Cars mixed with the pungent aroma of pot, and the sweet scent of Candy being crafted by Confectioners at ‘Judy’s’ on Powell Street are the prominent urban smells of home to me.

It was a different time and I am grateful to have grown up with such independence that gave us keen realizations of both the grit and splendors of life. We were not sheltered , never felt fear of the unknown, intuitively new when to run or stay , and were confronted by a range of life lessons. Ultimately we lived and thrived in the comfort and love of our SF family homes in the hilly , friendly, and sometimes dangerous neighborhoods. The San Franciscans I speak of have all grown to be genuine and individual people who contribute to the world in their own way. 

 And my brother’s response to this post: 
 Great memories!

We used to designate one person to race the cable car up this hills, starting on Sutter. After some prodding the cable car operators would let me ring the bell, some of them were very good at ringing out complex rhythms...

The best thing about wearing a school uniform that was a sailor suit... It was the perfect disguise for drinking and smoking out in public (+ the chicks dug them). I got in trouble for smoking in front of the Chez Paris strip club on Mason St…

*The reality of living as an urban youth in SF in the 70’s
There were no ‘Helicopter’ parents in our periphery- but we knew they were there!  

Gregangelo
Artistic Director
whirling dervish
Velocity Arts & Entertainment
Velocity Circus
Gregangelo Museum
415 664-0095
greg@gregangelo.com
www.gregangelo.com
San Francisco