San Francisco Earthquake

Things I Will Miss, Volume III

I’ve always had a love/hate thing with Beaux-Arts. I’m childishly drawn to the grandeur but, as Diana Vreeland said, “the eye needs to travel” and with all that frou-frou which way does it go? Considering that almost all of its stylistic elements are from previous eras and that its success is based on new construction methods that allowed it to be produced on a large-scale, it’s not that original.

After the 1906 earthquake many doubted that a city should be rebuilt on a site prone to natural disasters. Civic leaders forged ahead anyway with a City Hall that was grander than anything previously imagined. Its dome, fifth largest in the world, stands as a defiant middle finger "fuck you" to the naysayers.
After the 1906 earthquake many doubted that a city should be rebuilt on a site prone to natural disasters. Civic leaders forged ahead anyway with a City Hall that was grander than anything previously imagined. Its dome, fifth largest in the world, stands as a defiant middle finger “fuck you” to the naysayers.

 

While many of us freeloaded on food stamps, Jeffrey had a job at City Hall. I would visit him on breaks in the third floor hallway. He talked about his old-school co-workers who would arrive early in the morning for an eye-opener at the bar across the street before work. Their fifteen minute morning break became a half hour so they could go knock a couple back. More knocking back occurred during their 1 1/2 hour lunch and the extended afternoon break. After work they would avoid the Muni rush hour crush by topping things off with just one more. Their evening homecoming must have been something to behold.
While many of us freeloaded on food stamps, Jeffrey had a job at City Hall. I would visit him on breaks in the third floor hallway.
 
He talked about his old-school co-workers who would arrive early in the morning for an eye-opener at the bar across the street before work. Their fifteen minute morning break became a half hour so they could go knock a couple back. More knocking back occurred during their 1 1/2 hour lunch and the extended afternoon break.
 
After work they would avoid the Muni rush hour crush by topping things off with just one more. Their evening homecoming must have been something to behold.

 

The Feminist Movement made it clear that women had the same job performance capabilities as men. In order to gain acceptance, however, they still had to play the feminine attire game (see Joan in Mad Men). To me that silly expectation is part of the allure of drag. We were leaning on the third floor balustrade one day when Jeffrey said "there she goes." I looked down and saw Supervisor Dianne Feinstein in a determined dash up the grand staircase. He added, "she always runs." Such a camp.
The Feminist Movement made it clear that women had the same job performance capabilities as men. In order to gain acceptance, however, they still had to play the feminine attire game (see Joan in Mad Men). To me that silly expectation is part of the allure of drag.
 
We were leaning on the third floor balustrade one day when Jeffrey said “there she goes.” I looked down and saw Supervisor Dianne Feinstein in her camel skirt and navy pumps doing a determined dash up the grand staircase. He added, “she always runs up those stairs.”
 
Such a camp.

 

In the late 70's I worked in the Mayor's Budget Office. The easiest way to get around City Hall was to use the back staircases. Mayor Feinstein knew this too and I would sometimes run into her. She was always surrounded by an entourage and in a hurry. But she'd flash her campaign smile and issue a brisk "Hi. How are you." As she flew past me. She didn't know me from Adam but she could always use my vote. Still a camp.
In the late 70’s I worked in the Mayor’s Budget Office. The easiest way to get around City Hall was to use the back staircases. Mayor Feinstein knew this too and I would sometimes run into her.
 
She was always surrounded by an entourage and in a hurry. But she’d flash her campaign smile and issue a brisk “hi. how are you” as she flew past me. She didn’t know me from Adam but she could always use my vote.
 
Still a camp.

 

Jeffrey found a Feinstein for Mayor sweatshirt at a thrift store for a quarter. It was from one of her earlier failed campaigns. I wore it the day I worked the Wilkes Bashford fashion show at the Kabuki. In the late 70's I worked in the Mayor's Budget Office. The easiest way to get around City Hall was to use the back staircases. Mayor Feinstein knew this too and I would sometimes run into her. She was always surrounded by an entourage and in a hurry. But she'd flash her campaign smile and issue a brisk
Jeffrey found a Feinstein for Mayor sweatshirt at a thrift store for a quarter. It was from one of her earlier failed campaigns. I held on to it for years and finally wore it the day I worked the Wilkes Bashford fashion show at the Kabuki.
 
It was staged one week after the Milk/Moscone murders and a new mayor had not yet been selected. I realized that many might think my shirt “too soon” or insensitive. All the more reason to wear it.
 
After the rehearsal Willie Brown was meandering backstage. As he walked by me he looked at my shirt, shook his head and muttered, “they’re at it already?”
 
Always a camp.

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For the complete saga, From the Beginning

Contact: ellistoellis@gmail.com

 

Earthquake Weather

The San Francisco Chronicle, who's shelves are not exactly lined with Pulitzers, was a tad bit off. The final tally was more like 25.
The San Francisco Chronicle, whose shelves are not exactly lined with Pulitzers, was a tad bit off. The final toll was 63.

These warm Fall days always remind me of the Loma Prieta quake. With the World Series in town again those memories are reinforced.

For years San Francisco’s best kept secret was that its summer weather comes in September and October. The tourists have since caught on.  The Wal-Mart whales still show up in July in their tank tops and cut offs. A sight that never ceases to amuse in the 56 degree fog. But October is no longer our own private Idaho.

In 1989 I left work at 5:00 so I’d be home in time for the opening game anthem, probably the most inspiring of all the anthem genres. I walked out of 345 Californis, turned left and saw a cloud coming from the Fireman’s Fund building. I thought it was on fire so I crossed the street. In the middle of California I heard this horrid rumble beneath me. It was mortar dust, not smoke, coming from the brick building. We were having an earthquake.

I ran for cover under the metal canopy of a Wells Fargo ATM and stood with a dozen strangers waiting for it to end. I focused on the street lamp in front of me. It swayed endlessly like an upside down pendulum in a 20 degree arc. Then it stopped. We stood quietly for a few seconds. I took off up the hill.

When I got to the top at Stockton and Pine I turned back to survey the scene. For all the chaos it seemed so still.  There were no horns honking, no sirens. The traffic lights were out but cars were observing four-way stop etiqiuette. The Financial District was playing nice and cooperating, not its usual type A self.

I walked one more block and ran into a woman with a platinum helmet of hair. It was Ann Richards, the Texas State Treasurer. At the time she was best known for her keynote address at The Democratic Convention; a year later she would be elected Governor. It was just she and I alone on the corner of Pine and Powell. We looked at each other then moved on without saying a word.

When I got home my kitchen cabinet doors had swung open and anything on a south wall had fallen. Except for the lack of power, the rest of the apartment was as I left it.

Loma Prieta Ann. The quake rendered us both speechless.
Loma Prieta Ann. The quake rendered us both speechless.

I improvised a meal with my friends Jane and Walter from down the street. My gas stove seemed to be working so we risked another ham and eggs fire and grilled hot dogs. Unsure of the safety of tap water, we drank our stashes of beer.  It would have been a shame to lose those due to a lack of refrigeration. One national catastrophe a day was enough. The brews were supplemented with any other spirits we could find.

The next morning Union Square was a ghost town. There were no cell phones then, landline service was spotty, we pieced together by word of mouth what was going on with our friends. After 24 hours, unless you had heard someone was in trouble you assumed  everyone was okay. There wasn’t much to do but wait and wonder.

Two days later we did hear of a friend whose house was left on a slight 45 degree angle. It had just been condemned. Finally, there was something useful to do. David and I took his pick up and helped him move.

That night at 3 am I was awakened by a blaring television and the lights finally coming back on. It was over. Until the next time.

Next: Image of Veta
Previous: I Know I’ve Dreamed You
The complete saga, From the Beginning